"All I'm saying is that it looks bad."

Kaya clasped her gold bracelet over her wrist and surveyed herself in the mirror. The first hint of wrinkles showed near her eyes, and she had to touch up her hair every other week. If the tiny webbing of crow's-feet got much worse, she'd call a plastic surgeon. She worked hard to keep her body in shape, her face perfect, though she thought it might be a futile battle. Her husband, smelling of brandy and leaning insolently against the doorjamb, barely noticed her anymore.

"I don't care how it looks," Alex mumbled. "I've never given a rat's ass about Ashley Biersack, so why should I start pretending now?" He fished into his pocket for his pack of Marlboros and lit up. Smoke curled lazily over his eyes.

"He's your brother-in-law."

"My half brother-in-law or some such crap. The family's so fucked up, I can't keep it straight."

"Watch your mouth. Linnie's just down the hall."

"You used to like it when I talked dirty."

"In bed. Whispered, not shouted like a drunken sailor."

"You knew how I was when you married me. No, I take that back"--he lifted his drink and cigarette in one hand--"when you tricked me into marrying you."

"I didn't--"

"Sure you did, Kaya. You didn't have to get pregnant. Remember? You had before and we took care of it, but not this time, no way, you went running to Daddy."

"I wanted a baby," she said, her back stiffening with pride.

"You wanted to be Mrs. Alex Bale."

"And it worked out, didn't it? We both love the girls."

He didn't respond, and Kaya experienced the dull ache she always felt when it came to her daughters. She loved them both desperately, wildly. They were beautiful, clever, witty, and smart enough to know that their father didn't love them. She tamped down the old pain. Angela had turned bitter toward Alex, her sarcasm as cutting as his own. With no respect for her father, she had begun disobeying and become outwardly defiant. Just like her aunt and namesake at sixteen. But Belinda, sweet Linnie, still adored Alex and believed that he loved her. She'd created her own fantasy family, enhanced by Kaya's lies, and couldn't understand Angela's sarcasm. Linnie had a good but fragile heart. One that Alex was certain to break.

"You . . . you need to show the girls some attention."

Alex snorted, "Attention?"

"You know, take them to a movie, or to a play, or just sit down and talk with them, act interested."

His nostrils flared. "I'm not, okay? And I never will be. I saw the kind of 'attention' my father gave to my sister and it made me sick." He shot a stream of smoke into the direction of the master bath.

"Just because your father was a . . ."

"Is, Kaya, he is a sicko; a pervert. He's never gotten over Abbi's death and you know why."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Shit." He drew on his cigarette hard, then shook his head in a cloud of smoke. "I need a drink."

"You've had enough."

"So, who appointed you my mother--" As soon as he'd said the words, he paled. He rarely mentioned his mother, didn't allow Kaya to bring up Monica's name.

Kaya grabbed her sweater, a cardigan woven in strands of cream and gold, off the foot of the bed. Her bed. Alex rarely slept with her anymore. "You're too drunk to drive and we have to be at the Apollos' in ten minutes."

"I don't give a shit. Isn't it enough we live together and work together, do we have to go out to see a bunch of fuckin' bores? I can't figure out why you drag me to these stupid little get-togethers."

"Because they're necessary," she snapped back, tired of her husband's lack of ambition. Both she and Alex had been born privileged, but she was also fired with a competitive streak that wouldn't quit. When she saw something she wanted, she put it squarely in her sights and went after it. She'd grown up as the only child of The Judge, and as such, she'd been given anything she wanted. Except for Alex; she'd had to work to nail him. She'd gotten pregnant once and he'd insisted she have an abortion. Agreeing in order to appease him, thinking that he'd love her more, she'd had the procedure, then regretted it as he'd lost his respect for her. So she'd kept up their affair, gotten pregnant again, and this time insisted he marry her. He still hadn't respected her, but she'd married him, which had been, at the time, her primary objective.

Now, she still did whatever was necessary, including working a couple of days a week at the office, just to check up on her husband and Ashley. God, he was slippery. She also made sure that she and Alex were included in all the right social circles. Her father's connections didn't hurt.

"Adam Apollo's an asshole." Alex dropped his cigarette onto his empty drink glass. It sizzled before dying.

"But a banker, his father owns one of the few independent banks in the region."

"He was also Jimmy Sanchez's best friend." Alex left his glass on the bureau.

"Jimmy's dead."

"Yeah, well, tell it to Adam. He still brings him up. Like he's some kind of god because he died screwing Abbi. Christ, I need a drink."

Kaya's patience snapped. "You don't know what they were doing together. We've gone over this a dozen times, so what's gotten into you tonight?"

"Everything. Hell, Ashley is going home tomorrow, probably planning to start in with the company again."

"You could stop him."

"He's like a damned freight train once he gets rolling."

"Buy him out." She was tired of the argument. Tired of Alex's incompetence. Tired of being the one who held things together.

