Page 46 of Resist

“That’s a pretty rough area, isn’t it?”

“It is, but Ainsley’s lived there her whole life. The bar she runs, Mick’s Tavern, reminds me of Moxie’s. That’s the reason I stopped in.”

“How long have you been going out?”

“Tonight is our first official date.”

“Tonight. Well, how about that? I hope your mother and I can meet her over Thanksgiving too.”

While Coulton liked that idea, he was certain Ainsley, who seemed determined to keep pushing him away, would be less thrilled about it. Clearly, there was something holding her back from getting close to him, but he wasn’t going to let that deter him. The more he got to know her, the more he liked her.

Every now and then, he’d catch a glimmer of fondness in her eyes whenever she looked at him that told him this thing between them was worth the effort. When he considered her upbringing, it wasn’t surprising that she had trust issues. He was also starting to get a sense that her past relationships played a part in that prickly exterior she wore in an attempt to protect herself.

“Looking forward to seeing you guys. It’s been too long.” Coulton hadn’t seen his parents since August.

“Agree. Your mother has already pulled the suitcases out of the attic and planned her wardrobe. As always, she will be overpacked.”

Coulton laughed. There was nothing his mother loved more than loading up a suitcase. “I’ll text you tomorrow,” Coulton promised. “To let you know how the date goes.”

“Have a good time, son.”

Coulton disconnected the call as he pulled in front of Ainsley’s building. He was a few minutes early, but that was by design. He suspected Ainsley would meet him on the street. It was hard getting her to talk about herself, so he was going to steal an inside look. He was curious about where she lived, and he prayed her apartment wasn’t as decrepit as the outside of the building suggested.

Plus, he wanted to meet her father. His opinion of Mick was pretty damn low right now, and he couldn’t help but hope the guy wasn’t as big an asshole as he sounded. He wasn’t holding outmuchhope, but he was an optimist at heart.

Locking his truck, he walked into the apartment building. The interior hallway was dim and smelled like a sewer.

Climbing three flights of rickety stairs, he lifted his hand, about to knock, when the door flew open. Just as he expected, Ainsley was there, in her jacket, her keys and phone in hand.

“You didn’t have to come up here,” she said quickly.

“Who’s at the door?” a gruff voice called.

“Just a friend,” Ainsley yelled back. “I told you I was going out.”

Coulton peered over her shoulder into the apartment, overwhelmed by the stench of stale cigarette smoke.

“You don’t have any fucking friends,” her dad huffed back. That pronouncement was backed up with a loud, hacking cough that sounded dangerously wet and unhealthy.

“I’d like to meet your dad,” Coulton said.

Ainsley’s eyes flashed with panic, quickly followed by stubbornness.

“Please,” he added, when it looked like she was going to shove him back into the hall.

After a moment, she sighed, resigned, and moved back to open the door wider.

Coulton stepped inside.

The condition of Ainsley’s apartment was worse than the outside of the building, something he hadn’t thought possible. There were old water stains on the ceiling and along one wall that indicated there’d been a leak upstairs at some point. The carpet was stained in so many places, Coulton couldn’t tell what the original color had been. The paint on the wall was peeling and the furniture was older than him.

Sitting on a tatty recliner was Ainsley’s dad. Mick was dressed in a white wifebeater that was stained with something that looked like orange Cheetos dust. His stomach peeked from the bottom where the hem had ridden up and because his gray sweatpants hung low on his hips. He wore socks on his feet, though both had sizeable holes, which his big toes had pushed through. His complexion was almost gray, which couldn’t be good, and he was hooked up to oxygen.

Despite the fact the man wasn’t well, he managed to shoot Coulton the dirtiest look he’d ever received.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked in breathless gasps.

“Coulton Moore,” he said, introducing himself. Ordinarily, he’d hold his hand out to shake when meeting his date’s father, but Mick didn’t look like the handshaking type.

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