Asher (4 page)

My mom’s busy working on one project or another, as usual. We never celebrated much after the accident. It’s as if happiness left with my dad and all that’s left is work and emptiness.

Everything comes and goes—joy, love, life—in an endless tide, leaving dead things behind. I can’t let myself get caught in the wave again.

So I throw myself into my studies, avoiding parties and cafes a certain someone might frequent. Dylan calls quite a few times and Tessa tries all her tricks to bring me “out of my shell” as she puts it, including inviting me to a chocolate fondue evening at her favorite cafe. What can I say, I’m a sucker for chocolate in all forms.

Chocolate and bad boys.

But I love my shell. My cozy little world where I can forget the past and dream of a future without haunting memories and the pain they bring.

I’m happy in my own way. A bit bored and lonely sometimes. But safe.

It’s not exactly what I hoped for when I came back to Madison. I wanted to meet new people and have fun. But the trade off—boredom for a measure of calm—seems a fair one.

So okay, maybe my reaction is a bit extreme. Hiding from everyone, cowering. The thing is, I don’t really hate Ash. He makes me feel—too many conflicting things, things I’m not yet prepared to face.

It never crosses my mind that I’ll be wrenched out of my shell so violently.

Today it’s Monday, and I should know on Mondays Murphy’s Law is in full force. But I’m not thinking about that. I’m walking to the bus stop after a late biology class. I don’t like walking alone through this part of the campus; it’s dark and deserted, but I’ve successfully managed to push my old friends away with my voluntary solitary confinement, and my mind is on an essay I have to turn in tomorrow.

I just need to catch the bus, get home and bury myself in the paper I’m writing, curled up on my sofa with a hot cup of cocoa. I’ll also call my mom.

That’s what my social life has been reduced to.

God, that’s so lame. I should apologize to Tessa for disappearing and ask her to go out for drinks on Saturday. I need to get my head straight, and running can’t always protect me. I’ve been facing my memories for years now. Facing Ash shouldn’t be this hard.

The frigid wind whistles in my ears. I resettle the strap of my bag over my shoulder, rub my hands up and down my arms and wish I’d worn a thicker sweater under my coat, and gloves.

I hear a sound over the wind and turn. Two guys are walking toward me. The few lampposts along the path don’t let me see them clearly. They wear hoodies and their faces are in shadow.

Walking faster, the wind whipping my long hair across my face, I hurry toward the bus stop. I refuse to listen to the little panicky voice in my head telling me I’m alone out here with not even pepper spray or anyone in sight.

The footsteps behind me turn quicker—and then even quicker.

Crap.
Lights beckon to my right—a cafe. I turn and bolt that way. It isn’t far. I can make it.

Only problem is, I’m not prepared for running - not in the dark and even less in high heels. A dip in the concrete is enough to bring me down. I fall like a stone. Throwing my hands forward, I manage to avoid faceplanting, but my palms and then my elbows take the brunt of the impact. Pain shoots up to my arm sockets.

I lie there on my stomach, in a daze, propped on my stinging elbows, staring at the ground an inch from my nose. Fire spikes up from my ankle, the pain so sharp it brings tears to my eyes.

Oh god, I must have sprained it.

Fear rolls in a great dark wave. I twist my head, trying to see if the two guys have followed me—and I see them closing the distance. I push off the ground with a wince, but by then they’re on top of me.

A huge hand grabs my arm and lifts me to my feet. “What have we here?” a male voice says. He bends me awkwardly backward, until I teeter on my heels.

The pain in my ankle is excruciating. I keep the moan between my teeth as the other guy gets into my face and grins. His nose has been broken before; it’s crooked, his eyes flat and dangerous.

I open my mouth to scream for help and he slaps a hand over it. It tastes vile. The other one paws me, his harsh breathing echoing.

There’s a buzzing in my ears. This can’t be happening. You always think bad things happen to other people—but I should know better. If anything, the accident that took my father taught me that, and yet here I am.

The hand over my mouth makes breathing hard. Passing out is in the cards, but the pain in my ankle keeps me alert—more alert than I want. The guy in front of me is unbuttoning my coat, his eyes glinting in the distant lights of the cafe.

And then suddenly the hand leaves my mouth, and the guy behind me releases me. I wobble. My ankle refuses to carry my weight, sending me sprawling back down.

I lie on my side, stunned for a second time, seeing what’s happening in front of me but not comprehending.

A third guy has arrived on the scene, and he’s taken on the other two. The fight is short, though it seems as if ages pass. He pushes one of them away, kicks the feet out of the other, and punches him in the face. Then he stands and twists around when the second guy comes at him, and sends him flying with a mean right hook to the jaw.

