Chapter 242
DEMI
My phone burns against my ear. "Ash...ton?"
His name barely makes it past my lips. It trembles there, fragile and disbelieving, like if I say it too loudly, this will turn out to be a dream.
"Demi." His voice drops with a tone that sounds raw and unguarded. "Tell me you’re okay."
And just like that, something inside me shatters.
I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until my chest aches. My fingers tighten around the phone, knuckles paling, my entire body going rigid as I’m trying to hold myself together.
It’s him. It’s really him. This is not a memory or a dream. It’s not even the cruel echo my mind has been replaying in quiet moments when I miss him too much to function. It’s really Ashton.
My throat tightens painfully. My lips part but no sound comes out. I want to say everything at once: that I’m fine, but I’m not fine. That I hate him sometimes but most times, I miss him so much it physically hurts. That I wish he were here with me.
"You’re scaring me," he says, voice rougher now. "You’re not saying anything. Demi, please talk to me."
Please. The word wrecks me. My lips quiver. I clamp them shut, but it doesn’t stop the tremor that runs through me. My vision blurs as hot tears surge up, threatening to flow relentlessly.
He sounds... terrified.
And then it clicks. The dream. Anna didn’t just randomly call me with Ashton next to her so late. Ashton must have had the nightmare. He must have been scared enough to drive to her apartment and wake her to make her call me in the middle of the night just to make sure I was okay.
My heart folds in on itself. He still cares and worries about me even from miles away, even with everything broken between us? I still matter to him?
A sob crawls its way up my throat. I swallow it down violently, my chest heaving with the effort. My hand trembles so badly I have to press the phone harder against my ear to keep it steady.
Say something, I tell myself as the void grows. Just say something.
"I’m..." My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. "I’m fine."
There’s a pause on the other end. I can almost hear him breathing, uneven, like he’s trying to steady himself.
"Are you sure?" he asks quietly.
No. I’m not sure of anything, not of myself or this town or the secrets clawing their way out of my mother’s past. I’m not also sure of the man whose voice is undoing me right now.
"I’m okay," I repeat, softer this time, but my voice betrays me. It wavers, splintering at the edges.
Another silence follows but this one heavier, like he hears everything I’m not saying.
"Demi..." he starts, and there’s so much in that single word he utters that makes me bite down on my lip; regret, longing, guilt, love.
Too much. It’s too much.
My chest constricts violently. My grip on the phone falters as tears finally spill over, sliding down my cheeks in hot, uncontrollable streams.
I can’t do this right now. Not when everything still feels so raw and unresolved. Not with the ghosts of my parents still standing between us, whispering accusations I can’t silence.
If I keep listening to him, if I let him keep talking, I know myself well enough to know what will happen.
I’ll crumble. I’ll forgive myself too quickly for loving a man like him. I’ll run back to him before I’ve even figured out how to stand on my own.
And then I’ll hurt him again. Or worse... I’ll betray myself.
My breath hitches. My thumb moves before I can second-guess it. I end the call.
The silence that follows is deafening. For a second, I just stand there, frozen, staring at my phone like it might come back to life with his persistent call, like I need the push to undo what I just did.
But it stays dark. A broken sound of relief escapes me. I type quickly, my fingers clumsy and uncoordinated.
"I’m fine, Anna. I’ll call you later."
I send it to Anna before I can change my mind. Then my knees give out. I hit the floor hard, the impact rattling through my bones, but I barely feel it. My hands come up to cover my face as the sobs finally break free with violent shakes.
I let myself cry so hard, the kind of crying that steals your breath and leaves you gasping between broken sounds.
"I miss you," I whisper into my palms, even though he can’t hear me.
Maybe it’s better that he can’t because I don’t know what I would do if he said he missed me too.
***
The night stretches endlessly. I don’t remember moving, but at some point, I end up curled beside the couch, my back pressed against it, my legs drawn up to my chest. The ceiling stares back at me, as if it has all the answers I’m too afraid to ask.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. Every time I close my eyes, I hear his voice again.
Demi, please.
I press my lips together, squeezing my eyes shut as if I can block it out. It doesn’t work. Nothing works. My mind keeps spiraling, bouncing between Ashton and the revelation that refuses to leave me alone.
