Chapter 11

ASHTON

"I don't need a bodyguard" Ashal scowls at my looming presence.

We're in his home office where he is setting up for a zoom meeting with his staff at the office. "Good, because you couldn't hire me to protect your dumbass anyway. I'm here as your brother." I circle around his chair while he shifts restlessly in his seat.

"Don't you have to be at work? Gris has been calling."

"My personal assistant should be the least of your concerns right now, Ash. I'll handle my business. Just pretend I'm not here and carry on." I fix him with a deep stare. Ashal avoids my eyes and fusses with his setup.

I am not surprised he tried to commit suicide; I am surprised he waited this long. I am genuinely surprised to learn how strong he is. Unlike me, Ashal is actually strong. He doesn't just pretend to be. I pace the room now, trying and failing to quell my temper.

"I can't concentrate if you keep pacing like that. What the fuck are you looking for, Ashton?"

"Signs of confusion, vomiting, respiratory problems and every other post drowning symptom I can think of."

Ashal cocks a brow at me, perplexed by my response. Sweat starts to dew on his face.

Contrary to what it may look like, I am not enjoying any of this. I am deeply hurt and I am afraid for Ashal. I know he looks fine right now but when a man contemplates suicide to the point of actually attempting it, he opens a dangerous door in his head. That door is difficult to shut. For this reason, the chances of repeating the act won't just be a faint smear in memory.

I know because I have tried to take my life a few times in the past even though I chickened out in the end. While Ashal feels burdened by the fact that he can't get people to see him beyond being a guy with a personality disorder, I on the other hand struggle with an identity crisis as I can't get people to see the real me. Ashal wants to be perceived as more than his condition; I want to be perceived as just me and not the million personalities I have played over the years.

When we were kids, it was absolutely fun to switch identities without consequences. We were boys trying to help one of our brothers feel better about himself after his abuse. We didn't have anything to lose and it was fun. At that age, everyone thought it was cute.

However, when you play that type of game for years, you just might lose sight of who you actually are as a person, especially if you didn't discover your unique self before wearing different faces.

My brothers and I have never been the perfect sons father always wanted. After so many years under his tutelage and iron fist, Asher and Ashely managed to conform and become men father can be proud of. I couldn't do that.

Like Ashely who was visibly smaller than us in statue while growing up, I was born with dark hair as opposed to the golden locks of my brothers. Father hated it. He punished Ashely and I for being too different from the rest.

Ashely grew taller and caught up with the rest of us, leaving me at our father's mercy. Mother had to dye my hair from a very young age so I could seamlessly blend in with my brothers. After that problem was fixed, I realized I was dyslexic.

My teenage years were riddled with diverse, consecutive challenges that made it significantly harder for me to find favor in father's eyes. He treated me differently, like he had triplets and not quadruplets. I felt like the odd one in the group for so long. To compensate for my shortcomings, I mastered the art of pretending to be Asher, Ashely or Ashal. Even father couldn't tell when he patted my head and complimented me as Asher. Pretending to be anyone but myself was the only way to connect with father so I stuck with it.

Now that we are all grown up, switching places is riskier. We now run businesses and have women in our lives. Hence, there is need to form some rules. Asher cleverly came up with them. We call them the quad codes. While it's a wise decision, it has left me feeling rather empty as I am stuck with being just myself most of the time. The problem with that is, I don't know who the fuck Ashton Rollins is supposed to be. I never tried to know the guy. I don't know what he is to my family or if he has grown dispensable over the years for his inaction.

There's a hollow feeling in my gut whenever I look into the mirror after washing my hair. The dark-haired stranger staring back at me is exactly that, a stranger. I have never bothered to know him and now I fear nobody will ever love him, not even me.

Ashal sighs as he moves to a coffee machine.

"Care for a cup?"

"No, thanks." I fear I'll need something stronger to lift my spirit right now.