Finally he turns toward me, and I recognize his pale eyes, his wild dark hair.

The guy who saved me is no other than Asher Devlin.

***

“Let me help you,” he says.

“You’ve done quite enough already,” I snap, clutching my bag, well aware that isn’t the way to talk to the guy who’s saved me from a terrible fate this evening. Maybe it’s the shock. “I can manage from here on. What were you doing out here anyway?”

His jaw clenches and his beautiful eyes cloud over. “I work at the Sunroom Cafe, remember?” He gestures at the lights of the cafe I saw earlier. “I just got out of work. I was heading home.”

I limp down the path, trying in vain to avoid looking at him. “Go on, then. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“Dammit, let me help you.” The frustration in his voice makes me stop. “You’ve twisted your ankle and you’re shaking, and we’re heading in the same direction. I’m taking the bus, too.”

“You can’t help me.” It comes out bitter and much more loaded than I intend.

He pales, I can see it even in the dim light. “Auds...”

God, I’m being horrible. Ungrateful. Unforgiving. I’m a grown up, not a little girl anymore. “Sorry. God, I’m so sorry. Thank you for punching those guys out.”

“I wish there was another way, but when I saw the way they held you...” He shrugs. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“You seemed to know what you were doing.”

He shifts from foot to foot and runs his fingers through his hair; it’s grown into dark, wild waves. “My dad taught me.”

I shiver. His dad. Of course. So much I don’t know about Ash. I haven’t cared beyond the fact his dad walked away from the accident with barely a scratch, free to live his life, while my dad died, and I was in the hospital for a long time. Had to have surgery for internal bleeding. I took quite a pummeling in the car as...

“You okay?” Ash steps closer, lifting a hand to my face. “Did they hurt you?”

I’m immobilized by the gesture, breathless. When his fingertips touch my cheek, warm and rough, I can’t help but move toward him.

And then the pain hits, my ankle gives out, and I’m falling.

Right into his arms. He catches me, swearing softly under his breath, and lifts me, gripping me under my knees and back, swinging me up.

Whoa.
He holds me to his chest, against the steady beat of his heart, the solid muscles of his arms tight around me. It feels so good. So safe and warm. God, he’s so strong and I can’t believe how much that affects me.

I want to fight the attraction, the need. Wrap myself in my anger, demand an explanation for the cold shoulder he gave me back then. Keep away from him.

But our faces are close, closer than they’ve ever been since that kiss lifetimes ago. I want him to catch me, I realize, have wanted it since then.

His gaze is intense. His breath feathers on my lips, smelling of mint. Before I know it, I have my hand on the back of his head, my fingers buried in the silky hair there. I tug lightly and he groans, clutching me harder, bending his head closer to mine.

He wants to kiss me, I’m sure of it, and I’m dying for a taste of his lips. My mind is blank, no sound but the desire thrumming in my veins.

I want him. I’ve fought it for so long and now, with his citrusy scent around me, his arms, his gaze, I stop denying it. Tess was right. It was him all along.

But he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he turns his face away and whispers, “I’ll take you home.”

Chapter Four

Asher

I can’t believe I’m holding Audrey in my arms. When I saw her being manhandled by those guys, fury consumed me like a white-hot flame.

My heart is still racing. I want to run after those fuckers and punch them until my arm is sore. But holding Audrey close, making sure she’s okay is more important. I want to keep her safe forever.

Then we reach the bus stop and she wiggles out of my arms. The dream shatters.

Just as well. Stupid, impossible dream anyway.

But I’m still floating on a damn cloud when the bus arrives. She let me carry her, her body soft and warm against me, and the look on her face wasn’t one of hatred and contempt. Those freckles on her nose that always drive me crazy, the pulse in her throat... The way she felt against me, her face so close to mine—I want her to the point of pain, but it’s worth it.

I can’t help how happy I feel. It’s been a good couple of weeks. I have a steady job, I’m taking evening classes to get my GED, and Dad’s been trying to lay off the booze. He’s kind to me when he’s sober. More like the man he used to be.

All in all, life’s good right now and I don’t want to jinx it. Christmas is right around the corner and it might be a good one for a change.

Since Mom got sick and big bro Tyler ditched the family, then Mom passed away and left me alone to deal with Dad’s violent moods, I learned to get any moment of peace I can and be grateful.

I help Audrey into the bus, my arm around her slim waist, and inhale the apple scent of her wavy red hair. I’m getting so damn turned on just from touching her and being around her, well... I’ll be the one having trouble walking soon.

We sit side by side, our thighs pressed together. She holds her bag in her lap and stares outside at the shifting lights of the streets we pass. I take the opportunity to study her pixie nose, her small mouth, the fine arch of her brows, and the swell of her breasts.

