Gilt Hollow (19 page)

“Mom said she's putting a lock high on the door.”

“Good. 'Cause I may not be around to break your fall next time. Plus”—he rubbed the goose egg on the back of his head—“ouch.”

Rainn stopped moving, and his unwavering gaze tied a knot in Ashton's gut—he had the same piercing wintergreen eyes as his dad. Before he knew what was happening, the kid scrambled across the bed and threw his thin arms around Ashton's neck. “Thank you for catching me.”

Ashton's throat contracted, making his voice rough, “Anytime, kid.”

Rainn was off the bed and out the door before Ashton could blink.

He shook his head and popped three Advil into his mouth, washing them down with a swig of peach sweet tea. He stared at the glass and took another mouthful. The perfect mix of tang and sweet.
Delicious.
Dee had a gift.

“Ash, can I come in?” Willow stood in the doorway twisting the hem of her oversized T-shirt. Barefoot and wearing ragged, cut-off shorts revealing bruised knees, and her hair in a sloppy ponytail, she reminded him of the girl he'd left behind.

But when he told her to come in and she glided across the room, all long legs and swaying hips, he had to revise
his assessment. Definitely not a little girl anymore. She came around his side of the bed, leaned over him, and peered into his eyes. A hint of her coconut and vanilla scent swirled around him, and he sucked it in greedily.

“Is your headache getting worse?” She placed the back of her hand on his forehead. “Do you feel hot? Any tingling or numbness in your extremities? Are you nauseous?”

Ashton chuckled. “Somebody's been on WebMD.”

She drew back and crossed her arms under her chest, a dark brow arching into her bangs.

Ashton quirked a grin. “No, Nurse Lamott. I'm fine. Just a slight headache.”

Seeming satisfied, she walked over to the rolltop desk, picked up the chair, and carried it over to the side of the bed. She sat, lowered a pair of dark-rimmed glasses onto her nose, and opened a book he hadn't noticed before.

He watched her for several seconds before asking, “What are you doing?”

Willow placed a finger on the page to hold her spot and looked up. “I'm watching you.” Then her head tilted back down, hair falling across one eye, and she resumed reading.

Something heated in Ashton's chest, that undefinable thing she sparked inside of him that made him want to pick at her, to push her until he broke her perfect control. “No, you're not.”

She glanced up and blew the bangs out of her face. “Yes, I am.”

Ashton caught her gaze. “No. You're reading.”

The delicate line of her jaw tightened. “Do I need to sit and stare at you?”

“I could have a seizure or lose consciousness and you wouldn't even know. You're so caught up in . . .” He tilted his head but couldn't see the cover. “What are you reading?”

“None of your business,” she snapped.

Gotcha.
Ashton forced down a smile. “Why don't you read it out loud to me? I am an invalid, after all.”

She lifted the glasses into her hair and glared.

Ashton patted the coverlet beside him. “Come sit beside me so I can see the pictures.”

“There are no pictures, idiot.” And then her lips stretched into a slow smile that kicked Ashton's pulse into overdrive. She was actually considering it.

He gave her his best disarming grin.

“You're a jerk.”

“Come here.”

“No.”

“Please . . . I feel dizzy.” He swayed side to side. “I might fall out of the bed and hit my head again.”

“Stop!” She jumped up and grabbed his arm. “You're going to dump your food.”

He stopped moving and seized her wrist in one hand while grabbing the book with the other.

“Hey!” She reached to take it back, but he held it at arm's-length away from her.

“
Sense and Sensibility
,” he read the title. “Sounds dead boring.”

She raced around the other side of the bed, but he switched hands and opened to a random page. Hitching his voice up several octaves, he read in his best stuffy British lady accent. “Good God! Willoughby, what is the meaning of this? Have you not received my letters? Will you not shake hands with me?”

The words hit a little too close to home, and Ashton's voice trailed off as Willow plucked the book out of his hand.

She slumped back into her chair and muttered, “Not so boring, huh?”

To cover his sudden surge of emotion, Ashton took a long swig of tea, and then, no longer hungry, set the tray to the side. He cleared his throat, trying to push down the question fighting to slip out, but it was no use. “Did you really write to me?”

