Rich Prick by Tijan

23

Blaise

Something was seriously wrong with Aspen, and it was becoming clearer that it was her family.

I hated it. I hated every part of how she’d cried herself to sleep in my arms last night. I’d been breaking apart, but I couldn’t do anything except comfort her.

Still, I was pissed.

And I was up early while she remained tanked. I eased out from under her. Fuck this. I was taking matters into my own hands. This was different. Aspen was different.

As I looked through the house, I got more and more angry at the empty walls I saw. There were no pictures of her, of her brothers. There were no family photos. There were no plaques on the wall. No trophies.

No handmade stupid-ass trinkets.

Nothing.

This house was a show house.

There was nothing personal here.

There were no marks on the doorway from the kids getting taller. And it was a new house, I got that, but seriously—a few pictures at least?

I was perusing the kitchen when the garage door opened and an older lady came inside. She startled, a scream came from her, and dropped the bag in her hands.

I waited it out. I’d made myself a cup of coffee, so I lifted the mug and took a sip.

A second later, she spat out, her eyes narrowed and promising all sorts of way to gut me, “Who are you?”

I narrowed my eyes right back at her. “I take it you’re Miss Sandy.”

Some of her fiery promises faded, but her eyes only turned wary. Her nose wrinkled and her mouth turned down in a pinch. “You’re the marijuana shirt guy.”

I grinned. “I am, and it’s no longer my shirt since Aspen’s been sleeping in it. She wants it, she gets it.”

I hadn’t meant that to sound dirty.

I coughed, clearing my throat. “Let’s talk about Aspen’s parents, shall we?”

A whole different look came over her then, and she took a step back.

Awareness.

I saw it trickle in, and by the time we were done with our chat, there was a bit more on her face. I, however, was ready to bash something. More specifically, I was ready to roll heads.

“Thank you,” I managed to tell her at the end.

My coffee was long done, and I hadn’t refilled it. I didn’t need the caffeine. I was hyped up on a whole bunch of other emotions.

When I turned to head back upstairs, she called after me.

“You care for her.”

I nodded.

The truth of that surprised me. I hadn’t expected it. But I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t even want to anymore.

She nodded back. “Good.”

That was it.

That was my meeting with the infamous Miss Sandy, and I’d been right. I liked her.

And I didn’t care if she liked me or not. She would, eventually.

Everyone liked me, eventually.

Aspen was the only thing that mattered, and I was going to wake the entire neighborhood up, because she deserved to matter to everyone.