For Better or Hearse

Chapter Thirteen

I t’s her. The blue-haired, sequined stripper from the photo her client gave her.

The photo Ash took as absolute proof. Proof that allowed her to object to the wedding.

Only it wasn’t an affair.

The woman was Nathaniel’s sister.

His fucking sister .

The look on Nathaniel’s face that day—that confused, hurt expression that’s haunted her nightmares for the last three years—floats through her mind once again, and her guilty heart shrivels up and drops into her stomach.

“Fuck,” Ash whispers to her pale reflection in the mirror. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She’s watching the patio light flick on and off like some sort of drug dealer signal when Tessie calls. Flopping onto the bed, Ash slides her finger over the screen of her phone and lets out a heaving sigh as a hello.

Skipping dinner seemed like the best option. She couldn’t face Nathaniel without a game plan, without dissecting her emotions, her fuck-up. And she needs her cousin to talk her through it.

“Well?” Tessie says, sounding harried. “Let it rip.” All that’s visible are her nostrils. The camera jostles like a found footage film and then steadies.

Ash squints. “Are you in the bathtub?”

“I’m in my overwhelmed mommy era,” Tessie hisses. Fully clothed, she pulls the shower curtain around her. “I have to hide every chance I get.”

After explaining what happened at the pool, Ash says, “Nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever top the shock of this reveal. The audible gasp that came out of my mouth when I saw her…” A shudder racks her at the memory.

Tessie studies her, head tilted and dark eyes thoughtful. “So you’re saying you feel bad?”

“Of course I feel bad.” Ash chews her lip. “I ruined people, Tessie. I actively worked to dissolve a union with malicious intent.”

“You’re not a serial killer, Ash.”

“It feels like it.”

“You were hurt. After Jakob.”

The hardness in Tessie’s voice brings back flashes of the moment she physically tackled her cousin on the front lawn of her parents’ house to keep her from rushing to Jakob’s apartment with her power saw. “We’ve all been where you’ve been,” Tessie continues. “Where we want to fuck up the person who hurt us. And sometimes, when we can’t, we take it out on everyone else.”

“I was in the wrong, though. All this time, I thought he was a devil, a cheater, but—”

“But he’s tolerable.”

Ash scoffs. “Hell no. He’s literally the worst person I’ve ever met. But he is taller than me. So there’s that.”

“Not a cheater. And he’s tall? And he saved you in a rockslide? I don’t know, Ash.” Tessie’s brown eyes sparkle. “Sounds like Nathaniel Whitford might not be the worst.”

“I don’t like this. This opposite thing we’re doing. I’m the one who gives advice, and you’re the one who complains.”

Tessie laughs. “Tough. I’m your vacation fairy godmother living vicariously through you.” With a grunt, she reclines in the tub. Rubs her belly. “Take a photo of him for me. I want to see what he looks like.”

Ash stifles a laugh. “Hard pass. ”

Tessie pouts. “Please, I’m bored, and Solomon has no plan to leave my side for the next four months.”

“You love it,” Ash hisses.

“I heard that.”

There’s a growl in the background. Then the shower curtain is torn open. A grinning Solomon stands tall behind Tessie. Peggy Sue sharks along the side of the tub. Bear screeches and hurdles over the edge. Tessie squeals and bobbles the phone as she hugs him to her with her free arm.

“So what do I do?” Ash shouts, knowing she has about five seconds before it’s chaos.

“Apologize,” Tessie orders as she’s rocked by her son and her image goes blurry. “It’s the oldest trick in the book. And guess what? It works!” Tessie and Solomon erupt in wild giggles before the screen goes black.

Ugh, they’re too cute for words. Heart sinking, Ash tosses her phone onto the nightstand. She hates everything about this day.

Once again, the light to the patio flickers on. Then the silhouette of Nathaniel’s tall frame passes by her room. He’s waiting. Most likely to murder her. And she wouldn’t blame him. That fifty-foot drop to the beach sounds pretty good right now.