She hasn’t buttoned up her coat since the attack at the campus, and the thought of those guys touching her makes me see red again. I clench my fists against my legs, feeling a sting for the first time. The knuckles of my right hand are busted and bleeding. I must’ve hit the guy’s teeth when I punched him. I’ve nothing to wrap my hand with, so I just go back to studying her, to take my mind off it.

I find her gaze locked on my hand, wide and horrified. “You’re hurt.”

I want to laugh at that, because to me that’s nothing compared to what “hurt” really means. But I don’t. She knows what pain feels like. I know she was badly hurt in the accident, that her clothes hide scars I’ve never seen. Scars I want to see and map with my hands and my mouth.

Oh shit.
I put both my hands, bleeding or not, over my crotch, hoping to hide evidence of the direction in which my thoughts are wandering.

She doesn’t seem to notice. She reaches out and takes my hand, lifting it. “That’s a deep cut.”

“I’m okay.” But I don’t pull my hand away. “It’s nothing.”

She appears about to say something more, but then she glances outside and presses the button for her stop.

I get up and help her hobble to the exit. “Come up,” she says. “I’ll bandage that cut for you.”

I open my mouth and close it. She’s asking me up, to her apartment. I want to pinch myself; I must be dreaming. “All right.”

All right.
The two little words are too small for such an event, one I wouldn’t have foreseen in a thousand years. But I’ll take it. Goddamn, I’ll take it. She’s finally talking to me, and maybe I’ll have a chance to explain, to apologize. If only I can find the right words...

She leans on me as we make our slow way to her building, and gasps but says nothing when I lift her to my chest once more and climb up the stairs. I love her weight in my arms, the way she curls her hand behind my neck. It’s taking everything I have not to kiss her. She’s letting me touch her, hold her, but all I can hope for right now is her friendship. She’s already let me much closer than I ever hoped.

I put her down so she can unlock her door, and help her inside. She turns on a light and it floods her living room. Cozy. Soft colors. Not the pink, flowery affair I expected.

Audrey’s is done in brown and gray, and her carpet is a lush red. I feel at ease here. Some drawings are spread over the dining table, but I barely glance at them as I lead her to the beige couch.

She sinks down with a sigh of relief. I kneel at her feet and take off her boot to check her ankle. She makes a small noise that has me glancing up, afraid I’ve overstepped some boundary, but she says nothing. Her green eyes are unreadable.

I clench my jaw and focus on the task at hand. Her ankle is a bit swollen, but not too bad. I have to ice it down.

“I’ll be right back,” I say and hurry to her kitchenette. I get a bag of frozen peas from her freezer and wrap it up in a towel.

When I return to the room, I find her studying her ankle, a crease between her brows. I see her every curve outlined under her sweater and pants, her pursed mouth, and desire hits me full force. I freeze, all my blood rushing south so fast I get light-headed.

“Ash?”

Her voice breaks through the trance and I make myself walk back to the couch. I go back down on my knees—where I want to be with her, and damn that’s a line of thinking I should stop right now—and lift her foot onto the couch, then place the wrapped bag on top of her ankle.

“Keep it there,” I say, aware my voice’s hoarse as if I’ve smoked a pack of cigarettes. “It should take down the swelling. It doesn’t look like a bad sprain.”

She reaches for my hand again and fuck, I’ve smeared blood on my clothes, her clothes, her towel and her couch.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I’ll go wash it.”

“No, wait.” She looks at my hand, her brows knitting. I’m starting to dig her focused expression. It’s cute. “There’s a first aid kit under my sink in the bathroom. Would you get it?”

She’s really going to patch me up? I get to my feet and go to find the kit before she changes her mind and realizes who she’s been talking to. A good for nothing. A school dropout. Her father’s killer’s son.

I get the kit and when I return, she motions for me to sit beside her. I obey, a bit dazed, and she takes my hand again, examining my knuckles.

I can’t feel any pain. All I can feel is her small hand, the weight of her concerned gaze, her attention turned on me.

Someone should take care of you
, Zane had said, his words flashing in my mind and making my throat tight.

She puts my hand down on her leg and I stare at it, entranced. My hand. On her body. I have to be in shock, because I barely feel the antiseptic she dabs on the wound, cleaning it, and the gauze she uses to wipe the blood. She uses the small, colorful Band-Aids on the cut—red and yellow and blue. Her touch is gentle, but I can feel it all the way to my toes.

Something is about to break inside my chest, I’m sure of it. It hurts. I hope I’m not having a heart attack. I’m too young.

