Briar

I can still feel him between my legs, his fingers on my hips, his teeth in my shoulder. I clamp my legs shut in the passenger seat of my car, looking over at Asher. His left hand squeezes the wheel, hard eyes staring straight ahead. His suit jacket was thrown in the back seat, leaving him in a white dress shirt with rolled sleeves. He glances over and eyes my crossed legs pressed together, knowing I don’t have any underwear on. Giving me a cocky grin, he slides his right hand in between my thighs, gripping the inside of one.

After we caught our breath and the weight of what we did settled around us, we both decided that we needed to go somewhere to be alone. We’re getting careless. Practically begging to be caught. He didn’t say where he was taking me, just snatched the keys out of my hand and started driving us out of the city limits. As we get further west, I realize I know exactly where he’s taking me.

“We’re going to The Tracks?” I ask, equal parts unsure and amused. “That’s an interesting choice.”

He shrugs. “It’s quiet. No chance of being interrupted.”

Yeah, I think, unless fifty high schoolers decide to have the same idea. But, The Tracks has always been his safe place.

We pull up to the old building. It’s pitch-black and eerily quiet, the only sound the crickets chirping and the hum of the cars on the freeway in the distance. Asher takes my hand and wordlessly leads me through the gate, the hole in the fence, and finally into the building. Dapper and demure meet damaged and dilapidated as we walk inside, still in our gala attire. I wonder if this place ever held events like the one we attended tonight. If two star-crossed lovers ever resorted to stolen moments in the middle of a crowded building like we did, I wonder how their story turned out.

We wander around, aimlessly, neither one of us speaking, but both having so much to say. I decide to finally bite the bullet and break the silence.

“Where did you go?” I ask, cutting to the chase. He knows I’m referring to the past three years and gives me a long look before deciding to answer.

“It’s a long story,” he starts. “But the important part is that I ended up in a small town in Northern California called River’s Edge.”

“And?” I prod, needing more of an explanation than that.

“And, I met a guy named Dare who has his own roofing company. He took me in, taught me the trade, and then when he started the process of opening up his own tattoo shop, I sort of took over.”

“Oh.”

I’m not sure what else to say. He always wanted to leave, and I understood why. It’s the timing that never made sense to me. I guess I had it in my mind that there was some big secret that stole him away from me. Like jail or boarding school. But the fact that he just…started over elsewhere? That stings, though it shouldn’t.

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

“What did you do while I was gone?”

I shrug. “School, mostly. Acted as a referee between Dash and Dad whenever they were together. The usual.”

“Still want to be a nurse?”

I look over at him in shock. I mentioned that in passing once, when I was maybe fourteen.

“I do…” I say, trailing off.

“But?”

“But, my dad wouldn’t ever go for it. He’s still pissed at Dash for not going to Harvard.” What he doesn’t know is that I have a pile of acceptance letters that have lapsed in my dresser drawer. I didn’t make a decision, and now it’s too late for any of them.

“Fuck your dad,” Ash says darkly and with more anger than is warranted for this conversation. “What do you want?”

“Honestly? I have no clue. None.” The problem is that I want to do everything and nothing all at once. I can’t commit, and regardless of what I do, I’m letting someone down.

“Then, be undeclared. Or take a year to figure out what you want to do. Life is too short to live for someone else.”

I nod, knowing he’s right, but he doesn’t understand, not really. It’s not easy saying no to my parents.

“Let’s play a game,” I suggest, changing the subject. Asher looks at me warily.

“Okay…” he drawls out. “What do you have in mind?” He rakes his fingertips up the sides of my thighs and back under my dress, meeting my bare skin. I already want him again.

“Not that kind of game. A question game. I ask you a question, and you give me a straightforward answer, no bullshit,” I stress. “Then you get to ask me a question. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agrees, and we both head in the direction of the grandstand, through what used to be the food court. The place is so quiet that I could probably hear a pin drop from the other side of the building.

“So, you weren’t hooking up with Whitley while you were gone?”

Asher stops short and turns to face me, his expression dead serious. “Not even once. I never saw her while I was gone.”

I nod, waiting for his question.