He returns with a steaming mug of black coffee. "Out with it, Ash. A million questions and thoughts are glistening in your eyes. Ask away."

I draw in a sharp breath and ease a hip onto his desk. "Was it the first time you tried to take your life?" I need to know how far he has gone, how redeemable he is.

Ashal's long pause makes my heart skip several beats. He takes a shot of coffee and moistens his lips.

"Yes." At my piercing look, he continues, "It's been in my head for years but I never acted on it."

I look away and let out a short breath of relief. "Then you're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, Ashal" My hands reach to squeeze his shoulder. "Don't try it again though. It's like father said, we Rollins don't hide or run away from our problems, we face them head-on." I feel a sting of hypocrisy claw its way up my throat at the irony of giving an advice I didn't completely believe. Lord knows how many times I have tried to ram my car into oncoming traffic, intentionally.

"How's she?" I slide off the desk and jam my hands in my pockets to hide the slight tremor in them.

Ashal's features harden conspicuously. "She's all better. She won't say a word to me or return my calls. The maids report that she keeps trashing the gifts I sent her." He runs his hands over his face, trails them through his hair. "I don't know how we can move past this, bro. Every time I think we are making progress in our doomed relationship, classic Ashal strikes again and we're back to square one."

"Give her some time. While she heals, focus on your therapy. You both can rise above this." Ashal nods weakly.

"Did you install the cameras like I suggested?

Short pause. "I did."

"And?"

He gives a half shrug and clears his throat. "There was nothing helpful from the feed, just me turning glassy eyed and attacking Olivia after a hapless argument." He grunts in frustration. "I can't get the images off my head. I think I'll take the cameras down. It was hard seeing myself like a mindless beast."

"I'm sorry about that. You should definitely take them out if it bothers you so much."

When his meeting starts, I excuse myself and head out. My fingers twitch by my sides. I feel like going for a really long drive to clear my head and possibly thaw out the truth from Ashal's words. He might not know it but Ashal has a 'tell' when he is about to lie; he shrugs and clears his throat. Why did he lie to me? Is there something else on the tapes that he doesn't want anyone to find out? Is it linked to his condition?

My phone pings. A reminder about my date tonight pops up. I have a few hours to kill before it so I head to work. Rollins Automobile is a sterling radiance along the business district of Danvarr. As chief operating officer, I am advised to be punctual as a leader who leads by example. I'm told it helps to boost company morale, bolster the team spirit, blah blah blah. I completely agree but when your father owns the fucking place and you don't necessarily need the job to survive, you can bend the rules for your sake. That being said, I come in whenever I like.

Martin Gris, my personal assistant grabs my things from the back of my car and trots after me towards the bank of elevators. While he babbles my schedule, I plug in headphones and shut my eyes till the elevator dings in front of our office building. The showroom is milling with chattering salesmen and high-worth customers. A small smirk tugs my lips. The only bosses who need to worry about dwindling company morale in a business like mine are those who fail to hire employees that are feverishly passionate about cars and slapping them with robust commissions that can make them salivate.

With Gris' assistance, I conclude the paperwork for certain car purchases and fix appointments with buyers who need more convincing. When I glance at my wristwatch after a few hours of deep work, it's almost twilight.

"Gris, postpone the rest of my meetings. Let's call it a day."

Gris bobs his head, almost knocking off the glasses on his face. My date will be arriving FiFi's soon. I had a roughly forty minutes to make a good first impression by not showing up late.

Thirty minutes later, I was parked down the street from FiFi's, a local diner with pleasant reviews online. I watch my date walk in, slicked in a sexy black number and sharp red stilettos. She's early. My fingers tremble on my steering. I can't botch this date.

"Get it together, Ashton. This isn't your first rodeo. You've had all sorts of women in your bed. This should be a cakewalk."

Yet, it doesn't feel like a cakewalk. True, I have never had to beg for a woman's attention. With a face and body like mine, I attract lots of women even when I don't mean to. It's one of the perks of being THE ASHTON ROLLINS, standing at six foot three, with gold locks and blue eyes.