"He won't sell, at least not to me."

He scratched his jaw and swayed a little as he reached for his jacket. "You know, they've never found his mother. She just walked out of the hospital on the day the John Doe died, and no one's seen her since. Weird, isn't it?"

"That's nothing new. Eva Biersack's always been weird. Now, come on, we're late."

Alex snorted in disgust, but followed her out of the bedroom they barely shared. Hers had been a hollow victory, Kaya thought as Alex reached into his pocket and had trouble retrieving his keys. His drinking was worse that ever, and she suspected he was cheating on her again. Oh, if she could only turn back the clock . . .

But she couldn't, and she had the girls to think about, and, damn it, she loved Alex Bale, loved being his wife, but it would be a helluva lot better if he'd return the favor someday.

---

Lindsay had forgotten how stubborn Ashley could be, how downright bullheaded when his pride was in the way. She parked near the front door of the house, and before the Jeep had completely stopped, Ashley threw open the door, propped the rubber tops of his crutches on the asphalt and hauled himself to his feet. He was sweating, his still-discolored face twisted with the effort, but he wouldn't take her hand, just as he hadn't let him push him out of the hospital in a wheelchair and just as he hadn't spoken a word to her in the car.

She made excuses for him. He didn't like the feeling of not being in power. He was still angry that she'd gone against his wishes and brought his mother to see him, and that Eva had taken off. He was adjusting to the fact that he might limp for the rest of his life. He'd been through incredible trauma, nearly losing his life, and he had a secret . . . the only one who knew for certain that his brother was either dead or alive.

However, she was tired of his attitude. It rankled her. No two ways about it. She tried to be considerate and empathetic, but right now, her empathy was running thin. Real thin.

"Let me get the door," she said as he balanced on his good leg and started for the house.

He didn't reply and she marched by him, reminding herself that he couldn't speak well. His jaw would still be wired together for another week.

She unlocked the front door, threw it open and waited just inside. He passed by her on the way to his den.

"I'll get your bag."

Again, no response.

Counting silently to ten, she walked back to the Jeep and reminded herself once again that speaking was difficult for him. His face was still swollen and discolored, and a patch covered his bad eye. Fortunately, his cornea was nearly healed and soon he'd be able to use both eyes again.

She grabbed the small nylon bag from the backseat, carried it into the house and left it in his room near the back hall. She returned to the den and found him trying to manipulate the phone.

"What're you doing?"

He didn't respond.

"Ash--"

"Leave me the hell alone," he finally said in a raspy, mumbled voice. His single-eyed gaze swung to her and bore into her with such hatred, she nearly took a step back. At the sound on the other end of the line, he turned his back to her.

"Yeah, I'd like to order a cab," he said.

"For the love of God, Ashley, don't--" She walked quickly across the room.

"I live outside of the city, about four miles--"

Without thinking, she pressed the button on the phone and cut him off.

"What the hell? For Christ's sake, L.K--"

"You're not going anywhere. Not tonight."

"I can't stay here."

"Why not? I thought you couldn't wait to get out of the hospital."

He dropped the receiver and hobbled to the bar, "You know why not."

"Because we're supposed to be separated?"

"Amen." He reached for the bottle of Scotch and fumbled in the cupboard for a tumbler.

"You shouldn't drink. The pain medication--"

"You're not my mother now, are you?" he said, ignoring her. "My mother's missing, remember?" She stiffened. "And you're certainly not my boss--"

"Ashley, please--"

"And the last time I looked, you weren't Jesus Christ, so I guess you can't tell me what to do."

"I'm just trying to help."

"Then, leave me alone," he bit out. "If I remember right, that's what you wanted."

"You're hurt--"

"And you're making me sick with this charade of concern. Everyone knows it's a joke, so why don't you give it up?"

Balancing against the wall, he splashed liquor into his tumbler, spilling some onto the glass counter. Picking up his drink, he caught her gaze in the mirror mounted above the sink.

"Cheers," he mocked and tossed back the Scotch.

"What're you planning to do? Drink yourself to death?"

"Haven't got a clue."

She took a step closer to him. "Why are you treating me like this?"

Every muscle stiffened in his body, and he slammed the empty glass down so hard, she thought the counter might shatter.

"Why do you think?"

"This is about the divorce."

Her glared at her and her breath stopped. "Bingo."

"Ashley, if we could just talk this out--"

"We talked. You want out. So go. Walk out the door. I really don't give a good goddamn." He turned and poured another drink. The cords in the back of his neck stood out and his hand shook as he held the glass.

"I think it would be best if I stuck around, helped you get back on your feet, made sure that you're okay."

"So you could do your duty and salve your conscience? Forget it."

With a flourish, he held his drink up as if he were a king holding a sword in the act of knighting his finest soldier. "I release you. You owe me nothing."

"You want me to leave?"

"No, Lindsay. The truth of the matter is that I don't care what you do."