“Does any part of you still want Jackson?” He doesn’t waste any time asking. I think he more than knows the answer to this question, but I give him the reassurance he needs.

“Not even a little bit,” I say with the same sincerity in which he answered me. “He was nice. You were gone.” I shrug, as if that’s all there was to it. There wasn’t much more than that, to be honest.

“Are you going to leave again?” I ask, voicing my biggest fear.

“Probably,” he answers honestly. His head is down, hands in his pockets, as he angles his body toward the dark sky through hollow windows while I die a little inside.

“Why did you help my dad?”

I suck in a breath. I knew this one was coming. “I’m sorry,” I start, but he puts a hand up and stops me.

“That’s not a straightforward answer, Bry.”

“Okay.” He’s right. “Um, because I felt bad for him. I felt that he truly regretted how he treated you. And I knew that he was still your father. I wanted to take care of him for you. It made me feel closer to you, too.”

Asher doesn’t speak. He stares out at the silhouettes of palm trees against the night sky, and I can see the tension in his jaw. I decide to hit him with a not-so-loaded question.

“Did you miss me?”

“Every fucking day. Even when I despised you.”

“Why did you—” I start to ask, but he tsks and wiggles a finger at me.

“It’s my turn.” Oh. Right.

“Did you miss me?”

“So much it hurt.”

His eyes snap toward mine.

“What are we?” I ask, even though my heart is in my stomach waiting for his response.

“I don’t know,” he says, coming closer. He moves my hair off my right shoulder, bringing his mouth close to my neck. “What do you want to be?” His breath dances across my exposed skin, and I shudder with anticipation.

“Everything.”

“We can’t,” he rasps, curling a hand around my thigh and lifting. I wrap both legs around his waist, and he backs me up against the pillar behind me. “I can’t give you that. Not yet.”

“But, I don’t want to stop this,” I argue.

“I can’t stop this,” he agrees, reaching to unbutton his pants. I use the heels of my shoes to push them down, and then I feel him there. Warm and hard and ready.

“So, we keep doing this, but—”

“But we don’t tell anyone,” he finishes.

“What are you waiting for then, Kelley? Fuck me.”

His eyes fill with heat, and he thrusts forward, showing me exactly how much fun secrets can be.

* * *

“Can’t say I didn’t see this coming,” a raspy, familiar voice grumbles, startling me out of my slumber. It’s dark, and it takes me a second to remember where I am. Asher brought me to his dad’s house last night, because neither of us wanted to deal with people or the hassle of sneaking around. I wasn’t sold at first, but I figured any time Asher spends around his father is a plus.

Ash is wrapped around me. His nose is in my hair, his arm banded around my waist. I reach behind me to shake him awake. He barely budges.

“Leave me alone,” he growls in his sleep-sexy voice, squeezing me tighter to him. It rumbles in my ear, leaving goose bumps across my neck and down my arms. “This is the best sleep I’ve had in years.”

I melt at his words, all vulnerable and unfiltered due to his sleepy state, and my face heats because John’s lifted eyebrow and amused expression tell me that he has heard every word. Asher is an adult, and he doesn’t strike me as someone who ever followed the rules, even as a kid. But, I’m still seventeen, and I’ve just been caught in a boy’s bedroom. I should feel the need to apologize or make excuses, but somehow, I know the normal rules don’t apply. At least not here.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” John says, before slowly making his way back down the hall. Asher finally opens his eyes when he realizes we aren’t alone, but he doesn’t offer up any explanation. Once his dad is gone, I cover my face with both hands.

“Well, that wasn’t weird at all,” I deadpan.

“You’re fine,” Ash says, his voice still thick with sleep. “He doesn’t care about this kind of thing. Trust me.”

I know Asher’s a bit of a man whore, but the insinuation that he brings a lot of girls home still stings. And my face must show it.

“What?” he asks, confused. I turn away from him, but he turns me onto my back by my shoulder and props himself on one arm to hover over me. His mussed-up hair that hangs in his right eye, his square jaw full of day-old stubble, his muscular arm braced on the pillow next to my face. How could anyone not want him? He’s perfection personified. The bad boy with a good heart. I know it’s there, even if he tries his best to hide it.

