Ashes and Ice Cream

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All individuals depicted in this story engaging in sexual activities are consenting adults over the age of 18. This narrative is a work of adult themes and situations.

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I want to acknowledge my editing process and the valued input from PixieHoff and Helen1899, who kindly read and comment on my work. I can never thank these lovely women enough. Additionally, I use tools such as those in Word 365 and Grammarly for minor punctuation adjustments and occasional wording tweaks. While they help me manage my challenges with language processing, they do not generate ideas or bring the fruits of my imagination to life. For better or worse, that is all me.

Ashes and Ice Cream

The woman read the label on the box Tabitha, her housekeeper, had just given her.

Jordan Black

Seaside Haven Estates

28 Tidesong Lane

Martha's Vineyard, MA 02568

Jordan always wondered why receiving these packages never felt routine. This was her twelfth.

With shaking hands, she carefully sliced the tape, pulling the box flaps open and, finally, the sheet of paper away, revealing the cover of her newest novel.

Shadows at Seaside Haven

The Blackwood Chronicles, Volume 12

Jordan ran her fingers over the cover, her touch so light one might have thought it reverent. The scene was vivid, almost alive, as if someone had entered her memories and painted the image from her dreams. On the cover, like a portrait, two women stood side by side beneath a stormy sky. Their closeness conveyed a familiarity and connection so profound it eclipsed the striking scene around them.

Polished and poised,

Jessica

held a glowing compass in her hand, the faint light bridging the space between them. Her auburn hair gleamed faintly in the storm's eerie glow, and her tailored trench coat emphasized the long legs and broad shoulders of her swimmer-toned body. Her gaze was steady, protective, directed toward the woman beside her.

Ashley

, her ample dark wavy hair, stood close to Jessica, leaning slightly toward her as if drawn by an invisible thread. Her weathered coat, draped loosely around her frame, spoke of hardships endured, but her hazel eyes were soft, vulnerable, and filled with trust. One hand brushed the compass's light, and the other rested near Jessica as if seeking reassurance.

Jordan traced the outline of their forms, her breath catching. It was as if she were touching them both--especially the one she had called Ashley.

Jordan shook herself as if a bolt of lightning had stuck her.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Jordan asked the empty study, her voice quiet but sharp. "Every time you do this..." Her words trailed off as her fingers traced the lips of Ashley's face on the cover, her touch lingering on the illustration's body. The storm depicted on the page wasn't just a memory of her imagination; it was a reflection of a storm she couldn't forget.

It had been raining that day, just as fiercely as the downpour in the painting. Jordan could still feel the cold sting of the water soaking her hair, mingling with the tears she hadn't been able to hold back. She had returned early, clutching a pint of Rocky Road she had gone out to fetch, only to find Dickhead hauling the last of her lover's things from their tiny studio.

She hadn't meant to collapse, but her knees had buckled, the weight of betrayal forcing her to the wet concrete. Through the sheet of rain, she saw them drive away in his shiny new Volvo, her lover's face framed by the fogged glass. Ashley had turned, her lips forming words that carried no sound but cut deeper than anything Jordan had heard before:

I'm sorry.

And the ice cream? It had fallen, forgotten, as the rain washed it away, just like everything else.

Jordan's fingers froze on the book's cover, the memory pulling her under for a moment longer before she straightened, shaking herself free. "Stop," she whispered, as if the command could silence the storm in her head.

In a way, Jordan understood why. What could she offer compared to a self-made millionaire? Nothing tangible--just promises, hopes, and dreams. But you can't live on those. The questions always circled back, leaving her empty.

Finally, she slid the volume into its place behind her desk. A disk covered with the next instalment, lucky number 13, sketches for prototype covers, now tacked on her wall across the office decorated in ridiculously expensive Victorian antiques, which contrasted with her six large monitors used to research and write her novels.

It was then that the intercom buzzed. The awful noise was a welcome distraction from this process ritual.

"Yes, Tony, what is it?" Jordan asked. Or she would have if she could get the words out; the face behind him told her all she needed to know. She would never forget that face, lips, and eyes in her worst nightmares. Eyes that were silently pleading.

"Let them in, Tony. Have Jamal escort them up," Jordan said, her voice steady despite the chaos inside her. The moment she hung up the intercom, her composure wavered. Her pounding heart was so loud she feared her ribs might crack, every beat thundering in her ears. Her throat was dry--parched, like the Kalahari desert she'd once written about in one of her novels.