A brother? The word feels foreign in my head.
It’s feels impossible to imagine another kid from my mother’s loins.
And yet...the way that woman at the grocery store had said it. She had been so certain. My stomach twists in knots.
If it’s true... then why didn’t my mother ever tell me? Why didn’t Marcel mention this? Why does it feel like every answer I find only opens up ten more questions?
I exhale shakily, dragging a hand down my face. I can’t wait around to find out anymore. No more half-truths. If they won’t tell me, I’ll find out myself.
The decision settles into my chest with a strange sense of clarity. By the time dawn creeps in through the windows, pale and quiet, I’m already on my feet.
For an old house, the stupid door wouldn’t budge. I’ve tried everything. Pushing. Pulling. Ramming my shoulder into it hard enough to bruise. The wood groans in protest but refuses to give.
"Come on," I mutter under my breath, frustration simmering dangerously close to anger.
I grab a screwdriver from the kitchen and go at the doorknob, hands steady despite the exhaustion weighing down my limbs. The screws loosen with a stubborn creak, one by one, until the knob finally comes off in my hand.
I stare at it, breath uneven. Well, that’s progress but not enough. The door still stands there, locked and unmoving, like it’s guarding something it refuses to give up.
I press my forehead against the wood, closing my eyes briefly. "What are you hiding?" I whisper.
The house doesn’t answer. Of course it doesn’t. I let out a frustrated breath and step back.
Fine. If I can’t break in, I’ll replace the damn thing.
***
The hardware store is my next stop. I approach the counter, explaining my situation with a calm I don’t entirely feel.
"An intruder messed up the door in my old cottage," I lie smoothly at the ginger-haired man gaping at me from behind the counter. "I need it replaced."
The man nods, jotting something down.
"We can send someone over to replace the knob. That’ll be less pricey and shouldn’t take long."
"Oh, that works."
The price he quotes is fair. I pay and take a deep breath. Whatever is behind that door... I need to see it.
Marcel’s message comes in just as I step out of the store. Apparently, he’s had another emergency that requires his presence back in Danvarr. He finishes with a promise to return soon.
I stare at the screen. A humorless laugh escapes me. Talk about perfect timing. If he were here, he’d probably try to stop me from going into mom’s room.
Now? There’s nothing standing in my way. With a cheerful smile, I make a beeline for the grocery store to get some answers.
The store bell chimes as I step inside. The same woman from that day stands behind the counter, ringing up a customer. She looks up, recognition flickering in her eyes before she smooths it over with a polite smile.
"Back again," she beams at me, a practiced smile she’s probably used to flashing customers. I smile back, warmer and friendlier.
"Couldn’t stay away." I wander through the isles, tossing a few necessary things into my cart, just enough to help me wheedle some information out of her for as long as it takes her to ring me up. Then I hurry back to the counter before the line grows.
We chat as she rings up my items. I tell her about meeting new friends at the library and how incredibly welcoming everyone has been to me.
Then I lean in slightly. "You mentioned something the last time, about my brother."
Her smile falters. "Oh, that? I think I mistook you for someone else." She laughs dryly. "Old age will do that to you."
I don’t buy it for a second, and not just because she’s not greying anytime soon given how mid-forties she looks.
"You said my mother’s name," I press gently with a casual smile to ease the tension building in her eyes. "The thing is, I didn’t realize so many people knew about my brother here. I was just surprised, that’s all."
She flashes her doe eyes at me, confusion battles with disbelief. Then she shakes her head, more firmly this time.
"Like I said, I did mistake you for someone else that day. And Camille is a pretty popular name around here. My cousin is also named Camille." Her beautiful smile makes me fume now. "That’ll be $65.50"
Frustration curls in my chest, but I don’t push further. I swipe my card and walk out. I’ll get the truth, one way or another.
***
The flower shop a stone throw from the store is a burst of color. It hits me the moment I step inside. Bright petals in every shade imaginable, soft fragrances blending together into something sweet and intoxicating.
For a moment, I forget everything else. I trail my fingers over a cluster of roses, their velvety petals brushing against my skin. Then to lilies, delicate and elegant. Sunflowers that seem to hold little pieces of sunlight in their centers.