The light flicks off.

Her blood churns faster in her veins as her thoughts spin out.

The photo she saw was a setup.

Her client lied to her.

It means what she did was very, very wrong.

It means she can’t lump him in with Jakob anymore.

It means Nathaniel Whitford is not the worst.

She is.

“Please don’t take my horsey,” Ash says, sitting cross-legged on her lounge chair. “I like it. ”

As they sit in companionable silence, Augustus examines the chessboard on the small table between them. Then her horse is knocked over.

“Apologies in advance.”

Two more moves, and Augustus has checkmate.

Ash throws her hands to the sky. “You’re a cruel and cunning man, Augustus.” Trying to beat him is a futile objective. As pointless as arguing with a toddler or trying to wear socks with sandals.

They’re spending their last few hours in Honolulu at Waikiki beach.

Obviously, she’s avoiding Nathaniel. Not an easy feat, since they’re both stuck on this two-week trip. Dodging him is awkward and uncomfortable and makes her feel like she’s in hiding.

She’s not angry at him anymore. She’s angry at herself. For being wrong. For being played. For being an asshole and hurting him.

Ash quirks a brow as Augustus resets the board. “Are you sure you didn’t hire me just to kick my ass in chess?”

“My dear,” he says with a smile, “I hired you because you kick my ass.”

“I will never understand this game.” Ash squints in disapproval at the brown and white checkered board.

The sun spreads golden across the sand. A server delivers lunch. Fries and club sandwiches and palomas. Before they can dig in, a frisbee nearly sideswipes their drinks.

The little redheaded Chucky boy from the pool appears.

Ash shoots the kid a glare, tosses the frisbee back in his direction, then forces her attention back to her companion. “How do you feel?” She reclines on the lounge, and Augustus does the same. Her eyes dip to the beach, to Nathaniel, golden and muscled, catching a wave out at sea.

Goddamn that body .

She clears her throat. Regroups. “Do you feel like you’re getting quality family time?” If not, she needs to know whose ass to kick.

He sets his hands on his thighs. “I didn’t expect to. This trip is more about watching them. Taking things in. Making plans.” His bushy brows lift. “Claire and I—our relationship has not always been the best. After Rosalea died, I tended to pull away.”

“Do you think it’s fair…” Ash begins, hesitant. She and Augustus are close. She is giving him a commitment to the end of his life, but she can’t be sure she’s not crossing a line. “To put it all on your dead wife as a reason for your behavior?”

“You know, Ash…” Augustus strokes his chin. “I don’t.” He inhales, determination sparking in his eyes. “I want them all to have the time of their lives. Money is no object.”

She stops him with a firm hand to his arm. “Maybe that’s the problem. You’re focusing on money, not your family. Don’t be like that old white man from Jurassic Park , Augustus.”

He nods. “Denial.”

“Bingo.”

“I was absent. I was unavailable.” He scans the beach, finds his daughter. “I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me.”

“Maybe Claire needs to hear you admit that.”

He lets out a tired sigh. “Maybe she does.”

After passing Augustus his lunch, Ash snags a fry. Pops it into her mouth. Muses as she chews. “I think…if you honor some of your dreams, try to fix some of your mistakes before it’s too late, it’ll put you and your family in a better place.”

“I missed my daughter’s birthdays growing up. Every one. I don’t think I’ve been there for a single one since she was two.”

It’s clear in the tone of his voice. How something so small still stings so very much.

“She must have been upset.”

“She was.”

Ash perks up, ideas churning in her head. “What if…on the la st night of the trip, you had a birthday party for her? Not just a birthday party, but the birthday party of all birthdays. It’s like an apology, but with cake.”

Augustus’s pale-blue eyes spark with excitement. He hoots a laugh. “You know, my dear, I think that’s your best idea yet.”

“So you plan it, and if you need it, I’ll help.”