“Briar…” he coaxes, smoothing my hair off my face.

“I’m being stupid,” I answer honestly. Because I am being stupid. What happened with Asher and other girls before me is irrelevant. Even if we were technically together—which we aren’t—it still wouldn’t matter. I’m not going to be one of those girls who obsesses over every single person he’s ever come in contact with.

“Tell me.”

“I was just wondering how many girls have been in this bed.”

He smirks and opens his mouth, but I cover it with my palm.

“I don’t want to know!” I say quickly. Ignorance is definitely bliss in this scenario. Asher chuckles into my hand and then bites the skin of my palm. I jerk it back, and he pins it to the pillow next to my head, lowering himself onto me.

“I’ve never brought one single person into this room. Male or female.”

“Even Whitley?”

“Even Whitley,” he agrees.

How is that possible?

“Come on, Briar. You know how my dad was. I wasn’t bringing anyone over here. I didn’t even want to be here. You’re the only one.”

I love feeling like I’m different than everyone else to Asher, as juvenile as that sounds. Maybe even special. He doesn’t say it in flowery words or extravagant public declarations of love, but that makes it mean even more to me. Ash is like an onion with many layers. With each one, I find something more to him.

“Oh,” I say dumbly.

“Oh?” he repeats, cocking a brow. “That’s all you have to say?”

“I’ve never had another guy in my room, either.”

“Good.”

And then he lowers his head, pressing those full lips to mine, before trailing them down my neck, collarbone, the curve of my breast. I arch under his touch, never needing anything more than the slightest touch to burn for him. He reaches for the hem of the old P.E. shirt from high school that he let me borrow and sprinkles open-mouthed kisses up my stomach. Just before he exposes me completely, I hear John erupt in a coughing fit from the other room, reminding me of our surroundings.

“Ash,” I say, already breathless. “We can’t. Your dad.”

He growls, biting the underside of my boob before rolling away.

“Guess I’ll go make sure he didn’t hack up a lung,” Asher grumbles, and I laugh, righting my shirt.

“Don’t be an ass. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Asher reaches over to turn on the lamp on his nightstand before standing and pulling on some thin, mesh basketball shorts. I bite my bottom lip as I take in his lean swimmer’s torso. The sharp V, the two freckles right at the waistband of his shorts that I want to trace with my tongue. I wish we had a place that was ours—just ours—so we could be alone and I could have my fill of him for hours, days, weeks. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of being with him like this. I’ve never felt this desperate, can’t eat, can’t sleep, need you, bleed for you type of addiction before.

“You’re doing it again,” he groans, balling his fists at his sides.

“Doing what?” I ask, batting my eyes innocently. He shakes his head, exasperated, and walks out the door, leaving me to drool at the sight of his shirtless, muscular back.

I take a second to look at the room around me—the glimpse into teenage Asher’s mind that I never got to see. Most everything has been packed into boxes that line the wall, but a few things remain. A couple of posters—Brand New, Underoath, and Thrice. The usual suspects. His window is covered by a black sheet, the same shade as his bedding. A skateboard with a Volcom sticker peeks out of the closet, with one of the trucks missing. I always thought he planned to leave, and it only felt sudden to me, but seeing his room appearing so lived-in has me wondering if it wasn’t planned.

I stand, ignoring the ache between my legs, and reach for my dress that was flung over the box in the early hours of the morning when Asher and I made up for lost time, yet again. I pull the dress over my head, and I can’t help but notice the medals and trophies collecting dust inside. I pick one up and turn the cool, heavy metal in my hand. I wonder why he doesn’t swim anymore. Swimming was his thing. The one thing he seemed to actually enjoy.

I make my way over to his black dresser and hope to God he has some boxers or shorts or something, considering he never gave me my underwear back. I try the top left drawer. Empty, except for a few socks. I try the top right—jackpot! I sift through the drawer, looking for the smallest pair, when I see something stashed underneath. It’s a folded piece of paper. I shouldn’t open it. Asher’s already so private, and I don’t want to do anything to betray his trust. Even if it’s nothing more than a grocery list, he wouldn’t want me looking through his things.