Then again, I’m too young to be my father’s caretaker and punching bag, and that hasn’t stopped it from happening.

Her fingertips brush the top of my hand, where two faint scars crisscross. Her brows draw together, and I know she’s about to ask me about them.

“Auds, I...” I bend forward, trying desperately to think of something else to talk about, to somehow distract her, and she looks up, her green eyes clear.

My mind goes blank. All I can see, all that registers, are her lips, her smooth cheeks, the elegant curve of her throat leading down to the swell of her breasts. My mouth goes dry and my pulse pounds in my temples.

I bend down and our lips brush—an electric touch that zings through my body, like a lightning bolt to my balls. Unable to stop myself, unable to think why I should, I put my hands on her face and lean in.

A sound breaks through my hazy senses.

Audrey pulls back and I blink, dizzy.

The doorbell.

“You expecting someone?” I ask, breathless.

Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes wide. It’s only then I realized she has her hand on my chest, pressing me back. “No. Can you check who it is?”

“Sure.” I get up, telling my body to calm the hell down. I try to gauge Audrey’s expression but can’t. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking?

I wasn’t. Or rather, I was thinking with my dick. Fuck, I want her so much it scares me. Since our first kiss those years back, I’m losing control. What if she doesn’t tell me I should stop? What if I end up hurting her?

Running my hands through my hair, I go to get the door. Through the peephole I see Tessa. I unlock and open.

She gapes at me. “You?”

I rub the back of my neck. “Uh, yeah. Audrey is in.”

“Can I...?” She waves a hand back and forth. “Is she...?”

I try to follow her line of thinking. “She sprained her ankle. I put an ice pack on it.”

“Oh my god.” Tessa pushes past me and rushes inside.

Don’t let me stop you
, I think and shake my head, closing the door and following her inside. I hang back, though, because Tessa sits by Audrey’s side and is whispering something to her, their foreheads almost touching.

Maybe it’s time to make myself scarce. I don’t want to go, but life is like that. Full of things you don’t want.

I turn to go, and hear Tessa say, “But you hate the guy.”

Right. Of course.
I wait for a moment, though, hoping Audrey will deny it.

When she doesn’t reply, I go ahead and let myself out.

***

I wait for the bus in the cold night. I keep shoving my hands in my pockets, forgetting about the Band-Aids, so by the time the damn bus arrives, I’ve pulled half of them off.

I can’t find it in me to care. She hates me. For a while I thought she didn’t anymore, but Tessa would know. She’s Audrey’s best friend, and Audrey told her...

I don’t want to think about it. One foot in front of the other. My mind is blank. I board the bus and sit at the window, my brow pressed to the cold glass.

What did you expect?
I ask myself over and over again as we roll through the sleeping town.
Why are you surprised?

I’m not, not really. I’m hollow. I feel nothing. It’s one thing avoiding her and feeding the hope in my heart, and quite another seeing her, kissing her, and hearing the truth.

She hates me.

I get off the bus after an hour, trudge home, unlock the door, already starting to shrug off my jacket.

And am met with a fist to my face.

I drop, pain shooting through my jaw, my arms tangled in the jacket. Distantly I feel the impact of my skull hitting the floor, and I’m too dazed to understand what’s going on. Still, lifelong instincts kick in, and I curl, covering my head. Blood gushes from my nose, coating my mouth, dripping to the floor. The metallic taste makes me gag.

The kick to my kidneys makes me choke on a cry. I struggle to breathe around the pain.

Jesus.
What happened? Dad’s been sober for two months. Did he lose his job again?

“Get up, pussy. Fight back.” The alcohol on his breath is so strong I smell it from where I lie on the carpet. Not sober anymore, that’s for sure. “Get on your feet and fight me.”

I know I have to, if I want to survive. I try, but the room keeps spinning. Dad’s right hook is mean and something isn’t quite right with my head. I barely make it to my knees when he grabs me from my jacket and lifts me to my feet—only to slam his fist to my jaw again.

This is bad. This is really bad. I blink my watering eyes, but my vision isn’t clearing. I clench my fists and punch back anyway.

He laughs. “You’re a good for nothing. All I have left, and you’re not worth two cents. Worthless piece of shit.”

I manage to land a punch to his arm, and he laughs again, clearly amused.

“That’s all you got, boy?”

I try to free myself from his hold and he lets go—only now I can’t stand straight. I stumble sideways until my shoulder meets the wall. I swallow bile.

I see a dark blur coming at me and I raise my fists, protecting my already battered head. I fall back against the wall under the pummeling, and my knees buckle. I’m going down, but that doesn’t save me. Again he grabs me, again he lifts me to my feet.

This time when he punches me, I black out.