Dead air, p.25
Ashes, page 25
Ashes
Chelle Bliss
MEN OF INKED: HEATWAVE SERIES
Same Family. New Generation.
Book 1 - Flame (Gigi)
Book 2 - Burn (Gigi)
Book 3 - Wildfire (Tamara)
Book 4 - Blaze (Lily)
Book 5 - Ignite (Tamara)
Book 6 - Spark (Nick)
Book 7 - Ember (Rocco)
Book 8 - Singe - (Carmello)
Book 9 - Ashes (Rosie)
Book 10 - Scorch (Luna)
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Contents
Prologue
1. Rosie
2. Rosie
3. Rosie
4. Dylan
5. Rosie
6. Dylan
7. Rosie
8. Dylan
9. Rosie
10. Dylan
11. Rosie
12. Dylan
13. Rosie
14. Dylan
15. Rosie
16. Dylan
17. Rosie
18. Dylan
19. Rosie
20. Dylan
21. Rosie
22. Dylan
Epilogue
Letter from Chelle
The Heatwave Series
About the Author
Free Bliss eBooks
Sexy & Emotional Standalone
Don’t Miss Out!
Ashes Copyright © 2022
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book may not be resold or given away to other people.
Publisher © Chelle Bliss January 4th 2022
Edited by Lisa A. Hollett
Proofread by Read By Rose
Cover Design © Chelle Bliss
Cover Photo © Furious Fotog
Cover Model: Joe Adams
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Print ISBN: 978-1-63743-031-6
Prologue
Dylan
Every person has a breaking point. Some people snap immediately, while others take years before they inevitably lose it.
I had put up with my father’s shit for eighteen years, breaking a long time ago but resigning myself to my age and the limitations that placed on me and my ability to truly know freedom.
But for the last two years, I’d saved every penny I made, buying a bike and formulating a plan.
I am getting out.
I’ve had enough.
I’m done.
No longer will I continue to be his punching bag, taking the blame for all the wrongs in his life.
“Come with me,” I say to my brother Ian as I jam everything I can into a backpack. “Don’t stay here.”
“I can’t just leave,” he says, sitting on the edge of my bed. “You shouldn’t either.”
“I can’t do it anymore. I refuse to let this be my life.”
His gaze drops to the black eye I’m sporting thanks to my father’s drunken tirade last night. “Where will you go?”
“Don’t care, as long as it’s not here. Last chance to join me…”
Ian stands, following me to the front door and outside, but he doesn’t grab his things. “I can’t. This is home.”
“This isn’t a home, Ian. Life isn’t supposed to be like this. He’s not supposed to be like this.”
“He said he’ll get help,” Ian tells me, sounding hopeful, even though there’s no chance my father will get sober or change his ways.
I lift the backpack over my shoulder and stare at my brother as I stand next to my bike. “He always says that until he has another drink.”
Ian kicks at the dirt near his feet. “Maybe this time will be different.”
“It’s never different. I want you to come with me. Don’t stay here.”
“I can’t just leave everyone behind.”
I shake my head, wishing I could talk sense into my brother. “No one cares about us. Callum, Finn, Sean, Nevin, and Quinn don’t give a fuck what happens to you or me. Everyone’s out for themselves. Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not stupid, but I’m not a quitter. You may be willing to leave us behind, but I can’t throw away my brothers as easily as you can.”
“I’m no use to them if I’m dead,” I tell him.
His face hardens as he lifts his chin, glaring at me. “If you leave, we might as well be to you. You hit that road, don’t ever come back.”
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words. “Didn’t plan on it, brother. Once I’m gone, I’m gone for good.”
“You’re an asshole,” he bites out, looking at me with so much hatred. His mood has just shifted as quickly as our father’s does after his first drink. Ian’s just a kid, filled with so many hormones and emotions he doesn’t understand.
I climb on my bike, ready to go, knowing I can’t change how he feels and finally resigning myself to that fact. “I may be, but I’m going to be an alive asshole, living in peace without being someone’s punching bag.”
“Just go,” Ian says, swiping his arm through the air. “I hope you find whatever you think is out there that’s so much better.”
“Ian, you deserve better too.”
“Fuck off,” he bites out and turns to face me before he makes it to the front door. “I hate you.”
His words sting, but I’ve made my decision. No matter how much he hates me now, hopefully someday he’ll understand why I have to go.
He’ll have a breaking point too, and when he does, I hope he’ll remember this moment and it’ll finally hit him why I left and how it had nothing to do with him.
I walk my bike backward, ready to hit the road, when a loud giggle draws my attention.
The three girls next door are running around in the yard as their mother sits on a blanket, watching them closely. The oldest kid throws herself into her mother’s arms, looking as if the world revolves around the woman.