He arches a brow. “That’s not in your job description.”

She scoffs. “It’s not, but I’ll still help. I am a master at all the random things. Not to mention, I love a good party.”

“It’s a beautiful idea, Ash.”

“What else?” she asks as she covertly takes a second to inject herself with insulin. “We’re writing your memoirs.” It’s what the two of them have been doing on their brief rests in the hotel room. “We’re in your resorts. What else do you want?”

“I want my family to be prepared.”

A rock lodges itself in Ash’s throat. The thought of Augustus dying is a punch to the solar plexus. He hired her early in the process, so she’s here for the long run. Still, some part of her hopes. Hopes that with the chemo, there will be a miracle.

“I want my oldest grandson, who gets a month off at a time, to come home. I want him to stop running halfway across the world to escape the past.”

Ash smothers a smile. “You’re meddling, Augustus.”

A harrumph. “I’m an old man. I deserve to meddle.” He sighs and adjusts his hat.

Ash frowns up at the umbrella. The sun’s beginning to edge out the shade it provides. “He’s in LA.” She dusts sandwich crumbs from her fingertips. “That’s hardly halfway across the country.”

“Soon, he’ll be far away from us all,” Augustus says, lowering his head. “He applied for a position on a North Sea oil rig.”

Ash swallows hard. Her thoughts, her eyes, drift to Nathaniel. Strange emotions slice through her chest. Emotions like concern and worry and panic.

It sounds dangerous, but he’s a doctor. He’d take care of himself, right? Put others first, that’s their creed. It makes sense that Nathaniel Whitford would risk sinking to the bottom of the ocean for a career change. He’s an idiot.

“Maybe those are his dreams,” Ash muses, tearing her focus away from Nathaniel.

“Perhaps.” Augustus offers her a small smile. “What about you? What are your dreams?”

Ash blinks. “This isn’t about me.”

“Yes, but I want to know about you,” he says, laying a hand on her wrist.

Silence ripples as Ash considers it. Why the hell not? She needs a voice of reason. Why not Augustus?

“I did a bad thing,” Ash admits. She peers toward the lip of the beach. Nathaniel rising out of the ocean like a great scowling Poseidon, biceps tight as he carries his surfboard to land. “To your grandson.”

Augustus follows her line of sight. “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, maybe he needs to hear you say that.” His tone is mild, but there’s a fair hint of scolding in it. Or maybe it’s smugness.

Ash scoffs, narrows her eyes. “Using my words against me is unfair.” Then she sighs.

“I thought the wrong thing. I did the wrong thing. I fucked up.”

“Like I tell my operations team, my managers, my marketers, when the so-called shit hits the fan,” Augustus says, his tone calm with reflection, “I don’t care about your mistake. I don’t care about what went wrong. All I care about is that you fix it.”

Ash’s eyes land on the beach again. Fix it .

There has to be a way.

Ash trudges down the beach, sand in her boots. Research. Due diligence. It’s what she should have done three fucking years ago .

Delaney’s on the beach, snapping selfies in poses that look more like scenes from a torture museum.

“DeeDee, hi,” Ash says as she approaches. Before she can work up the nerve to say more, her shin is violently smacked.

“Fuck,” she mutters as a frisbee falls to the sand in front of her. The sharp sting of plastic burns.

Eyes narrowed, she scoops it up and flings it back in the direction of Chucky. Hopeful of a direct hit to the face. Little menace.

Delaney snaps a bubble. In her visor, dark glasses and floral beach cover-up, she looks like a sexified version of a poker player. “Oh goody, you are nasty.” She contorts her arm. Another selfie snap. Then a fast scroll through her phone. “Ugh, my IMDb page is so lackluster.”

Ash sits on the edge of Delaney’s beach towel. Scoops up sand in her hand and lets it fall. “So, uh, I hear you’re an actress.”

Delaney’s face lights up.