“Yes, she did.” Mrs. Lamott stood in the doorway holding a fresh glass of tea.

Ashton's gaze darted between Willow and her mom. There seemed to be something going on with them that he didn't understand.

Dee walked into the room, gripping the glass with both hands. “Willow wrote to you for nine months, but I . . . I never mailed the letters.”

W
illow watched the color drain from Ashton's face. Maybe it was selfish, but relief washed over her. He finally knew she hadn't abandoned him—at least not purposefully. But then pain, as sharp as broken glass, cut across his features, and her joy disintegrated. This wasn't over. Years of feeling betrayed wouldn't disappear because of one confession.

“Ashton, I'd like to explain.” Mom set the iced tea on a table and stood on the other side of the bed, wringing her hands.

When Ashton nodded, his eyes looked dead, buffered against all emotion. “Fine.”

Mom dropped her hands to her sides. “I'm only telling you this so you won't blame Willow. I don't expect your forgiveness.”

Ashton's cheek tightened, and Willow could practically hear him grinding his teeth.

Willow hated conflict and she wanted to reach out to both of them—soothe Ashton's anguish and calm her mom's regret—but this was between them. She could only stand there and hope that they would find some common ground.

Mom took a step closer so her legs were pressed against the mattress. “Willow wrote to you every day for a while, then when she didn't get a response, she scaled back to a couple of letters a week. I pretended to mail them, but . . .” She broke off and turned pleading eyes on Willow. “Instead, I dropped them in the dumpster behind Bob's market.”

The betrayal stung, and Willow bit her lip to keep quiet.

Ashton stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on a faded painting of men perched in a leafless tree gazing at a cityscape in the distance. The dark, muted colors and desolate scene spoke of loneliness and loss, making it an odd choice for a bedroom.

Mom kept talking. “After Adam passed away, one of my greatest fears was not being able to raise Willow and Rainn on my own, provide for their needs, protect them from the world.”

Raising her chin, Mom pressed on. “When the news reported that you pled guilty to killing Daniel, I knew keeping Willow from you was one way I could keep her safe . . . something I could control.” Determination flared from her gaze. “Ashton, look at me.”

He pushed himself up so he was sitting straighter and turned on her mom. When he spoke, it was with a quiet intensity that cut through Willow's gut. “You guys were like my second family. My first in many ways.”

“We did care about you,” Mom insisted. “We
still
do . . . I just assumed your own family would help you through.” She shook her head and swiped at her leaking eyes. “I never imagined they would desert you. I'm so sorry.”

The set of Ashton's jaw softened, and Willow had to fold her hands together to keep from reaching out to him.

Mom moved the food tray and perched on the other side of the bed. “Ashton, you saved both of my children today. Even risking your life . . .” Her face crumbled into a sob, but she pushed through it. “You risked . . .
your
life . . . to save Rainn. Why? Why . . . did you do that?”

There were several beats of silence before Ashton said, “The night before Mr. Lamott passed, I visited him at the
hospital. He woke up for a few minutes and gripped my hand so hard, I thought for sure he'd had a miraculous recovery.” A small smile ghosted across Ashton's lips. “He said you were a strong woman but would sometimes need help. And then he asked me to watch out for you all after he was gone.” Ashton's throat contracted, and when he spoke again his voice was a low rumble. “I failed. But I'd like a second chance.”

Mom reached out and took Ashton's hand, offering him a watery smile. “Thank you for telling me that.” Her gaze moved from Ashton to Willow and then back to the boy beside her. “This place is enormous. If you'd like to stay, I think we have a bedroom to spare.”

Ashton's eyes were damp when he squeezed her mom's hand. “I'd like that.”

■ ■ ■

The next day, Willow did something she hadn't done in her thirteen years of schooling—she played hooky. She and her mom had taken turns waking Ashton up every couple of hours throughout the night, as the doctor instructed. After Willow's five a.m. shift, her mom had met her in the hallway and told her to turn off her alarm and sleep, which she'd done gladly.

