Loving Ashe - Book 1 of the Celebrity Series

The Way We Weren't

Riley made her way out of the restaurant, her anger building with each passing second. Three years after he had left the way he did, and all he could worry about was Ashe taking over his territory. What territory? He hadn't changed at all. It was always about him.

She was two blocks away from the restaurant when Gareth caught up with her. He took her arm and pulled her to a stop, turning her around to face him. Then he drew her into an alley, away from the sidewalk where everyone could see them.

"Is this your way of getting back at me, Riley, for what happened between us three years ago?"

"Are you kidding? Why would I do that? What would it accomplish?"

"To hurt me," he replied. "Because I hurt you by choosing to pursue my dream."

"Your dream? Now, just wait a minute!" Riley stared at him. "Your dream was my dream, too—our dream. Remember? That's why I did everything I could to help you achieve that dream. And you did. But what did you do then? You left! Not only that but when I flew to L.A. to see you, you told everyone at that party that I was a deranged fan who was so obsessed with you that I made up stories about how we'd been together all those years. That's what I heard you tell your manager—"

"God, that was three years ago. I can't remember what the hell I said. Besides, I was drunk," Gareth said, his jaw tightening as he spoke. "Fuck, but then, you were high as a kite, too, Riley, if I remember right. Who the hell tries Coke and heroin without having tried anything else first? You never even smoked a damn joint before, and there you were, self-destructing in front of me. I made up the story, alright? I had to get you out of that damn party because you're not like those people."

"And you are?"

Gareth took a deep breath and exhaled. He looked at her, and Riley could have sworn she saw a lost boy in his eyes, the way he'd always looked when, as a boy of ten, he'd knock on their door at night and ask her mother if he could stay over for the night.

Dad's at it again, Mrs. Eames. And Mom...well, Mom is Mom.

Barely seven years old, Riley was old enough to understand that sometimes, grown men beat their children for no reason other than that they existed—like Gareth. At first, Riley's mother would let him sleep on the couch, until Riley told him he could sleep on the extra bed in her room. After all, she had a bunk bed and with Paige having her own room already, it meant that Riley had a spare bed.

"You'll have to take the top bunk," she'd told Gareth, who informed her the following morning that it was even better than his own bed, which was a ratty old mattress and a bed frame his dad had found in the dumpster, too frugal to buy a new one or even a used one from a second-hand store. Riley remembered the first time she had dressed his wounds, playing doctor for real with her anti-bacterial spray and Band-Aids, and Gareth let her, too tired to argue.

He became a regular visitor at the house, even after the fire. Though Riley no longer had a bunk bed at that second house she shared with her father, Gareth still came to spend the night, usually sleeping on a sleeping bag on the floor next to Riley. Paige was already living in Manhattan then and working as a commercial model, but Riley didn't mind. She had Gareth, and he had her. And this time, it was his turn to comfort her, for he'd grown his own set of balls, he said, to ward off his father's attacks, though he wasn't always successful. Sometimes, his father won.

"You're not like them, Riley," Gareth said again. "I wish I had done things differently back then, but it's too late now. I've always hoped you did well these past few years, and now that I've seen you back there at the Library and heard that you're now part-owner, I'm happy for you."