She began pacing, the familiar movement doing nothing to calm her nerves. Her hands twisted and wrung together, a habit she thought she'd broken years ago. It didn't matter how many books she'd sold, the blockbuster movies, how many accolades she'd earned--right now, she was 17 again. Awkward, uncertain, and completely unprepared for whatever was about to walk through her door.

"Get a grip, girl. This is the woman who ripped your heart out and shit in the hole!" Jordan scolded herself, her steps quickening as her thoughts swirled.

She halted mid-stride, her breath catching in her chest. You've built a life. You don't need her. You don't need her apologies or her explanations. You've already moved on--haven't you?

But then, unbidden, memories surged: the softness of her lips, the depth in her eyes, the graceful curve of her neck, the way her body trembled at that special spot, and those lips--did I mention her lips?

The sharp knock at the door made Jordan flinch, her pacing grinding to a halt. She froze, her hands dropping to her sides as she stared at the handle, willing it not to turn. But it did.

The door opened slowly, and there she was--Alex after an eternity--a moment.

Alex stood before Jordan, Alex's tall frame shrunken as though the weight of the world pressed down on her shoulders. Her chestnut hair, now streaked with gray, fell in disheveled waves around a pale face marred by bruises. Foundation struggled to mask the shadow of a black eye, but the bruises on her throat and the split in her lip betrayed the story her silence could not. The oversized coat she clung to swallowed her figure, frayed at the edges and soaked from the drizzle outside.

Two small figures peeked out from behind Alex, clutching at the hem of her coat. A boy and a girl, both with their mother's sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes. They looked nervous, glancing at Jordan as if trying to figure out whether she was friend or foe.

Before she realized it, Jordan wrapped her arms around Alex, holding her tightly as if she would never let go again. Alex stiffened at first but then melted into her, burying her face in Jordan's shoulder as a shuddering breath escaped her lips.

"I am so..." Alex began, her pleading voice dripping with pain, barely above a whisper.

"Not now," Jordan hushed her gently. "The children are scared. Introduce me."

Alex pulled back slightly, her eyes brimming with tears, nodding her accent. She glanced over her shoulder at the two children, who clung to each other, wide-eyed and uncertain. "This is Ethan," Alex said, her hand resting lightly on the boy's shoulder. "And this is..."

Her voice faltered, and she took a shaky breath, hesitating. "This is Jorie."

Hearing her old nickname, wide-eyed, Jordan's head snapped up, her neck moving so fast she swore she heard a whip pop. For a heartbeat, her gaze locked on Alex, searching her expression, but Alex quickly turned her focus back to the children with a smile as broad as she could muster.

Jordan knelt to their level, softening her expression as she addressed them. Her voice was warm but steady, a gentle bridge to their frightened eyes. "Hi, Ethan. Hi, Jorie. My name's Jordan."

The little girl's lips trembled as she took a tentative step closer to Alex, burying her face in her mother's thigh. Her tiny voice whispered something inaudible, but it was the sight of the black-and-blue bruises staining her cheek that made Jordan's breath catch in her throat.

Alex bent down, her hair brushing against Jorie's cheek as she listened closely. She murmured something back, her hand resting lightly on her daughter's shoulder. Whatever Alex said must have been enough because Jorie peeked back up at Jordan, her wide, tear-streaked eyes filled with fear and curiosity.

"Are you Ashley?" Jorie asked timidly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jordan glanced up at Alex, who smiled through her brimming eyes, "I read them to her as her bedtime stories. She loves them--every single word. They know all about Seaside Haven and your Jessica. I... I wanted them to know the parts of you I couldn't forget, so stupidly threw away."

Jordan could not help but smile despite the storm of her emotions.

"No, honey," Jordan said softly, focusing on Jorie, her voice trembling enough to betray her vulnerability. "I'm your mother's Jessica," Jordan took a deep breath before she finished, "Ashley is your mama."

She held her tone as steady as possible though her emotions whipsawed between despair and rage. The sight of Jorie's bruised face and Alex's battered appearance only made it harder to keep the words even, but she pushed through. "Your mother is my Ashley, darling."

Jordan glanced up at Alex as she spoke, her voice thick trying to control her emotions. Alex stared back at her, silent and unblinking, her eyes swimming in an ocean of unshed tears. Her lip quivered, and her breath hitched as Jordan continued.

"The only love of my life," Jordan finished, the words escaping her before she could second-guess them.