Tonight though, the man in the car is darkhaired. He is casually dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. For one night, I want to introduce the real Ashton Rollins to the world without the embelishments and see what they think of him.

I get out of my rented car and cross the street. The bell dings when I enter the diner. My date continues to pat some more blush onto her red cheeks while I walk to her booth.

"Hannah?" My hand is extended for a handshake. Too formal? Too stiff? I am not sure how dates work. Never had to put in the effort.

Hannah scowls up at me, her mouth primed to snarl at my ten minutes tardiness. Suddenly, the anger fades and a light of cheer warms her eyes. She rises to take my hand, a sultry smile on her lips.

"Hi. Will, right?"

I ignore the nerves and smile. "Nice to meet you." Hannah continues to undress me with her eyes as we take our seats. "I'm sorry I'm late. Had a little car trouble. Would you like to order…"

"Hold that thought." She quips, her smile growing wider by the minute. "I'm sorry but I am dying to ask; has anyone ever told you how much you look like the Rollins' quads?"

I gulp in shock. I thought my wig was sufficient disguise. I made sure to order a curly one for this. I break into a short laugh. "No kidding, I get that a lot." She continues to stare at me like I belong in a museum. "Drinks? What would you like…"

"Damn. Are you sure you aren't related to the Rollins family? This is the best lookalike I have ever come across. With a little hair dye and a wardrobe change, you could pass for one of them. I wager a lot of women in this country won't mind paying you to pretend to be their Rollins crush for a night."

Her disinterest in Will scrapes at my pride. "Rollins crush?"

"Yup. Every woman has a favorite brother. Asher, the ambitious. Ashely, the sexy flirt, Ashton, the crazy or Ashal the gentleman. This is purely based off of the type of rumors we constantly hear of each brother, you know. For example, Asher is always making money moves and sealing multimillion dollar deals with daddy while Ashely's sexual prowess precedes his fashion wiz." She leans back and tosses her head to the side. "On a scale from one to ten, how good are you with their impressions? I'll pay you fifty bucks right now to be my Ashton for the night."

Without waiting for my response, she digs into her purse for some money. "I get the hots for that crazy hunk. Would kill for his strong hands to close around my neck in a chokehold…"

Pressing my eyes shut, I massage the kinks in my neck. I should have known. It's too late for the real Ashton to make an entrance. Ashton the crazy? I scoff. I can't believe her. I am not violent. I only tow that path to protect the ones I love. It's unfair to have that be my sole identity. For one night I just wanted to be myself around a total stranger and be appraised from a blank slate. This date is an epic failure.

Hannah chucks some bills at me. "You should really consider this. I know a guy who makes big bucks doing Ashely impressions on the phone and making women damp down there. He doesn't even look anything like the quads but his voice is eighty-five percent close to the real thing. You could make way more than him, enough to buy a new car in a few months too. Bye-bye car troubles, huh?"

She's hopeless. I dig into my wallet and slam a couple of hundred-dollar bills on the table. "I don't need the gig. I can fix my own car." She winces at the irritation in my voice. "Have a nice night, Hannah."

My head is aching by the time I walk up to my beatdown car. What the fuck was I expecting? Why did I think this night would go differently? I wrench the wig off my head and pound on the steering wheel. Maybe I am violent after all.

My phone pings with a message from Hannah.

[My friend is offering to pay $350 per hour for a date with you as Asher Rollins. You have to come with the right hair color and style though. Please consider it, Will. She's in an abusive relationship and has been feeling depressed. Help her live her fantasy with this date.]

I take some calming breaths to quieten the turmoil bubbling within me.

[Her name is Mila Wright. Here's her photo.]

The message is followed by a picture of a woman in her early twenties.

"What the fuck?" I gape in shock at the sight of Olivia Dunn, Ashal's wife.