An ache deep in my chest is hard to ignore as I watch the happy, perfect family for the last time. Their lives aren’t filled with fists and hateful words. They walk in the clouds, not touched by the cold, harsh reality of everyday life.
One of the twins stops moving as soon as I start the engine. She looks my way, waving with a sweet smile on her face.
I curl my lip, jealous of her happy little life and perfect world she doesn’t even know she has. She’s a lucky little shit for it, too.
“Rosie, baby, come here,” her mother calls, and for a moment, Rosie doesn’t move.
She stares at me, her smile falling as I gun the engine and take off down the driveway for the last time. Her tiny feet move through the grass, chasing me as I drive past the fence.
She’s running toward me, and I’m running away.
I’ll never step foot back in this town as long as I can help it.
I am done being my father’s bitch while faced with the constant reminder of what I don’t and never will have by the happy family next door.
I don’t look back as my wheels touch the road, leaving my past where it belongs…behind me.
1
Rosie
The reality of growing into an adult is never as great as the vision you create as a child. I thought by now I’d be engaged or married to someone who was head over heels for me, the way my father is with my mother.
But I was wrong.
Dead wrong.
A string of failed relationships follows behind me like a bunch of aluminum cans tied to the back of a wedding car, reminding me of all my failures and allowing doubt of my self-worth and lack of love to settle in deep.
Tonight, I put myself out there for the first time in over a year, figuring it was time. I’m not getting any younger, and I’m starting to become lonely.
But keeping with the theme of my life, the evening and the guy were a total disappointment. Could he even be considered a guy when he was more interested in playing video games and with action figures than with me—or any woman, for that matter?
I stir my chocolate martini, staring at the line of bottles behind the bar. I can’t help but wonder what in the hell my problem has been and continues to be? I must be a human magnet for dumbasses and cheaters, and no matter how much time goes by, I can’t seem to break that streak.
“Beer,” a man says next to me, sliding onto the stool to my left.
Instinctively, I lean a little to the right, keeping my eyes on the bottles and continuing to stir my drink like I’m doing something more than wasting time.
I told Luna, my twin sister and roommate, not to wait up for me. I gushed about having a good feeling about this guy and how I was going to stay out late, burning the midnight oil.
The last thing I want to do is go home early and tell her I am a moron.
She gave me the thumbs-up as I walked out the door. Told me I had this shit and that I should get some dick if I could, because in her mind, I clearly neede d to get laid.
Luna is the wilder one of us. She is freer with her love and isn’t looking for a relationship, wanting to have as many life experiences as she can before it’s too late.
At least, that is the bullshit line she feeds me, along with everyone else who bothers to ask.
The guy showed, so at least he didn’t stand me up. But halfway through dinner, when I’d made it clear I wasn’t looking to sleep with him tonight and was looking for an actual relationship, he excused himself to use the restroom and never returned. He left me with the check to pay, which included his entrée, the most expensive thing on the menu. Typical asshole.
“Darlin’, I think it’s ready to drink,” the man next to me says, but it’s barely audible because I’m so stuck in my thoughts.
I turn my head only slightly and give the man the side eye. He’s not looking at me, beer to his lips, staring at the same line of bottles I was just a moment ago.
“Thanks, buddy,” I say, but my voice isn’t sweet. “Why don’t you do you, and I’ll do me. ’Kay?”
I go back to the bottles, ignoring the nagging feeling in my gut, the anger building in my veins toward all mankind that I want to unleash on something or someone, but am somehow holding inside.
A low, sultry laugh hits my ears. “It’s more fun to do it with someone else, but if you wanna do you, I’ll watch. Hell, you can watch me do me too if that’s your thing. Whatever it takes to get that look off your face.”
I swivel my entire body around, hand now gripping the thin stem of my drink, and glare at the man. With my chin raised, I announce to the side of his head, “It’s not my thing. And while I’m at it, I’m sitting here, by myself, savoring my drink, trying to enjoy some peace and quiet, and you have to go open your big fat trap, invading my space and my brain with your bullshit. I don’t know if your lines work on some women, but I’m telling you right now, I’m not some women, and it’s not cute or called for. So, the little chat was nice, but again, buddy, you do you and I’ll do me. That includes hands and mouths, and I prefer your mouth shut…tight.” I don’t move as I stand my ground, staring at his profile, shooting proverbial daggers with my eyes.
He turns his upper half toward me, finally showing me his face, and holy fucking shit, it’s one hell of a face at that. Thick, bushy beard, impeccable skin which is somehow still rugged, full, luscious lips, and deep green eyes. I instantly hate him more than I did before I saw a face that has probably made more pairs of panties hit the floor than I could ever imagine.
