For Better or Hearse

Chapter Twenty-Seven

S he’ll never survive this.

Not tonight. Not this dinner.

Not this fucking restaurant.

A Hui Hou, a sleek, subterranean space located a block from their hotel, has quite the haunting history. In fact, it used to be a morgue. Bodies were carved up here. Right where upscale servers trot around with bread-and-butter carts. Not like the Whitfords know that—they’re more focused on the Michelin star and the white tablecloths—but Ash does.

It was one of the stops on Ash’s honeymoon itinerary. A morbid stop among Jakob’s parasailing and scuba diving demands. As she takes in the sign, all those old feelings bubble up until her vision swims.

The synchronicities of her life and this life are stacking up in ways she really isn’t vibing with.

“Ash?”

She shakes herself out of her daze. Delaney and Claire wait for her at the entrance to the restaurant.

She forces a smile. Slivers of anxiety slice up her gut like shrapnel. “You go ahead. Bathroom break.”

Seconds later, she’s locking herself in a bathroom stall and sending an SOS text to Tessie.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She’s suffocating. She’s sweating in her beautiful silk dress. Fuck. This is why she doesn’t wear silk. Because she’s the wrong kind of woman.

Despite her meltdown, she pulls it the fuck together and gets back out there. Raise hell, Ashabelle, her father always says .

The restaurant is tiny, with brick walls and dim lighting. She scans the room. Finds the Whitfords seated around a long rectangular table by the window. The men brood silently while Delaney and Claire are animated and chatty. It seems a little spa and shopping day worked wonders. Her gaze finds Nathaniel, whose mouth is a flat line as he listens to Don. As if her attention is a physical caress, he senses her. His head swivels. His entire face changes. His eyes widen and a crooked grin tugs at his lips.

Then he’s standing, crossing the room, moving toward her.

A hook snags Ash’s heart. He looks achingly handsome in pressed khakis and a black T-shirt stretched tight over his muscular chest. His golden hair is ruffled from his day on the golf course. If she could craft herself a blueprint of the perfect man, it’d be Nathaniel.

Eyes locked on her, he comes to a stop. “Ash.”

“Hi,” she breathes, suddenly shy. “I’m late. I just—”

“It’s not that.” He runs a hand over his mouth. His blue eyes are wide, startled, dazed as he gives her a thorough once-over. When he zeroes in on her face, warmth pulses through her. “Your dress—”

“Was an impulse purchase.” Her laugh is awkward. “I know it’s not me. It screams virginal beach prom queen, but I saw it on a mannequin in a window and thought it was pretty.”

“I think you’re pretty,” he says, and all her objections fall away. He slides a finger along one strap and stops at her neck. Thumb caressing her throat, he dips closer, his voice low. “No matter what you wear. Stomping boots. Vampire garb. White dresses that fuck up my heartbeat. I love it all.”

“Even more than your rock collection?” She keeps her tone cool, controlled to hide her emotion. What his words mean to her.

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, there’s something heated and raw there. “Even more than that. Although igneous is a pretty close second. ”

A warm sunset blooms inside her. But a heartbeat later, she remembers where she is, and the sensation fades.

Nathaniel studies her face. Frowns. Asks, “Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” she lies.

“Thank God you’re here,” he mutters. “Don’s espousing the virtues of flat earth theory.”

“He is not.”

He grins. “Guess you have to come sit by me and find out.”

The hand that goes to the small of her back as he guides her to the table has little fires building inside her heart. Those damn thorns twitch.

He pulls out the chair between his and Augustus’s, waiting. Ash lowers herself, smooths her dress. Don eyes her like she’s a fourteenth century rat with a bad case of the plague.

“I ordered a pi?a colada for you,” Nathaniel says, as he settles in his own seat.

Her gaze goes to the creamy white drink in front of her place setting.

“I had them make it with sugar-free syrup and go light on the juice. I hope that’s okay.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. There’s a fucking rockslide happening behind her ribcage.

He drags a hand through his hair, his face suddenly tentative. “It might not be as good,” he says abruptly, all business. “But—”

“No.” She grabs the icy glass and locks her lips around the straw. Sucks a mighty sip of rum and lime juice. Hopes he can see how much his thoughtfulness means to her. “It’s delicious.”

“Delaney, Ash, and I had the loveliest day,” Claire tells the table.

Ash perks up, says, “Can we all please take a moment to acknowledge Claire’s nails. Because they are fabulous.”

Claire stretches out a hand. Everyone oohs and aahs . Except for Don.

