Four Brothers and a Bride-Chapter 213

ASHTON

The cell is small with gray walls. The cot is a slab of metal with a thin mattress, but my claustrophobia doesn’t come from the room; it comes from my own thoughts.

I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling. Instead of the peeling paint, I see my family, and their faces crumpled with worry over my incarceration.

I also see Demi. I see her face when she said she didn’t want to remember. The way her voice trembled even when her words didn’t. The way her hand lingered on my chest before she walked away. That look—the look of someone already grieving me while I was still standing in front of her—burns deeper than these walls ever could.

I can’t stop worrying about her. How is she going to cope in a new city all by herself? She thinks she’s strong enough to walk away and rebuild herself far from us-and maybe she can pull it off even with amnesia- but I fear she hasn’t considered some things. She doesn’t realize how cold the world can be when you have no one, because Marcel won’t be enough company even for the first few months.

If she fails to form real friendships after a year, it might start to hurt that the people who had been her anchor for years suddenly turned strangers. I know a part of her is scared of the move. I imagine her, probably curled up in Anna’s room, probably crying silently because she doesn’t want to seem weak. And I’m in here, useless.

My thoughts spin. They tumble from Demi to my family like they’re stitched together by the same thread of fear. Father. Asher. What will they do when they find out I’ve been arrested?

I know my father. Rage isn’t a stranger to him. And Asher... he carries that reckless streak and need to prove himself by pulling every lever, even the dangerous ones. If they storm the station, if they use the wrong kind of power, this situation explodes into something none of us can fix.

God, I hope they listen. For once in their lives, I hope they hear me and don’t escalate the situation. I hope they don’t drag this into a war we can’t win. I know I didn’t think a lot through before admitting to the crime but it still is the best decision I could have made for all the parties involved.

I roll onto my side, clutching my hands together like prayer might help. Anything to drown out the noise in my head. But even in here, surrounded by concrete, the weight of everything refuses to let me rest.

The sound of the cell door jolts me. Footsteps echo down the hall, growing louder and sharper until the officer fills the frame.

I expect him to gloat, to sneer, maybe even spit words meant to break me. He’s been doing that since he led me to my cell. To my amazement, he shoves my cell key into the lock, twists, and the door swings open with a metallic groan.

"You," he snarls, pointing a finger at me, eyes ablaze with something hotter than hatred. "You and your family will rot in hell. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But it’s coming."

I sit up slowly, confusion rooting me to the bed. "What—"

"Don’t," he cuts me off, stepping inside, his voice shaking with rage. "Don’t pretend like you don’t know. You played me. You sat in here, acting like you were ready to take the fall, to finally do one decent thing in your life but the whole damn time you knew your powerful family would swoop in and get you out in a flash."

I blink, stunned. "What? I haven’t even placed a call to them. I haven’t—"

He laughs bitterly with zero humor in it. "Like you have to. They already know. They always know. Do you think you can sneeze without Rollins men watching from the shadows? You could be buried alive and they’d have a shovel in the dirt before your second gasp for air."

I am at a loss for words right now as I try to process what’s going on.

He paces, running a hand over his face like he can’t scrub off the filth of this moment. "You think you’re clever, Ashton? You think you’re noble? Let me tell you what happened in the thirty minutes you’ve been in here. Unknown men raided my home. They also raided my poor mother’s place. Every copy of that footage, every scrap of evidence—gone. Not misplaced. Not sealed. Erased. Those corporate thugs that hover around your family and do your dirty work threatened me and my mother. They said if I didn’t comply, another member of my family would suffer. All because I wanted justice for my brother?"

My stomach twists. The bile rises before the names even leave my tongue in a soft whisper. "Father and Asher."

The officer whirls on me, eyes blazing. "You disgust me. ALL OF YOU!"

He yanks the badge from his chest, rips it free, and hurls it at the ground along with the cell keys. The metallic clatter echoes through the corridor like the sound of a coffin lid closing.

"I won’t be part of this," he growls. "I won’t be a pawn in a game that lets the rich devour the poor and call it law. I’m done."

I push to my feet, my pulse hammering. Officers down the hall glance towards us at the sound. When I step out, their eyes follow me, not out of admiration or surprise, just the kind of quiet disgust and loathing reserved for guilty men who walk away untouched while others rot.