“And, uh, I was wondering.” Ash screws her face up, pretending to think hard. “I thought I saw a movie with you where you had blue hair and this, like, sequined bikini…”

Delaney perks up. “Oh yeah. That was Neon View . I was a stripper called Belle Beaver who was fighting for custody of her kids.” Forgetting about selfies, she tosses her phone onto the towel. Sits beside Ash. “I also had a torrid affair with the director, but don’t tell anyone.”

Ash can’t help but smile, despite her internal turmoil. She’s beginning to understand Delaney. The woman is a master at dramatic words, exaggeration, and affairs.

“Can I show you something?” Ash asks, holding up her phone. “But it’s like the CIA. You can’t ask questions, or I kill you.”

Delaney breaks out in a wicked smile. “I’ll bite.”

On her phone, Ash scrolls back to her downloaded images. Pulls up the photo she used to bring Nathaniel Whitford down.

Drawing back, Delaney wrinkles her nose. “ Ew . This photo. ”

True to her word, DeeDee doesn’t ask where she got it. She’s more concerned with—

“Why does it look like I’m grinding my brother’s crotch?”

Ash laughs. “I had similar thoughts.”

Delaney taps the screen. “I remember this day. This was on set. We filmed at Go Go Girls.”

She knows the place. Ash drives by the legendary LA strip club at least once a month on her way to the cemetery.

Delaney frowns, her brows bunched. “Nathaniel was in town. He had just gotten leave from the rig.” A happy smile tugs at her lips. “He always tries to see me when he can. He brought me lunch from Tender Greens.”

Ash’s stomach sinks farther. Fucking fantastic. Every single tidbit of information she’s receiving about how great Nathaniel Whitford is ups the guilt factor. Already, she’s annoyed.

Delaney makes a face. “God, this photo is yikes .” She and Ash both squint, tilt their heads. A misplaced angle that looks so much like a lap dance. A stolen kiss. “Those booths are like trying to cram into a sardine can.”

“Fuck,” Ash bemoans. She collapses beside Delaney. Guilt’s a hurricane-level spiral. “I fucked up his wedding.”

Still looking at Ash’s phone, Delaney moans even more pitifully. “I fucked the director, and he never cast me again.” She tilts her head. Brightens. “I still have those shoes, though.”

They share a laugh.

Nathaniel passes by in her periphery. She avoids eye contact, refuses to let her head swivel in the direction of his chiseled body. To let him see the guilt in her eyes. The utter fuck-up that she is.

Messy . She’s always been messy.

Slowly, Ash studies Delaney, looks at her phone. “How come you don’t hate me like everyone else?”

DeeDee drops her voice. Leans in to stage-whisper. “You have good vibes.” Her blue eyes narrow. “The person who took this didn’t.”

Clandestine conversations beneath palm trees. It’s what Ash is good at.

Phone to her ear, she waits. It rings and rings, and then the call goes to voicemail.

“Hi,” she says, the single word shaky. Her heart thunders in her chest. “It’s Ash Keller. I’m sure you remember me. I mean, how could you not, seeing as how I saved your life and all.” Fuck. When she’s anxious, she rambles. Calming herself, she inhales a breath. “I need to ask you something. Call me back.” She pulls the device away and taps End.

“Truth/lie,” a deep voice says in her ear. “You can’t stand it when people pay with exact change.”

“Jesus!” Jumping, she turns and scowls.

Nathaniel, golden and bronzed from the sun, stands not two feet away, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’d think being so very tall and assholeish, you’d lurch rather than quietly sneak up on your victims.” Ash tosses her hair. “And truth. You got me. I mean, the time it takes to count it all out? Sadistic.”

He smirks.

She glowers. Hating herself. Hating how her sneaky eyes run over Nathaniel. The expensive diving watch on his wrist, the wet suit half pulled down that long frame of his. The wheat-colored hair darkened by the water. So what if she could lap water out of the grooves of his abs? Eyes above his neck, please.