Dinner’s delicious and insufferably long. But the drinks—bottles of wine, too many to count—cut the sting. The conversation ranges from the injustices of the housing market to today’s golf game. Claire and Augustus get to talking business, whispering softly about Fox Hotels.

Through it all, Ash’s entire body is tense. Not because of where she is. But because of Nathaniel, sitting beside her. One long arm stretched out across the back of her chair. Her body heats at the slow sweep of his thumb across her shoulder. The boneheaded man isn’t even trying to play hands off. It’s infuriating. She loves it.

They’re always moving for each other. Reaching. Touching.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

And it never fucking will be.

“Tell your father what you told us at the spa,” Claire says to her daughter when the waiter’s finished taking their dessert orders.

“Oh, uh…” Delaney twists her napkin, sits up straight, looks at her father. “I got the role in that French slasher film.”

Tate pounds her on the back with so much force her body jolts. “Congrats, dude.”

Don looks at her over his phone. Cocks a brow. “Do you know French?”

Delaney lowers her chin, swallows. “No, but I’m planning—”

“This is what I mean. You jump before you think things through.” A sigh. “Just like this little job of yours.” Don sets his phone down. “Don’t you think you should go back to school and get a degree?” he asks, while Claire stares at him dagger-eyed.

“I don’t know,” Delaney mumbles. “I guess.”

Ash saws her lower lip between her teeth, ready to taste blood. The crestfallen look on DeeDee’s face cuts like a knife. She knows what it’s like. To always be trying. To never feel like enough.

“It’s not a little job. It’s a lead role,” Nathaniel says, speaking up.

Delaney blinks, clearly surprised at her older brother’s support.

“It’s her career.”

Excitement radiates from Delaney. “It could be a breakout role.” Her hands form a makeshift camera. She pans the restaurant. “Just like Jennifer Aniston in Lepra—”

“Delaney, please,” Don snaps, holding up his hand.

Augustus smiles fondly at his granddaughter. “Chin up, my dear.”

“I don’t understand my children and these”—air quotes from Don—“careers.”

Ash narrows her eyes at him. This is textbook schoolhouse bullying.

Nathaniel smothers a sigh. “Pretty sure we’re all employed, Dad.”

“You had it all, Nate,” Don blusters.

The way Nathaniel cringes at Nate makes Ash cringe too. “The career. The girl. And you threw it all away.”

“Dad.” Nathaniel’s needling his brow now.

“It’s not too late to get back there. Be a real doctor again. Find a nice girl.” Don cranes his neck and scans the restaurant.

Ash’s stomach sinks. He’s no doubt picking out the perfect woman for his son. She can picture it perfectly. Blond. A fine pedigree. Heels. Pearl earrings. A 401(k) and organic cotton sheets and absolutely no anxiety coursing through her system.

Eyes still on a slim, blond waitress, Don crosses his arms. “Maybe download an app or a—”

“I don’t need an app, Dad,” Nathaniel grits out.

“We’re Whitfords.” Don glances at Ash. Focuses on his son again. “You can’t slum it your entire life.”

Directed at her or not, it fucking stings.

Ash’s face burns. The pi?a colada, the rum, the coconut milk settle like five hundred pounds of sludge in her stomach.

Beneath the table, Nathaniel takes her hand. Only, it slips like a limp noodle from his grasp. She can feel his burning gaze on her face, but she refuses to look at him. What is she doing here? What is she doing with him?

The realization sinks into her skin like acid. She isn’t meant for this. She doesn’t belong here. With the Whitfords. She’s too different. Especially for Nathaniel. Suddenly, everything feels wrong. Her dress. Her skin. Nathaniel’s hand grasping hers again.

Claire forces a smile, desperately searching for a topic. “So, uh, Nathaniel, are you all set for Peru?”

Silence.

Nathaniel glares at his father.

Ash takes a sip of water, then sets down the glass. “Did you know this used to be a morgue?” she says, trying to help out Claire. Trying to take that awful look off Nathaniel’s face. Trying to salvage what’s left of this dinner party from hell. For Augustus. That’s why she’s here. For him.

Claire’s face creases in distress at the news, and then she fakes a smile. “Really? That is fascinating. Don’t you think, Don?”

Ignoring his wife and Ash, Don leans forward. “Let me tell you something, Nate. You go out and hide yourself away on a—”

Ash slams a hand down. Every person at the table jumps.

“Nathaniel,” Ash snaps.

She can’t take it anymore. The botching of his name.

Don rears back. “Excuse me?”

“Your son’s name is Nathaniel.” She enunciates each syllable. Glares. “He hates being called Nate.”

The table’s silent. Barely breathing.

Every eye is on Ash, but she stares at Don calmly.

