Ashley’s knuckles are bone-white against the steering wheel.
We’ve been driving for maybe twenty minutes, and the silence is so thick I could choke on it. The streetlights blur past in rhythmic intervals, casting shadows across her face that make her look like a stranger. She hasn’t said a word since we left the hospital. Three fucking hours of fluorescent lights and sterile waiting rooms, of Ashley insisting on every blood test they could run while I sat there feeling completely useless.
Dante and Caroline were nowhere to be seen. They must have gone to a higher end emergency room.
I keep stealing glances at her. Her jaw’s clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. Her eyes are locked on the road ahead like she’s trying to burn holes through the asphalt with sheer force of will.
“I don’t think I like Dante anymore, Vincent.”
The words come out flat. Dead. Like she’s announcing the weather.
“No,” I say, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “I imagine not.”
Her head whips toward me, eyes blazing. “This isn’t fucking funny.”
The laughter dies in my throat. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“He shot a literal load of blood inside of me.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and she’s gripping the wheel even tighter now. “A fucking blood pie.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“And his dick was fucking huge,” she continues, her voice taking on this distant quality. Like she’s talking about something that happened to someone else.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I saw it.”
Ashley shakes her head, and the movement’s wrong. Jerky. Like her body’s remembering something it wants to forget. “I wasn’t ready for something like that. It just fucking hurt...” She trails off, and when she speaks again, her voice is smaller. “And he wasn’t even that nice about it. He kept saying shit like ‘I bet I’m better than that loser boyfriend of yours.’”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Just a small one, but it’s enough.
Ashley’s head snaps toward me again. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. But my brain’s already supplying the thought, he made fun of me, sure, but at least I didn’t cum blood.
“Dante has always seemed like a douchebag,” I say instead, trying to sound supportive.
She nods slowly, like she’s processing this information for the first time. “Yeah...” Her voice is so quiet I almost miss it. “I don’t know what I saw in him. I think I just liked how hot he was…”
The silence settles between us again, heavier this time. I can feel her processing everything that happened tonight, and I’m doing the same. My mind keeps flashing back to Caroline’s face, the way she looked riding me, the genuine pleasure in her eyes. It feels wrong to think about it now, after everything with Ashley, but I can’t help it.
“What about you?” Ashley’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and there’s something off about her tone. “How was Caroline?”
I glance at her, but she’s staring straight ahead at the road, her expression neutral.
“She was...” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “She was really nice.”
“Nice.” Ashley repeats the word like she’s testing its weight. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel once, twice. “That’s it? Just nice?”
“I mean, yeah.” I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “She was gentle. Sweet. We talked a lot, actually.”
“Oh.”
“She said Dante always makes her sleep with guys who are too big for her,” I continue, not sure why I’m sharing this. “That it always hurts. She seemed really happy that I was...you know. Average.”
“How considerate of you to give her exactly what she needed.” The words come out clipped, and I catch the briefest flash of something across her face before it smooths out again.
“I guess?” I’m confused now. “She seemed to have a good time.”
Ashley nods slowly, her eyes never leaving the road. “Good. That’s great. I’m really glad someone had fun tonight.”
The bitterness in her voice makes my stomach clench. I stare at the side of her face, trying to understand what’s happening here.
“Ashley you pushed for all of this.” The words come out more accusatory than I mean them to. “This was your idea. This was your plan.”
Her jaw tightens even more, if that’s possible. “I know that.”
“Then why are you acting like…”
“Didn’t you say your crush on Caroline was just surface level the other night?” She interrupts, her voice sharp now. Her eyes flick to me for just a second before returning to the road.
The question catches me completely off guard. “Yeah?”
“So? Did you woo her over then? Are you going to date her now? Break them up?”
“Fuck no.” The words come out harder than I intend. “I told you I wasn’t going to do that.”
Ashley’s hands loosen slightly on the wheel. She shakes her head, and when she speaks again, her voice has lost that sharp edge. “Sorry...” She exhales slowly. “I’m just fucking mad about the blood pie still.”
The tension in my shoulders eases a fraction. “Did they help at least? Like, remove it?
“Yeah, Vincent.” She grimaces, her nose wrinkling at the memory. “I had them fucking flush it all out of me.”
“Damn.”
“They didn’t even want to,” she continues, and there’s frustration bleeding into her tone now. “I insisted. Like, I literally had to demand it. They kept saying it would come out naturally but I was like, absolutely fucking not.”
I can picture it perfectly. Ashley in that sterile hospital room, refusing to take no for an answer from doctors who probably thought she was overreacting. Classic Ashley energy.
“Did you call your mom yet?”
Ashley’s quiet for a second, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. “Yeah. I told her it was you that came blood.”
My stomach drops like I’ve just missed a step going down stairs. “What if she tells my mom?”
“She won’t.” Ashley’s voice is firm, certain. “I asked her not to. She was really worried about you though,” Ashley adds, and there’s something almost apologetic in her tone.
“Beth is a saint,” I mutter, rubbing my face with both hands.
“Yeah, she only didn’t rush out because she knew you were here.”
The words sit heavy between us. I turn them over in my mind, trying to understand what that means. That Ashley’s mom stayed calm because I was there? That somehow my presence was supposed to make things safer?
“She puts a lot of faith in me,” I say, and it comes out quieter than I intend.
Ashley’s expression softens just slightly, her death grip on the wheel easing by a fraction. “My mom has always thought highly of you.”
The statement hangs in the air between us, and I don’t know what to do with it.
We sit in silence for another moment, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional whoosh of a car passing in the opposite direction. The dashboard clock reads 2:47 AM in glowing green numbers that feel accusatory somehow.
I pull out my phone from my pocket, squinting at the bright screen in the dark car.
17 missed calls from Portia.
The screen lights up with another incoming call, her name flashing across it like an accusation. I hit the side button to silence it and shove the phone back in my pocket without reading any of the texts that are undoubtedly waiting for me.
I’m definitely in no mood for that right now. Whatever Portia wants, whatever game she’s trying to play, it can wait. It has to wait. All I want is to go home, crawl into my bed, and sleep.