I swallow as he raises an eyebrow, but his eyes stay soft and not threatening. “You done?” he asks.
“Are you?” I throw back, never breaking eye contact.
“Total dick move on my part. I should never talk to a woman like that. I’m sorry, but I had a shit day, and you’re sitting here, looking sad and beautiful, and I couldn’t help my stupid-ass mouth from inserting my boot right on inside. Forgive me for being the world’s biggest asshole.”
“First of all, having a shit day is no excuse for being a shit person. I think my shit day beats your shit day, and I was sitting here minding my business, enjoying my drink.”
His smile goes lopsided and somehow cute. “You mean stirring it?”
I wrinkle my nose, lifting my chin a little higher. “I was thinking. It’s something people typically do before they open their mouths.”
The lines near his eyes deepen, and his smile widens and straightens. “You’re salty along with sexy.”
“Salty as fuck, man. Again, shit day, but that’s my life.”
His long, thick fingers wrap around his beer, and I dip my eyes, unable to stop myself. “Mine too, darlin’. Let me buy you another whatever the fuck that’s called to make it up to you.”
I shake my head. “If I have another, I’ll be drunk.”
“And maybe not so deep in thought.”
“But I’ll be drunk, and I don’t drink and drive.”
“Then I’ll buy you a Coke or French fries.”
I stare at him, thinking about his offer. I am still full from the meal I ate alone after the fucker ditched me, but… “Buy me dessert and I’ll forget you were a creep.”
He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, still holding the bottle with the other. “I’m not usually such a douchebag. I swear. It’s just…” His gaze drops down, making a slow descent from my face to my toes. “You look like you’re fishing.”
“I’d never fish in these shoes.” I peer down at my feet, loving the peep-toed stilettos I splurged on because every girl deserves something to make herself feel pretty. “You clearly know nothing about footwear.”
He shakes his head, laughing as my eyes land on his face again. “I didn’t mean fish fish, woman. I’m talking dick, and if you were casting a line, I was biting.”
I narrow my eyes, grinding my teeth. “You’ll never be lucky enough to bite my line, babe.”
He doesn’t seem fazed. “What’s your name, beautiful?”
“What’s yours?” I ask before answering.
“Handsome.”
I roll my eyes. “What’s your real name?”
“Dylan.”
“Rosie.”
He tilts his head, and his eyes study me, making me feel naked. “Wait a second…Rosie?”
“That’s what I said, Dylan.”
He leans back a little, arm resting on the bar, studying me for longer than what’s completely comfortable. “Rosie Gallo?”
I nod and stop myself from releasing the sigh that’s creeping up my throat. Great. He knows me. Of course he would in this small town. “The one and only.”
“Fuck,” he grunts as he straightens his back again. “Of all the hot bitches in the world.”
I want to be mad because he called me a bitch, but the hot in front of that word nullifies the sting just enough for me to let it slide…for now. “And that means?” I cross my arms, unable to stop my lip from curling. “How do you know who I am?”
“Holy fuck. You grew up.”
“That tends to happen with time. Who the hell are you, and how do you know me?” I repeat, seriously curious, because I have no memories or flashes of the wall of man in front of me.
“I’m Dylan Walsh, and you used to know me when you were a little girl, which you clearly aren’t anymore. I also know your shoes are expensive as fuck and meant to get attention, and they got it…at least my attention. That’s on top of your tits, ass, and killer hair. Everything about you screams high-class and probably a total pain-in-the-ass, high-maintenance chick. Also, I know your older sister, I remember your twin sister, I think your mother’s a saint, and your father can be the biggest fucking asshole on the planet.”
I blink, staring at him, but I recover quickly. “Dylan. Dylan. Dylan,” I whisper, trying to jog some memory of him, twisting the martini stem in my fingers. “I’m drawing a blank although I clearly made an impression on you, but I have no memories of a Dylan. I do know the Walshes, and they’re literally the biggest assholes on the planet, not my father. You got your shit backward and twisted, but I shouldn’t be surprised if you are, in fact, a Walsh.”
He lifts his leg, placing a single scuffed-up biker boot on the metal running along the bottom of the bar. “Your family always hated mine, and vice versa,” he says before going back to nursing his beer.
“With good reason,” I mutter, turning back to the position I was in before he started this weird conversation. “Your family isn’t the most civilized.”
“And your family are the most uppity people in the city. Always thought your shit didn’t stink.”
“What are you now…forty?” I ask that right as he’s taking a sip of his beer, knowing damn well he’s nowhere near forty, but wanting to give him a proverbial kick to the gut.