In return, Nathaniel’s heated gaze dips to her two-piece, bringing a scorching heat with it, before moving to her face.

So they’re attracted to each other. Big deal.

“You missed dinner last night.” His voice is thin, flat.

She tilts her chin. “I wasn’t aware that I had to spend every waking second with the Whitford clan. ”

“My grandfather’s paying you. It’s the least you could do. Spend time with…with everyone. Make an effort.”

She rolls her eyes. “Is that on your family crest? ‘Make an effort’? It’s so extortionist of you.”

Before he can reply, she turns and trudges across the sand. She needs air. An escape from her guilt. From Nathaniel Whitford.

Naturally, the man follows. Even at a slow lope, he keeps pace with her. “How does all that sand feel in those boots?” She can hear the laughter in his voice.

To spite him, she continues struggling across the beach, huffing in her big black boots. “Phenomenal.”

Only she doesn’t get far.

A groove in the sand causes her ankle to roll.

Nathaniel’s quick, grabbing her by her elbow. “You know,” he says, steadying her. “The smart thing to do would be to leave the boots off.”

She scoffs. “They are my power suit.”

At the sound of a shriek, they both turn. The little redheaded kid from the hotel is barreling toward them at breakneck speed.

This time Ash is ready for it. She snatches the frisbee in midair.

The little boy stops in front of her, grunting and making grabby hands for his weapon of mass destruction.

“Kid. I’m gonna be real. I am at my fucking limit.” Ash squats down. Bares her teeth. “You hit me again with this frisbee, and I will personally eject you from this world, understand me?” With that, she flings the frisbee into the sea.

The little boy blinks at her, then turns, screeching to run toward the ocean.

“What if he can’t swim?” Amusement tinges Nathaniel’s voice.

“He’ll learn. Or not.” Tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear, she looks up. “Now tell me a truth.” She gives him a once-over. Her lips curl, feline. “Where do your balls go when you’re in a scuba suit? ”

Nathaniel chokes, then laughs. “Jesus, Ash.”

“Ash, huh?” She props her hands on her hips. “Whatever happened to Bigfoot?”

“You’ll always be Bigfoot to me,” he says.

Ash finds herself smiling. Finds herself heating in places that haven’t been lit in a very long time.

She doesn’t have to hate him anymore. What a disappointment.

Even more disappointing? The realization that she’s attracted to him. The sheer sight of his handsome face has her mind, has her heart, drifting.

She can smell the sea on his skin. See the glimmer of sunlight reflected in his blue eyes. That sharp jaw is dusted with an inappropriate amount of scruff, like he hasn’t bothered to shave since he got here.

She lets out a trembling breath. Purging lust. Guilt.

“Listen, Nathaniel—”

She opens her mouth to apologize, to confess, but it’s all swept away when she notices Nathaniel’s attention is focused elsewhere.

It’s set on something across the sand, away from her. Lasered on the spike-sandal-wearing woman from the pool yesterday. Blond. Tan. Mother to Chucky.

An all too familiar pang hits her heart. It makes sense. That’s the type of girl Nathaniel needs to be on vacation with. Pearls. Perfection. Mess free.

Because he is a perfect specimen of a man, while Ash is a weird globule to be stepped in on the sidewalk.

“No ring. Go talk to her,” Ash goads.

He lets out a dry laugh. Looks her way. “And become stepfather to Chucky? No thanks.”

Ash gives a cavalier shrug, ignoring the fire that burns in the pit of her stomach. “She looks like your type.”

Nathaniel’s face holds only a strange reflectiveness. His eyes are locked on her face. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. ”

She blinks up at him, the thorns around her heart briefly vanishing at his words.

“C’mon.” He watches their van pull into its designated pickup spot. A lopsided smile tugs at his lips. “You don’t want to miss the bus, Bigfoot.”

And then he’s gone, headed toward the showers, leaving Ash with a soft smile on her face and an uneven beat in her heart.