Four Brothers and a Bride

Chapter 11: 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.

empty as I am stuck

hair. The dark-haired stranger staring back at me is

as he moves to a

"Care for a cup?"

need something stronger to lift

steaming mug of black coffee. "Out with it, Ash. A million questions and thoughts are glistening

onto his desk. "Was it the first time you tried to take your life?" I need to know how

skip several beats. He takes a

continues, "It's been in my head for years but

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

my hands in my pockets to hide

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

While she heals, focus on your therapy. You both can rise above

install the cameras like

Short pause. "I did."

"And?"

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

about that. You should definitely take them out if it bothers you so

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

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

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

with buyers who need more convincing. When I glance at my wristwatch

my meetings. Let's call it

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

pleasant reviews online. I watch my date walk in, slicked in a sexy black number and sharp red

all sorts of women in your bed. This should

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

tee shirt. For one night, I want to introduce the real Ashton Rollins to the world without the embelishments and see what

out of my rented car and cross the street. The bell dings when I enter the diner. My date continues

stiff? I am not sure how dates work. Never had to