Page 63 of Forgotten Prejudice

Oh my fucking God. Ignoring the fact Ash just referred to Amatriciana pasta as empty carbs, what the fuck was up with what he’d just said? Anger simmered inside me with the thought of that douchebag telling Ash what to eat or not, and I clenched my jaw before taking a breath to calm myself.

“Well, I didn’t ask what Soren likes to eat. I asked what you like.” I stepped toward him until we were close enough that I could hear the soft sound of his breaths. Ash finally met my eyes, and despite the clear hesitation on his face, he nodded.

“Okay, pasta sounds good.”

“Great.”

“Hey, where are you going?” he asked after I walked out of the kitchen.

“To grab my keys. Then, we’ll hit the market.”

He followed me. “The market?”

“Yes, Ashy.” I winked at him. “We’re going to find you some fine-ass guanciale.”

I had already stepped out of the house when Ash asked, “Can’t we just use bacon instead?”

I faked a gasp before climbing on my bike. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” With all due respect for bacon, it cannot replace guanciale when making a proper dish of Amatriciana. “Now, come on, put this on,” I said while holding the helmet in my hand.

Ash glanced between me and the bike, his brows pulling into a frown.

“Can’t we go by car?”

“With LA traffic?” I snorted. “We’d get there faster by walking backwards.”

Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, he then bit his bottom lip, and fuck it. I wasn’t about to make him ride a bike if he didn’t want to.

“Fine.” I dropped my head in a deep sigh. “We’ll take the car.”

An hour and a half later, we were back in the kitchen with our sleeves rolled up, making our pasta from scratch.

“When did you learn to do this?” Ash asked as I began feeding the dough through the pasta roller.

“I had a lot of free time after rehab, and I needed something to keep me busy.”

“That’s nice,” Ash said while chopping the tomatoes for the sauce the way I showed him how. “What made you decide to… you know.”

“What made me decide to actually get clean?”

He hummed a low yes.

Taking a knife, I cut the long stretch of the pasta into the shape I needed and placed it aside. “Well, there was this party I went to, which wasn’t really a party but a house full of crackheads.” My stomach rolled just at the memory of that night. “Anyway, it was a shithole, not that I cared about it back then, and me and some guy got high together. I can’t recall anything that happened that night, but when morning came, I woke up next to him, and he was dead.”

“Oh my God, Kai,” Ash gasped, putting down the knife and looking up at me from the cutting board.

“I don’t remember a lot from back then, only that I got scared as fuck. After they took his body away and we got questioned, I was free to go, so I just ran away. I ran for hours while all I could think was what if I were that guy who OD’d at a party full of strangers? I was one snort of coke away from ending up like that dude, with blue lips and a mouth full of vomit he’d choked on.”

Ash shrank beside me, but it didn’t deter me from going on. After all, he asked me to tell him my story, and I didn’t intend to lie or save the details. Sadly, we both knew how ugly my addiction was. “You see, I was terrified by how close I was to being that guy, but I was even more scared because I was already aching to get high again.” Those days were the darkest I’d ever lived. “That was the first real time I realized I couldn’t get out of it myself. For months, I believed the lie I’d told myself, that I didn’t have a problem, and even if I did, it would all be okay. But after what happened, the thought that my kid would grow up to learn his dad ended his life like some nameless addict with powder in his nose or a needle in his arm… that thought ruined me. Realizing that, I went to Aiden, who didn’t hesitate to help, and the rest was history.”

The whole time I talked, I focused on the pasta we’d just made. Looking up from it, I was met with Ash’s gaze. He didn’t say anything for a few dragging seconds, and the anxiety of waiting for his response danced on my nerves.

“I didn’t know any of this. I mean, I knew you were doing better, but Aiden never told me what happened.”

Aiden respected my privacy, although I honestly didn’t mind telling my story. I had no shame in my past. Yes, I did many wrong things that could never be justified, but my addiction was an illness like any other; therefore, despite the stigma, I carried no shame.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he added, and my stomach turned with the guilt his voice carried.

“Don’t worry about it, Ashy. I understand why you didn’t want to be involved. You had every right to stay away from me, especially after the things I did—”