But, curiosity gets the best of me, so I pick it up. It’s heavier and thicker than notebook paper, like the kind that people use to sketch on. I carefully unfold it and gasp when I see what’s inside. It’s a black and white skull with vibrant, colorful succulents and roses around it, covering one half of the face. They kind of look like the ones in my mom’s garden. It’s dark and sad and beautiful all at once. Did Asher draw this?

“What are you doing?”

His voice is cold and curt, and I jump, dropping the picture to the floor. His arms are crossed, stance guarded, eyes suspicious.

“I was looking for some shorts,” I stammer, plucking out the first pair I get my hands on and sliding them up my legs. He eyes the paper on the floor, but doesn’t say anything. Stalking over, he bends over and picks it up, inspecting the art.

“It’s beautiful,” I say honestly. “Did you draw it?”

“No.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s just a tattoo idea. Dare sketched it up for me when I went back.”

I nod, unsure of what to say, rocking on my heels. Ash crumples the paper up and tosses it back into the drawer.

“Come on,” he says. “I’m making us breakfast.”

“You can cook?” I ask, amused, thankful for the subject change.

“I’ve been cooking for myself since before you grew tits.”

“Touché,” I say, rolling my eyes. I guess he would’ve had to learn how to cook at a young age. Between his mom dying and his dad being too busy self-destructing, it was mandatory.

I sit at the old oak table while Asher does his thing in the kitchen. John is firmly planted in his favorite recliner, watching the NFL draft on TV. I haven’t seen him since Asher’s been back, and I’m in this weird place where I feel guilty for not coming by, but also guilty for ever coming in the first place.

“How’s he doing?” I ask quietly, as Ash flips the eggs in the frying pan like a pro.

“Hanging in there, I guess.” He shrugs.

“Are you okay?” I know Asher doesn’t have much of a relationship with John, and I know he plays it off like he couldn’t care less, but deep down, he does care. He has to. He’s twenty-one years old and about to be parent-less. That would be hard on anyone. Something dark passes over his features, but then it’s gone, leaving me to wonder if I imagined it.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just making sure.”

Ash loads up three plates with eggs—sunny side up—bacon, and toast. I walk one of them over to John so he can eat in his chair. Asher sets our plates at the table in the kitchen. Risking his wrath, I snatch his plate from under his nose and grab my own before bringing them to the coffee table in the living room. Next to John. Ash isn’t happy about it, but he follows suit, glaring all the way.

“So, you two have become fast friends, I see,” Ash says, his accusation clear, but if he’s looking for a reaction from John, he’s not getting one. Like father, like son, I think. Both of the Kelley men are so adept at keeping their emotions concealed. They aren’t easily ruffled, at least on the exterior.

“Yep,” John mumbles around a mouthful of food. “Got our BFF necklaces and everything. You jealous?”

Ash lets out an unamused huff.

“The house looks good,” I note. It’s much cleaner than it used to be, and it’s mostly packed up. I can’t help but feel a little sad thinking about it. I can’t imagine preparing for my own death. Seeing my entire life reduced to a few boxes. Trying to make amends before it’s too late. My heart hurts for both of them.

“Mostly Asher’s doing,” John says. “He’s been sorting through everything, cleaning, packing, you name it.”

I’m slightly thrown by the almost-compliment, until he tacks on, “Anything to avoid actually talking to his old man, right?” He laughs it off, self-deprecating as always, but I sense the pain behind his words. I know Asher is conflicted. You wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him, but I know him. His words are his weapons, but when it comes to his father, he doesn’t always bite back, and that speaks volumes. I want him to give John another chance, but that doesn’t mean he should ever, for one second, feel guilty about not being able to forgive him.

“Two months of sobriety doesn’t erase the past six years,” I say, shocking even myself. It just slips out. “I didn’t mean to say that,” I confess, eyes wide. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

“She’s right,” John says after a beat of silence. “I’m glad you have someone in your corner.” Then he goes back to eating as if nothing ever happened.

Ash squeezes my knee, and I let out a relieved breath. That little gesture says more than words ever will.

“Do you want to go somewhere with me?” Ash asks, catching me off guard.

“Now?”

“Right now. I want to show you something.”

I beam at him.

“Let’s go.”