It was almost noon when Willow rolled out of bed and into the shower. After she got dressed, dried her hair, and put on a little makeup, Willow rushed to Ashton's room and knocked on the frame. When there was no answer, she peeked around the open doorway, but his bed was empty. Surely he hadn't gone to school? The doctor had written him an excuse and instructed him to rest for the next day or so. With a shrug, she skipped down the stairs to the kitchen, hoping to find her mom. Brilliant sunlight flooded the room,
but her mom wasn't there. She grabbed an apple and then stepped out the back door. The air felt warm with just a hint of autumn chill on the breeze.

“Hey, honey!”

Willow followed the sound of her mom's voice to where she knelt in the garden. Dreads held back in a multicolored bandanna, the woman yanked weeds like it was her job. Which, it kind of was. “Hey, Mom. Have you—”

“Ashton headed into the woods about a half hour ago.” Mom sat back on her haunches and lifted a hand to shade her eyes. “Said he'd had enough rest and needed to stretch his legs.”

“Did Rainn go with him?” Willow asked as she bent and tugged on a two-foot-tall stalk, the roots breaking free with a satisfying pop. She laid it in the basket atop the others, then gazed at all the other weeds waiting to be pulled and envisioned how neat the garden would look without them. Her fingers practically itched to dig in and clean the place up.

Mom chuckled. “Nope, I walked your brother to school when he insisted on going so he could tell everyone what happened.”

“No one's going to believe him.”

“That's what I told him.”

Suddenly overcome with emotion, Willow fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around her mom. “Thank you! Thank you so much for letting Ashton stay.”

Her mom squeezed her back. “I'm just sorry about the letters. I made a mistake. Ashton's a good kid.” She pulled back and met Willow's gaze with dancing eyes. “Now, go on.”

Willow grinned and hopped up. “Thanks, Mom.”

Her feet knew the way, even though the fallen leaves had covered the path. She sunk her teeth into the green skin of
the apple, juice bursting across her tongue as she crunched through the dried foliage. Once she reached the clearing, she chucked the apple core into the meandering stream below and stepped onto the old rope bridge, deftly hopping over the missing boards. As a kid, every time she crossed the bridge, she would pretend it was taking her into a different land, that when she set foot on the other side, she would be in Oz or Narnia or Brigadoon. But that day there was nowhere she'd rather be than walking up to her old tree house, her best friend grinning at her as she climbed the ladder.

“Hey.” She popped her head through the open trapdoor.

Ashton sat with his back against the wall, an arm resting on one bent knee. “Hey.”

Willow boosted herself up and stepped over his outstretched leg, then sat on the deck. Folding her legs like a pretzel, she leaned back and stared up at the brilliant pumpkin-colored canopy above their heads. The sun shone through the variations of tangerine and amber, casting geometric patterns around them like confetti.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Ashton asked.

“Yeah. I haven't been out here in the fall in years. I guess I'd forgotten.”

“I hadn't. I dreamed about this place. Sitting in this exact spot.”

A soft wind rustled through the tree, swirling the leaves in a flashing kaleidoscope. Willow turned her head and watched Ashton soak in the sight. She'd taken so much for granted. Or maybe she'd been afraid—afraid of the memories, afraid of the future, afraid to live.

“I missed you.” The words burst from Willow's mouth without any thought whatsoever.

A corner of Ashton's mouth curled up and he turned the full force of his deep blue gaze on her.

Willow's heart sputtered and then kicked into overdrive as their eyes locked.

“I missed you too. Even when I didn't want to.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his smile tilting into something sad and regretful.

Regret for the time they'd lost or for what he'd done that had stolen that time from them, she couldn't be sure.

He brushed his fingers along her jaw, igniting a trail of tingles across her skin, and then he drew his hand back and fisted it in his lap.

As much as Willow longed to grab that hand and bring it back to her face, there were more important matters to resolve. “What happened that day, Ash? I know you didn't kill Daniel. But why did you take the blame?”

He didn't look away as she'd expected him to but instead searched her face. When he spoke, his voice was rusty, like the words were being torn from his soul. “We snuck away from our campsite when Mr. Martin and Cory went on a food run. We'd seen the falls earlier that day on a hike and had been talking about jumping off ever since. All of us except for Daniel.” Ashton's mouth set in a straight line and he swiped a hand over his hair. “Once we'd climbed to the top, Daniel didn't want to do it. I taunted him. Called him every kind of coward. I was afraid if he backed out, so would everybody else. But Danny was really scared. He was even shaking. I backed off, and one of the guys suggested we check it out first. We all clustered together and looked over the edge. It was at least a two-story drop and there were rocks directly below, but beyond that a deep pool. I told Daniel all he needed to do was take a running jump. And suddenly he was falling.”

