Free SLACK: A Day in the Life of Ford Aston (Rook and Ronin Spin-off) by JA Huss

slut.
    When I’m done I wrap the towel around me and call Pam. She answers on the first ring. “I already heard. I’m so sorry, Ford.”
    That little tramp will not ruin my only real relationship I have in this world since my father died. Pam keeps my whole life from unraveling—she picks up all the slack. This woman holds me together professionally, and even if I’m not quite all there personally, no one ever knows because Pam is my cover. She’s family to me and I would never throw away our five year working relationship over a whore . “Forget it, Pam. Forget it, OK? No more pets. Cancel all of them. I’m done.” I end the connection and the home screen flashes a missed call at me.
    “Great.” My fucking mother. I huff out a laugh. That’s just what I need. To think about my mother and her new piano playing boyfriend. The asshole’s probably after her money. Prick . I press the voice mail icon and it begins to play. “ Ford, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to be upset. I’ve told Gary it won’t work. I’m sorry .” She pauses here to sigh.
    It’s a very sad sigh.
    “ I have to get ready for church. Maybe you will find time to come by tomorrow? Have dinner? ”
    I press end. Fuck . This day has gone to shit. I pick up the remote and flip on the TV to break the suffocating silence. This TV came with the apartment. Biker Channel pays for this place, and this condo is one of the few luxury perks written into my contract. The local news comes on and I sit back to think.
    Goddamn it. I run my fingers through my hair and glance at the clock. Not even midnight yet. The fucking day’s not even over. I’m sure something else will go wrong if I just hang out a little longer. I might as well just go to bed. I point the remote at the TV to turn it off when I see the headlines. Nine killed in military-style attack on home-grown terror cell west of Cheyenne .
    Holy shit, I totally deserve to see that. That’s what I get for turning the TV on. I point at it again to turn it off and then stop.
    The whole world fucking stops.
    Sasha Alena Cherlin’s face flashes across the screen. Wounded in the firefight , is all it says.
    What fucking firefight?
    I just stare at the TV for a few seconds, trying to process this new reality. She’s in the hospital after being attacked in a family hunting cabin twenty-five miles north of Cheyenne. There’s no mention of Merc or the gun deal, no names of the dead are released, but poor Sasha. The reporter says her grandparents are picking her up and taking her home tonight—and that can only mean one thing. Her father is one of the unnamed dead.
    I almost can’t think straight as I try to come to terms with what this means for that smiling little girl this morning.
    She sold me a present she bought for her mother, just so I could give it to my mother. And my mother will probably never see it because I’m an anti-social freak who can’t bring himself to celebrate a holiday with his own family.
    Family. That’s something I take for granted, even after all that shit with my dad. I bet Sasha would kill to have a mother calling her up on Christmas Eve.
    What kind of piece of shit am I?
    I look back over at the clock. Eleven forty-two. I know where my mom will be in twenty minutes. Hell, she’s probably there now. I walk back to my room and flip the light on in my closet. I put on a gray suit, comb my hair back, slip on my navy cashmere topcoat, and grab my keys and phone.
    I’m going to church.
     
     

Chapter Nine
     
    St. Margaret’s is a traditional brick Catholic church with massive cathedral ceilings, dark wooden pews, the gigantic organ up in the corner, the lavish altar, and the stained glass windows. I haven’t been in here in years, but as soon as I walk in the smell of incense overtakes my senses and I feel like I never left.
    We have a spot where we sit. In fact, almost everyone has a spot . Midnight mass is tricky in this regard, because our spot on Saturday evening