Path To Realization (Fighter's Den, #4)

Chapter 2 - Asher

PRESENT

"Ash!"

"What!"

"Get your ass downstairs! This is the last time I'm asking before I eat your breakfast!"

I snicker at Dad's words, knowing he's completely serious. Growing up, I used to think he was joking about that particular threat until I would enter the kitchen and discover that my breakfast was literally gone. I'd get him back every time, though — I'd eat the lunch Mom packed for him instead. It was always a fun competition between us until we got our asses kicked by Mom and had to give it up. Right now is no different when I walk inside the kitchen and stop in my tracks, a laugh bursting out of me at the image of Mom yanking Dad's ear.

"Honey, I was joking!" Dad holds his hands up in surrender.

"I don't care." Mom tugs more and earns his yelp. "My baby hasn't even been home an entire twenty-four hours and you're threatening to eat the food I made for him? Do you want to sleep on the couch?"

"Cut him some slack, Ma." I chuckle and gently pry her hold off of him. I wrap my arms around her in a tight hug that she returns. Even though she's half my size, I still feel the safest in her embrace.

It doesn't matter that my adoptive parents aren't my biological parents. They were the ones that took a chance on the troubled and undisciplined kid that couldn't get any family to foster him for longer than six months. I raised hell in every home I was sent to because I didn't belong. I didn't want to live in a space where there was no room for me. The foster system is fucked up too. Most of the families were just looking to collect checks and the really awful ones were always into the sketchy stuff — they liked to raise their hand on me and make me their mule more than anything else.

Naturally, I didn't trust my parents when they first started fostering me. They seemed nice and genuine but even as a kid I knew that looks could be deceiving. I would purposely throw tantrums, break shit, run out of the house in the middle of the night while they drove around looking for me, and so many more things that I can barely keep track of. I just wanted a reaction from them — for them to reveal the monsters inside because every person had an ugly side. My parents never caved and eventually, probably well after a year of living with them, did I slowly begin to let my guard down. It wasn't until I reached high school and they got me through some of the biggest moments in my life that I realized they were on my team. Since then, I haven't doubted them once. I'd do fucking anything for them.

It's why I haven't told them that the letters have made a reappearance — that my birth parents have another job for me and they're not giving up this time. I thought my trip to New York last year set them in place and it's been a peaceful year of not hearing a word from them. Then, a month ago, they started coming again. That's why I moved back in with my parents last night and plan to stay here until I can get my birth parents to back the fuck of again; for good. I would protect my adoptive parents no matter the cost. Even if it means taking that fucking job my birth parents won't let go of. But this time, I'm going to be smart about it. This time, I plan to gather all the evidence I need to bust their entire drug gang and take them down. They've ruined my life enough.

"Earth to Ashes." Dad waves a hand and I blink, snapping out of my thoughts.

"Stop calling me that." I release Mom to lightly punch his arm, grinning.

"Why?" Dad takes a sip of coffee, eyeing me over the rim. "Ashes are dark — like your soul. No wonder it's your name."

"That's not my name." I roll my eyes. Nobody loves giving me shit more than my dad. It's good for me, though. Mom can go overboard spoiling me but Dad keeps me in check. He's decided every grounding and lecture I've received growing up and if it wasn't for that, who knows where I'd be?