He swayed a little and she took a step toward him, reaching out, before he drew away from her so quickly, he stumbled and fell against the wall.

"Don't touch me, Lindsay," he warned, his voice lowering an octave. "Don't do me any favors, don't try to fawn all over me life the loving, dutiful wife, and for God's sake, don't touch me."

With a crash, his crutches hit the floor. Lindsay jumped. Ashley grabbed the back of the couch. Half-bent, the muscles of his good arm supporting him, he slowly inched so close to her that she could smell the liquor on his breath. His gaze focused on her with such intensity, her throat caught. Was there a fleeting glimmer of passion in his eye, the old fire that had drawn them together, or was it just her imagination?

"Let's get one thing straight, wife," he said in a harsh, low whisper. "The fire didn't change anything. You don't love me and I sure as hell don't love you, so we're only going to live through this sham of a marriage until I'm on my feet, my part of the company is sold for the price I want, and you and I can split the sheets forever. Got it?"

Reeling away from her, he seized his crutches, threw them under his arms and jabbed them angrily against the floor. Lindsay's fingers coiled into fists. Anger and despair filled her heart and yet, she knew he was right. They'd already decided to divorce. The fire was only a complication that would slow the process, but she was surprised that he wanted to sell part of the company. For years, work had been his mistress; the buildings, properties and assets of Bale Industries his only interest.

Her throat dry, she said, "Listen. Ashley. There's something you should know . . . something I probably should have told you in the hospital, but I didn't want to upset you."

She was his shoulder muscles flex beneath his shirt, but he didn't turn around to face her. "You've found a lover," he said, defeat edging his words.

"A lover?" If the situation weren't so tragic, she'd laugh. She forced her fingers to straighten, then pressed her palms together. "I've never been with anyone but you."

"That's a lie."

"Not since we married," she insisted. They'd been over this territory a hundred times. "But whether you believe me or not, it doesn't really matter at this point. What I think you should know is that your mother told me about Joey."

"Joey?"

"Yes, your brother--well, half brother. Half yours, half mine."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Whirling on his crutches, his veins in his neck standing out, he glared at her with such venom, she recoiled.

"Joey--Max--is my father's son. Dad and Eva had an affair for years."

"Lies!"

"Eva said you knew, that you caught them together once."

"I--I don't remember," he said, his throat working. "I can't believe--"

"Joey's alive, Ashley! He's the reason your father left town. It wasn't because he thought Andy wasn't his son." He stiffened and she added quickly, "I know the rumors, I heard the town gossip for years."

"Ancient history," he growled, his fingers grabbing the handles of the crutches in a death grip. "Jesus, I don't believe we're having this conversation. What the hell kind of incest are you peddling?"

"Ask Eva. Ask Rex. It's true, Ashley. Why would I lie?"

"God only knows," he said, and there was a trace of regret in his words.

"You're impossible!"

"Try hard to be."

"Joey's your brother!"

"And yours."

"Yes!"

Beneath the wires, his jaw seemed to clench and his furious eye bored straight to her soul. A whistle of air passed through his teeth. "Why should I believe you?"

She lifted her hands skyward. "Why would I make it up?"

"I don't know."

Emotions played across his face. Emotions she couldn't name. His eye shut for a second, and suddenly he seemed dangerous, volatile, and utterly unreachable.

"It's the truth, Ashley, and really, doesn't it make sense? Didn't you admit to me that you thought Joey was probably alive and in some institution? Haven't you always wondered about him? And Dad's so adamant about him keeping a job--"

"Where is he?" he demanded, his voice low, his eye narrowing suspiciously. "Where?"

"He was in jail, but he's out now?"

"Jail? Why?"

"Because of the fire. He's the one who found the wallet in the ashes of the sawmill." He still seemed skeptical. "It's Max, Ashley. He's your brother and he's my brother and--"

"Enough!" he thundered. "What wallet?"

"The wallet everyone, including the police, is presuming belonged to the John Doe--the man you were meeting that night. How Max got it, no one knows. He's staying up at the house with Mom and Dad. Mom called. She's pretty shaken up about it. About everything."

"Jesus."

"But Detective Williams wants to talk to you. I imagine he'll be here soon. He's interrogated Max already and I don't know what he found out. I don't even know if Max was at the mill that night, but Williams will. He'll piece it all together and he'll expect you to tell him the truth."

Ashley stared at her long and hard, and even though his face had changed--was nearly grotesque--the look was pure male arrogance and reached a feminine part of her she'd hoped no longer existed. She could barely breathe for a second.

"Of course he expects the truth. Why in God's name would I tell him anything else?"

Notes

Ashley is grouchy with only one blue eyeball and his voice is nearly gone. I'd be grouchy too if I were him :( Lindsay is also starting to, out of nowhere, become extremely attracted to Ashley. Is there something different in the air? Hmmm...