Ashton's jaw clenched and his brows hunched over his eyes, but he still didn't look away. Almost like if he did, he wouldn't be able to say the rest. Willow reached over and put her hand on top of the one he had braced on the deck.

“As soon as he hit the rocks, I jumped. I honestly don't know how I cleared them myself, but I hit the water and sank to the bottom, then clawed my way back to the surface, my only thought”—he swallowed hard—“was Daniel. Everything after that is a blur. I remember screaming for someone to run back to camp. To get help. Isaiah, Brayden, and Colin took off and left me there with . . . the body.”

Willow squeezed her fingers around his and scooted closer. He lowered his gaze to their linked hands.

“When they hauled me into the police station, I didn't understand what was happening at first. Until Chief Kagawa and two other officers took turns screaming in my face, trying to make me admit it was my fault.” Ashton looked up, his eyes dark with anguish. “It
was
my fault, Wil. I didn't push him, but I might as well have. I bullied him. Told him if he didn't do it, he didn't deserve to hang with us. Plus, we were all standing so close. I couldn't be sure that I wasn't the one who bumped him.”

Willow's eyes stung and she squeezed his fingers harder. “You were fourteen!”

“Old enough to know better.” Ashton shook his head. “So I admitted it was my fault. The cops jumped all over it. When my lawyer finally arrived, he assured me it wasn't admissible. But after everything shook out and all three of my
friends
claimed they'd watched me push him and told the police how we'd argued, my attorney convinced my parents that it would be best to take the plea bargain . . . which required that I plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter. The DA had
wanted to charge me with straight-up aggravated manslaughter, said she could prove I'd pushed him on purpose in the heat of anger.

“My parents told me to take the deal. My mom didn't want the scandal of a drawn-out public trial. And as I said, they washed their hands of me after that.”

Ashton leaned back and stared up into the leaves.

“I've had a lot of time to think about what happened that day, frame by frame, backward and forward. I know I didn't touch Daniel before he fell, but when I came back here I was convinced one of the other boys accidentally pushed or tripped him and then pointed the finger at me. My intention was to uncover the truth and somehow clear my name. But someone's been working overtime to send me back to jail, which planted another idea in my mind.”

He lowered his head and met Willow's gaze. “What if someone pushed Daniel on purpose and they don't want me to find out? What if that same person killed Cory Martin?”

A gust of wind sliced through the back of Willow's shirt and whipped her ponytail into her face. She removed her hand from his and hugged one of her legs to her chest. What Ashton said made perfect sense. The threats, the crimes Ash had been set up to take the fall for, even the flyers, all pointed to somebody or
somebodies
wanting him gone—badly.

“Say something, Wil,” Ashton pleaded, his voice raw.

Realizing she hadn't spoken her thoughts aloud, Willow turned back to him. “I'm sorry. I totally believe you.”

He let out a long breath and scrubbed a hand across his mouth, relief shining from his eyes.

A tingle buzzed along her leg, and she saw that her knee was resting on his thigh. Ignoring the giddy feeling, she said, “I was just thinking how it all fits together. Everything that's
been happening seems a bit extreme. Why would someone work so hard, risk incriminating themselves to force you out of town?”

“Exactly.” Ashton's hand moved to her knee.

Willow let out a gasp.

“Sorry.” He jerked his hand back.

“No, it's not that.” Willow guided his hand back to her leg and the heat of his skin reached her through her jeans. “Isaiah wanted to meet with me yesterday. Alone.”

“What? Why?”

Willow told him about running into Isaiah in the hallway and her plan to have Lisa hide in the stacks to listen in. Ashton's eyes narrowed, but she cut him off before he could speak. “There's more. At the pep rally I got a SnapMail message that said, ‘If you don't stop helping Keller, what happens to you will be worse than this,' and then they sent a picture of Cory in his casket.”