For a moment, the room fell into a heavy, unbroken stillness. Jorie's small hand reached out instinctively, clutching her mother's coat as if grounding herself. Ethan also shifted closer to Alex, his little fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve.

It was then that Ethan found his courage, letting got of his death grip on his mother, he looked up into Jordan's eyes, then slowly tentatively, squared his tiny shoulders taking a single step toward this new person, and held out his hand to shake, his left still tightly holding his mother's clothing.

Without a word, Jordan shook his hand, holding the young boy's gaze with all the determination to be a

big boy

he showed her.

Alex's tears finally spilled over, streaming silently down her face. She didn't say anything or try to explain or excuse herself. She simply met Jordan's gaze, a mixture of shame, sorrow, and longing etched into every line of her face. Jordan had a choice to make--her personal Rubicon to cross, knowing, as Caesar once declared, '

The die is cast

,' and there would be no turning back.

Jordan moved to the intercom, pressing the button, her eyes never leaving Alex's. "Tabitha, we will be having long-term guests. Please alert the staff. Send Sandy to collect Alex; she needs to freshen up. We will need the two children's rooms prepared and tell Cook they need something to eat--whatever they want. Oh, and tell the staff to prepare my room. My Alex has come home."

Moments later, Tabetha appeared, along with her daughter Sandy, one of Jordan's

rescues

she had found in a battered women's shelter while volunteering after her first book was just climbing the New York Times list. Tabetha rangled the children, and Sandy collected Alex, who looked like a lost puppy, before she smiled and followed Sandy down the hall. Before going in, Alex paused, mouthed a silent 'Thank you,' gave a weak but genuine smile of love and relief and then disappeared.

Jordan turned to the mountain of a man standing nearby. "Jamal... I need a favor."

She met his gaze, remembering the man he once was--her first bodyguard, strong and unshakable--and the man he became, shattered by the grave of his young family. A drunk driver fleeing the cops had taken everything from him. She'd held his head as he vomited out scotch and grief, talked him through the darkest nights, and sat with him on the shower floor, both of them broken, until he sobbed himself into silence.

Jamal smiled faintly and nodded, stepping toward the door. She knew he hated men who harmed women and utterly despised child abusers. Jordan just knew that one day soon, Dickhead was going to have a horrible day--perhaps his last.

"What about that?" he asked, nodding toward the Volvo outside. It looked like it might burst into flames at any moment--assuming rust could burn.

Jordan followed his gaze, her lips pressing into a tight line. The sight of it twisted something in her chest--a mixture of pity and anger at the circumstances that had led Alex and her children to this state. She took a slow breath, steadying herself.

"Get it off my property," she said firmly. "Clean out their things--no matter how disgusting. I don't know what has meaning to them, and I won't be the one who decides. Then... then get rid of it."

Jamal nodded once and strode out the door without another word. Jordan exhaled slowly as the door clicked shut behind him, dragging a hand through her hair. She glanced down the hallway where Alex had disappeared and then turned her gaze back to the couch, where the children now sat with Tabitha, cautiously eating bowls of ice cream.

She stepped closer, her heart softening at the sight of Ethan holding Jorie's hand, their shared fear melting into cautious curiosity as they exchanged shy smiles. Jordan crouched beside them, smoothing Jorie's hair gently. "You're safe here," she said, her voice soft and confident. "You're home."

The little girl's gaze lingered on her for a moment before nodding, the faintest hint of a smile flickering across her face. Jordan felt a lump rise in her throat but swallowed it down, standing again and looking toward the hallway.

"My Ashley... my

Alex

is home," she whispered, the words carrying relief, disbelief, and something more profound--something that felt like hope, just as the pile of ice cream in the bowls, sometimes life was a Rocky Road.

The irony was so rich, Jordan was looking at children in her house, something she had dreamed of since she had no family, growing up alone in foster care, but here she was in a mansion, surrounded by a family she had built, with children she could love raising them with the woman she would love till her dying day.

She had turned pain into pages, loss into love stories, and heartbreak into something greater. And now, against all odds, life had given her the chance to write a new chapter--this time, one she didn't have to imagine.

It would be a long road back, rebuilding long-burned bridges, recreating a trust that had been destroyed. Yes, it would be a long haul--but then again, there were perks....

A naughty smile slowly crept across her older but wiser and forgiving face, 'Maybe Alex would like some company in the shower?'

Jordan nearly skipped down the hall after her once lost, and now found love.