A small smile tugs at my lips. It feels... nice to feel like being a kid again, with no adult headaches pressing at the back of your skull. I’ve been through so much lately that I literally needed to stop and smell the roses, to center myself once more and enjoy the present.
"You’ve got good taste."
The voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance up to find a man watching me, a charming smile already in place.
I straighten slightly. "Thanks. I’m just browsing."
He steps closer, easy confidence in his movements. "Let me guess, you’re new in town."
I nod politely, already planning my exit but he ranges himself in every path I try to take, shoving a flower between us, flashing his pearl white teeth as he strings the conversation along. If I was looking to have some quiet fun in town, he’d make a perfect rebound. Slowly, his persistence starts to grate on my nerves.
"Look, I really have to run..."
"C’mon, I didn’t catch your name yet. Don’t leave me hanging." His smile disappears when a woman storms up to us.
"What’s going on here?"
The man stiffens, then quickly shifts to stand by her side, looping a hand in hers.
"Asia, baby. When are you ever going to let me surprise you? I was just asking this nice shop attendant’s opinion on some flowers that could brighten your day."
My eyes bulge. Did he just call me a shop attendant?
"You know my favorites flowers are daisies? Why did you let her all up in your face?" Asia rolls her eyes at me.
"I can’t help that ladies keep flirting with me all the time."
My stomach drops. "Excuse me? I wasn’t flirting with anyone."
The woman turns on me, fury blazing in her eyes.
"Yes you were. I could smell your desperation from across the room. You were trying too hard to steal my boyfriend just because he asked you about flowers. How shameless can you be?"
Heat floods my face.
"That’s not what happened," I say firmly but she refuses to listen. Instead, her voice rises, drawing attention. People start staring.
"I knew it," she spits. "Girls like you..."
I cut her off, anger finally snapping through my restraint. "Girls like me? You’re delusional if you think every woman wants the lying scumbag draped on your arm. It’s rather pitiful how you convince yourself to turn a blind eye to his faults but don’t you dare drag me into your mess of a relationship."
Her expression twists. Then she says it.
"I guess it’s true what they say; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Your mother wasn’t any better. Camille was a slut and look how she ended up; knocked up with no husband. That will be you soon if you don’t keep your slimy self away from other people’s men." She grabs the loser’s hand and tugs him away like a cranky child.
The shop owner proceeds to apologize on her behalf but his words are lost to me. The stranger’s words play in a loop in my head, heavy and suffocating.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think of anything else.
My mother... a slut?
My fingers curl into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. I notice the stares and whispers. Humiliated, I turn and walk out while I can still feel my legs. In my haste, I collide with someone.
"I’m sorry," I mumble, not even looking up.
"She lied." The voice is low and oddly certain. "Your mother was not a whore."
It takes me three more steps before the words echo more clearly in my head, I freeze by the door, my heart pounding. Quickly, I spin around but people are back to milling around, sniffing flowers. There’s no trace of the tall man I had bumped into. He’s gone.
A chill runs down my spine. Who was that and how does he know my mother?
***
Shortly after I get home, the workman arrives and gets to work fixing the door.
I watch in silence before my phone rings. The sight of my aunt Elizabeth’s call makes me sigh. I answer, bracing myself. As I expect, she launches into a tirade immediately.
"How could you leave without telling me..."
I tune most of it out, watching the man at work, eager to have access into my mother’s room.
Then, she mentions Ashton. "You won’t find a better man than him. How could you let such an opportunity slip through your fingers, you ungrateful child?"
I interrupt her and ask quietly, "Aunt, who is Raz?"
That shuts her up pretty fast. "What kind of name is that?" she scoffs.
My jaw tightens. "Stop pretending. I need y’all to just STOP lying to me for goodness’ sake."
"I have no idea what you’re talking about, Demi. Is this a ruse to evade the topic of you abandoning Ashton?"
The rest of her words only continue to infuriate me so I hang up on her. The workman comes down the stairs and hands me a new set of keys for the door. I thank him and see him off. The I sprint up the stairs like I never have.
The key feels heavy in my hand. This is it. I slide it into the lock, turn and hear the click. The sound echoes louder than it should. My breath catches as I push the door open and step inside.