He reddens, embarrassment staining his expression. He looks directly at her. Hell must have frozen over, because it’s the first time Don’s acknowledged her existence.

Then he chuckles scathingly. “Augustus, why is she here? I know she’s one of those weird woo-woo types, but I could do without.” His nostrils flare as he draws forward again. “You’ve already ruined things for my son, but there’s no need for you to ruin this vacation too.”

There’s an audible gasp from Claire .

Even seated, Nathaniel’s stance turns bodyguard-like. His eyes narrow dangerously. “I know you didn’t say that to her.”

Tater winces. He slumps low and lazy in his chair, his gaze bouncing from Nathaniel’s furious face to his father’s. “That’s a good way to get smacked, dawg.”

“Stop acting like a tyrant, Don, and shut up,” Claire snaps.

Don blinks at the fury in his wife’s voice.

“Leave the poor girl alone,” she says. “One nice night. It’s all I asked for.”

Ash squeezes her eyes shut to block out the noise. She can feel her villain era returning to her like a rogue wave.

“Apologize,” comes a hard voice.

Ash opens her eyes, certain the demand is directed at her, but it’s not.

Nathaniel’s staring daggers at his father. “Apologize to her now.”

“It’s fine.” Her heart hammers with adrenaline. Her chest is tight with rage. “I’m fine.”

In fact, she’s only getting started.

She’s not doing it again. Letting someone knock her down for being her. She’s fed up with every single word that comes out of Don’s stupid ass mouth.

“I’ll take weird, quirky and hilarious over rude, pretentious and self-absorbed any day.” With each word Ash lets out, it’s like a pressure releasing from her chest. Her heart. “If my presence is hard for you, then you’re a bona fide piece of shit. Live with that or choose to be a better person.”

Gasps from Claire and Tate. Delaney has her napkin pressed to her face, hiding the permanent scream that is her mouth.

Ash keeps going. She can’t stop.

“All your offspring want is a speck of your attention. That’s like a pebble in the sea. And you’re so focused on tits and asses and your own Machiavellian dreams and schemes that you don’t see it. This isn’t the Thunderdome, Don. It doesn’t matter who fucking wins. It’s a family. Your family.”

Expression caught between outrage and embarrassment, Don opens his mouth. Probably to bluster.

Ash won’t let him. Lurching in her chair, she points at Nathaniel. “This is his life. His.” Her finger swivels to Delaney and Tate. “Their lives. They only get one. They shouldn’t live to please you. If you don’t get that, that’s your loss. But you’re missing out. Because Tate has an amazing podcast about potatoes. Delaney is killing it—well, getting killed. And Nathaniel…well…Nathaniel is someone to be proud of.” Her voice cracks. “So, so proud of. Do you know he put his own life at risk to save his entire crew? He could have died, but he did that. And then he stayed, knowing it could happen again.”

Don’s eyes slowly flick from her face to Nathaniel’s.

Her panting breath shakes from her frame. Leading to a knockout blow.

“And you don’t know that because you’re too pissed off about them not living up to your hustle-culture standards. Which is just so weird. You can be proud of your children for living their lives and being successful without all the weird judgmental bullshit.”

Delaney and Tater glance at each other, wide-eyed.

Don doesn’t respond. His jaw is so unhinged it’s on the table.

Nathaniel stares at her in stunned silence, his expression indecipherable.

Her gaze settles on Augustus. “Please do not fire me. Even though I really need this job, I adore you and will be heartbroken.” Looking around the table, she says, “Claire, you are too sweet for this insufferable man. Tater, always stay stupid. You are the himbo of my platonic dreams. And Delaney, you get murdered all you want. I heartily support the bloodlust.”

Augustus wears a bright smile, glass of wine held loose in his hand. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, my dear. ”

Ash inhales. Everything inside her feels wobbly. “And now…I will show myself out.”

When she rockets up, Nathaniel wears a strange, stricken look on his face. He grasps desperately for her hand. “Ash—”

“I’m okay,” she tells him. “I need a minute.”

She takes two steps from the table, rips around, finds Nathaniel’s sister. “Get your tarot.”

Delaney springs out of her seat, nearly falling in the process.

“You mean it?” The joy blazing across her face carves out Ash’s soul.

“Fuck yes.” Ash grabs a bottle of red wine. “We’re taking this.” She looks around the shell-shocked table. “And we’re going to go see the fucking future.”

Nathaniel stares up at her with an expression of worry and amusement.

She drags her fingertips across his warm palm, touched by his concern, and then she walks out of the restaurant.

What the hell did she just do?

Whatever it was, it felt really goddamn good.