Page 8 of Cruel Fate

Ash knows me in a way a female never could. Well, maybe Stella. If she’d let me in, but she never will. Good on her for having some brains.

He bounces the little rubber ball, and thethwackingshoots pain through my skull. I don’t think playing is a good idea. He’s going to beat the shit out of me if I’m not careful.

He engages me in the game and doesn’t pull any punches. He’s doing it to distract me, and I’m grateful. Besides, I need the workout, and by the end of the match, sweat drips off my chin. I wipe my eyes. They’re stinging from perspiration and tears.

Crying isn’t an option.

I haven’t broken down.

Not yet.

“Has there been any news?” Ash asks, passing me a bottle of water.

I guzzle all twenty ounces before I answer. It rinses away the burn in my throat.

“No. The FBI is still investigating. The NTSB hasn’t recovered the black box.”

My parents’ bodies haven’t been found, either, but I don’t add that. Ash went to the funeral, had been a rock throughthe entire thing. Prayed over the empty coffins as tears ran unabashedly down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry. That really sucks,” he says, lightly slapping my bicep in a show of support.

“Thanks.” Since the second we heard the news, Ash and his father have been our greatest supporters, taking Zarah and me under their wing, and I couldn’t be more grateful or humbled we have such good friends.

“Let’s go out tonight,” he says, leading me off the court and into the locker room.

Two older men are waiting for their turn, and they glare as we walk by.

“Who’s us?” I wanted to hold off on the social circuit a little longer. The society pages are carrying on quite nicely without me.

“Me, you, Zarah. You can find a date.” He doesn’t care about the short notice. He knows I can call any woman I want or pull some unsuspecting girl off the sidewalk and she would have little complaint.

“Zarah?” I ask, squeezing my empty water bottle until it crackles.

The locker room is almost empty, a couple of men changing into workout clothes and talking near the bank of lockers. Spotting us, they straighten and drop their voices to a hushed whisper, but I couldn’t care less if they’re gossiping about me. Ash grabs a clean towel off the top of the stack near a scale and wipes his face. Choosing a shower stall, he turns on the water and says, “You know I’ve been trying to date her forever. Her eyes, man. She had me doing whatever she wanted by the time she was five. Remember? All those tea parties because I couldn’t say no.”

It’s true. Ash has had his eye on Zarah practically since Mom popped her out. Among the available men in King’s Crossing,she can’t do better. Ash will take care of her, and she would want for nothing for the rest of her life.

Ash steps under the spray, and I peel off my damp clothes to do the same. The hot water eases my muscles, and I try to look forward to an evening out with friends. Maybe it won’t be so bad if I can convince Ash to let us enter through the back door of the club. That’s a big maybe, though. He likes being front page news.

“Where were you thinking?”

“Temptations. I already booked a VIP.”

My favorite club. Ash would do that to sweeten the invitation. If he’s not spending time at Ladies and Gentlemen, a strip club he owns, he visits a different, dirtier, club. A place where the girls are more scantily clad, and where the cover buys you more than a stamp on your hand, if you get my meaning. I’ve never asked why he pays when as rich and as good-looking as he is, women would payhimfor the privilege.

“Okay,” I relent.

Ash turns the water off. “Who are you gonna bring?” he asks, pleased I gave in.

I’ll ask Zarah to text Stella and see if she wants to come along if she doesn’t already have plans. A pretty girl like her won’t be available on such short notice, but I’ll figure something out. I have a couple of girls who wait on standby, or I could go alone and pair up at the club.

I don’t care about any of it, but Ash wants to help me climb out of this funk. I can’t tell him it’s not a funk. Living without Mom and Dad, taking over the company. It’s more than a funk. It’s my life now.

“Don’t know. I’ll send out a couple of texts.” I turn the water off, wrap a towel around my waist, and step out of the stall.

“Great.” Ash pulls on khakis and a navy blue button down. No socks. “I’ll send a car for you. Now, let’s eat. I’m starving. Youcan catch me up, and there’s a business opportunity I’m looking into. I’ll cut you in if you think it sounds good...”

My attention drifts, and his words fade.

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