My skin crawls. I want to scream at them, to tell them I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t pull the strings. But the truth tastes bitter even on my own tongue. Because no matter how loudly I protest, the evidence is gone. The badge is on the floor, and I’m walking free.

Outside, the night splits open with headlights. Two cars that don’t belong anywhere near a station like this are parked idly at the curb. One of them is mine.

A man leans against the hood of my car with his arms crossed.

I squint at him. "Gris?"

Before I can say more, the back door to the other car opens and Dean Sawyer steps out. The man who gave me my face. The man who’s supposed to be my father by blood, but never by bond.

My pulse spikes, rage and disbelief colliding in my chest.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing here?" I snap at him. He’s got no right meddling in my affairs.

He spreads his hands as a sign of peace. "Getting you out."

"You had no right."

"I had every right." He says through gritted teeth. "You’re my son."

***

The words echo into the night as chills race down my spine. Gris stands a few paces away to give us privacy. Dean and I stand in the biting wind, two men bound by blood but split by everything else.

Dean’s eyes lock with mine. That same sharp jawline, the same slope of the nose, even the way his dark curly hair falls when the wind hits it. That’s where I got it from. I see myself in him, and I don’t know how to feel about that.

"You think calling me son gives you the right to interfere in my life?" Bitterness drips through my every word as the weight of the hard day I’ve had comes crashing on my shoulders. "Newsflash. I already have a father. One father without a moral compass is more than enough. I don’t need another."

Dean’s face hardens, though his tone stays maddeningly calm. "I’m not trying to replace Brett but I won’t stand back and do nothing when my boys are being dragged under."

"I didn’t ask for your help."

"You didn’t have to." He steps closer, his gaze unwavering. "That’s what being a parent is. You don’t wait for permission. You don’t weigh pros and cons. You act because you can’t live with yourself if you don’t."

I cackle bitterly. "So, threatening an officer and his family, erasing evidence, humiliating a man already broken by grief—that’s your idea of parenting?"

His jaw clenches. "That officer’s brother overdosed—"

"Don’t!" I cut him off, my chest heaving. "You know better than that." I rake my hand through my hair "That man just wants justice for his brother, not to be cornered like an animal in his own home. He doesn’t deserve threats for doing his job."

For the first time, Dean falters. His gaze flicks away, the wind tugging at the corners of his coat.

I press harder. "You think you’re saving me, but all you’ve done is remind me that you’re no different from Brett. You’re just a different face, and a version of him who happens to share my DNA."

That gets him. His head snaps back toward me, eyes wild. "Don’t you dare compare me to him." His voice shakes with a fury I didn’t expect. "I lost everything because I wasn’t like Brett. Everything. My wife. My sons. My home. All because I thought playing fair mattered and thought justice was enough." His hand trembles as he gestures toward me. "Do you know what it’s like to come home and find your family ripped out of your arms because one man’s selfishness mattered more than truth?"

The words hit me like blows. For a moment, I’m not staring at the man who meddled in my case. I’m staring at someone hollowed out by loss, a man still carrying the weight of ghosts.

My throat tightens, but I force my voice steady. "And that pain makes it right to inflict more on others? You could have gotten me out without necessarily adding insult to the officer’s injury. Why did you have to resort to shady tactics? Why the raid and threats even in front of his poor mother? You could have come to an agreement with him or something. I had it figured out."

Dean breathes hard. "Don’t act like you don’t understand how love works. When you love someone so much, watching them be punished for a mistake feels like dying yourself. You wouldn’t stand still or wait to ’talk things through’ with a stubborn man like Officer Dylan if Demi was being dragged to jail for something she had long repented for."

My entire body stiffens. "Leave Demi out of this." My voice is low and dangerous.

He lifts both hands again in surrender. "I’m just making a point. If you’d fight for her, bend the rules and even break them because you love her, why condemn me for doing the same for you?"

The air between us grows heavy. I can’t even look at him because part of me knows he’s right. If Demi were on the line, I’d burn the world. But hearing it from him feels...weird and uncomfortable.

"Listen to me carefully." My voice drops from steel to ice. "Stay away from that officer. Stay away from his family. They’ve already lost enough. If you want me to not add this little stunt to the growing list of reasons I want nothing to do with you, then you’ll find a way to placate that family. Clear the brother’s record of drug overdose."

"How am I supposed to do that without implicating your brother?"

"You don’t necessarily have to mention any names but let it be known that the cause of death was not an overdose but as a result of a vicious attack from a bandit or whatever. I’m sure the men on your payroll can figure out the details."

"Fine. I’ll do as you ask." He moistens his lips. "It’s chilly. Do you want to..."

"NO."

Dean’s face tightens. "C’mon Ashton. I pegged Asher to be the difficult one but it seems you all have healthy doses of your mother’s stubbornness." My eyes snap up at him at the mention of my mother. I can’t tell if he said that intentionally to sway me knowing I might have questions. Irritated, I snap out of it. My brothers and I agreed not to take the bait until we were all collectively read to open that can of worms with Dean.

"I’m not interested in grabbing a drink with you. Do I owe you for getting me released? Is that it?"

"Of course, not."

"Then drop it." I reply sharply. I need to go home and unpack my feelings about the day I’ve had. I don’t have time for anything else.

He doesn’t argue. He just looks at me, something uncertain flickering in his eyes.

I take a step back while my pulse hammers. "You’ve got a kid you actually raised. Skylar. She actually pines for this doting version of you so I suggest you put your energy into bonding with her instead of trying to prove something with us. We’re not a prize you need to win back."

His lips part like he wants to argue, but I don’t give him the chance. I turn, storming off into the night. Gris shifts like he wants to drive me, but I cut him a look sharp enough to slice. Grabbing my keys from him, I slide into my car and zoom off, far from the flashing station lights and Dean’s shadow.

I don’t know why I stop at Anna’s but a part of me knows it’s to soothe the aches I feel with the sight of Demi. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

The window glows with warm light. I edge close, peering in like a thief.

There she is. Demi, sitting cross-legged on the floor, an old photo album open on her lap. Anna sits beside her, pointing at pictures and laughing softly. Demi isn’t laughing. Her face is soft, caught between nostalgia and ache, as her fingertips brushes the pictures like she’s trying to draw life out of them.

The sight twists me inside out. She’s right there, but I can’t reach her. I can’t knock. I can’t walk in like I used to and kiss her passionately. I can’t feel her. smell her. I just can’t do anything anymore...because she’d hate that.

So, I stand there silently, watching her like she’s a memory gradually slipping away. When I realize how hurtful the sight of her is, I turn around and leave.

By the time I reach the mansion, my anger burns hotter than exhaustion. I storm through the doors. Mother calls out to me but I don’t slow. I still remember the damaging article she wrote about Demi. We haven’t talked about that yet and I am not sure I can gloss over it. My brothers glance up from the hallway, surprise flashing across their faces, but I keep moving. I head straight for my room.

The door slams shut behind me, then I enter my passcode.

Immediately, I strip off my clothes, step into the shower and let scalding water crash over me like it can scrub the night away. Minutes later, I still feel dirty. I press my palms to the tile, bowing my head as the steam thickens. Images flash in my skull—Demi through Anna’s window, Dean outside the station, the officer’s badge on the floor.

When I finally step out, the mirror greets me with a fogged reflection. I wipe it clean, staring at the man staring back. My eyes are bloodshot, my jaw tight.

This is usually the part in the move where a character feels such raw pain about the happenings in his life that he grabs a scissors and chops off his hair just to feel like something new. I reach for the cabinet and grab an old hair dye.

Even then, it reminds me of Demi washing my hair in here months ago, her beautiful eyes peering down at me with pure love. Slowly, I replace the dye.

I stare so hard at the mirror I start to see Dean in my reflection. Gosh, it’s uncanny. My gaze drifts lower to the ink etched just above my hip where the date of Demi’s parents’ death anniversary is inscribed. It also happens to be Demi’s birthday. It mostly feels like a cruel joke by the universe more than us being fated to be together.

I trace the numbers with my fingertip, my chest aching. "What the hell are we, Demi?" I whisper to my reflection. "What are we supposed to be if the world keeps tearing us apart despite these signs?"

My phone beeps on my bed. I throw on a robe and head out of the bathroom. I half expect my brothers to try to break my door down but if they’re giving me some space to cool off before giving them all the details of my day, I am beyond grateful for their maturity.

I grab my phone and realize it’s a message from Anna.

"Hey, We can’t let her leave. I think Demi might be regaining her memories."