Briar

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Briar? Maybe you should just come with us.” Mom tries for the tenth time today as she checks her lipstick in the hall mirror. I roll my eyes.

“I’ll be fine, Mom. You guys are moving to California, not Egypt.” Dad decided to merge with some new hotshot firm in Southern California. Vale and Associates is now The Law Offices of Vale and Pierce. I talked them into letting me stay here with Dash. Not without monthly visits and weekly FaceTime sessions, of course. Dash is a year away from getting his bachelor’s degree from The University of Arizona instead of Harvard next year, much to our father’s dismay. He agreed to come home and stay with me for the summer instead of staying in Tucson, contingent on my parents not being there.

“I’m serious. You call me the second you change your mind. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mother.” My relationship with my parents is a weird one. We love each other, but we’ve never been particularly close. My brother’s relationship with them is another story. It’s much more strained than mine. It’s always been Dash and me against the world. He’s always my best friend, brother, and protector all rolled into one. After he left for college, we inevitably drifted apart, but whenever he visited, it was as if no time had passed.

Mom moves on to lecture Dash about the weight of his responsibilities, and I walk outside to say goodbye to my dad. He doesn’t do emotions, so I run up to the driver’s side of his brand-new Range Rover and pop a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Good luck out there, Dad. Drive safely.”

He grunts, but his eyes are soft. “Ditto.”

After Mom is settled in the car, Dash comes up to stand next to me on the sidewalk, resting his elbow on top of my head. We stay and watch until their taillights fade into the distance, and then we make our way back inside.

“Did that really happen?” I laugh. My parents are control freaks. They’re distant and uninterested, but control freaks nonetheless. My mom is probably more nervous about what might happen to her house without her here, rather than her kids.

“You’re definitely the favorite. There’s no fucking way they would have let me stay behind when I was seventeen.”

“That’s because they know you’d have had the cops called in two point five seconds and would live off nothing but beer and pizza.” Twenty-one-year-old Dashiell can get a little rowdy, but seventeen-year-old Dash? Let’s just say that being young and having an unlimited supply of money was not a good combination for someone like him.

“Touché. So, what are you doing tonight?”

I shrug. “Nat wants to hang out with some friends. Some end-of-the-year party.” Natalia Rossi is one of the best people I know. She’s hilarious, outspoken, ridiculously beautiful, and fiercely loyal. I met her in dance class on the first day of sophomore year when she was horrified to learn that she’d been given the elective. She annoyed the dance instructor until she let her withdraw, claiming there must have been some mistake. She ended up switching electives, but when I saw that I had her in my next class, I decided we needed to be friends, and the rest is history.

“All right, I’m heading out, too. Lock up when you leave. Don’t call me unless you’re dying.”

Rumors of my brother’s sexual proclivities are widely known, but I’ve managed to stay ignorant to the details. But it’s his first weekend back from college, so it’s not hard to figure out what he’ll be up to tonight.

“Noted.”

I run upstairs to hop into the shower. I throw my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head to keep it dry, then run a razor over my legs and quickly wash up. When I walk back into my bedroom, I’m not even a little surprised to see Nat. She’s making herself at home, sitting cross-legged on my floor, using my makeup in front of the full-length mirror that hangs off the back of one of my closet doors.

“Get dressed, bitch. We’re going to The Tracks,” she says, waggling her brows before applying another coat of mascara. My heart jumps in my chest, both scared and excited. The old trotting track was abandoned in the 1960s and hasn’t been touched since. It’s said to be haunted, so, naturally, that’s where you can find the cool kids on any given Friday night. A frisson of both fear and excitement sweeps through me at the thought of being there. I’ve never ventured inside, but Asher brought me there once.

“Can you take me somewhere?” I asked on the verge of tears. Everyone was fighting. Dashiell was fighting with my parents, and my parents were fighting with each other. I was so sick of the yelling. Asher had been here when the argument about Dash’s choice of college started, once again, and we were both hiding upstairs, avoiding them like the plague.

“You know I can’t do that,” he said, looking up at me from his spot at my brother’s desk as he looked up music videos online. “Your parents already hate me.”

“I don’t care,” I stressed. “I just need to get out of here. Anywhere. Where do you go when you need to get away?”

His eyes lock onto mine. “Here.”

“That’s helpful,” I said, fighting an eye roll.

“There is one other place,” he admitted. “But I don’t know if it’s your kind of place.”

“Anywhere but here is my kind of place,” I said, grabbing my phone and making my way over to climb out of the window. I wasn’t normally rebellious, but I knew my parents wouldn’t notice I was gone. They’d argue with Dash until they were blue in the face, then they’d have a cocktail and stay in their room for the rest of the night, like every other time they had this fight.

“Wait,” Ash said, pulling me back inside, and at first, I thought he was going to stop me. Instead, he surprised me by saying, “Let me go first.”

He jumped down and held his arms out to help me down after him. It wasn’t a far jump, being a single-story house, but I landed on a rock and rolled my ankle. He caught me under the arms before I went down, and we both stood there awkwardly for a minute or ten, our chests touching, neither one wanting to pull away. Ash swiped a thumb underneath my eye to wipe away a stray tear, and my eyes fluttered shut, loving the feeling of his skin on mine.

Finally, Ash cleared his throat and backed away. I smothered my smile and followed him to the old, beat-up GMC Sierra that he spent his entire summer last year working to buy. It was older than me. Red with a thick, white stripe. The interior was this ridiculous red velvet, and it smelled like cigarettes, but I loved it. And so did he.

We sat in silence as he drove. I didn’t know where we were going, but I was just happy to be anywhere with him. When we pulled up to our destination, I was just as clueless. It was this massive building in the middle of nowhere. It was pitch-black, and I couldn’t make out any distinguishing characteristics that gave away what it was. Asher drove right up to the fence and cut the engine.

“Where are we?” I asked, leaning on the dash and scanning the foreboding building in front of us.

“The Tracks,” he explained. “Horse racing. It’s been closed down for years.”

“Are we going in?” I asked, gripping the metal door handle. It screeched as I pulled, but Asher grabbed my left hand that sat on the bench seat, stopping me.

“No. It’s not safe inside.”

“But you go inside?”

“That’s different. We can sit on the hood if you want.”

I bit my lip and nodded. What started as an escape now sort of felt like a first date. I mean, I’d never been on a date before, but it felt a whole lot like what I’d imagined it would, even down to the boy I’d imagined it being with.

Asher effortlessly hopped onto the hood while I climbed up, using the bumper. I sat next to him, hugging my knees while he opted to lie back against the windshield with one arm behind his head.

“You can’t see the stars in the city,” he said quietly. I lay back next to him and gazed up into the star-filled sky.

“You’re right,” I said, lying stock-still next to him. The hood of the truck was hot on my exposed thighs. Our hands were just centimeters from each other, not quite touching.

My phone buzzed with a text, and I checked it on the off chance it was Dash or my mom wondering where I was. It ended up being a text from a girl from school, so I ignored it, setting the phone on my stomach.

Ash reached over, and I held my breath as his fingers brushed against the thin material of my tank top to grab my phone. My entire body prickled with goose bumps, and I hoped he couldn’t see my nipples harden beneath my shirt.

“What are you doing?” I asked, breathless.

“We need music,” he answered simply. After a few clicks, it started. A haunting song about love and dysfunction and heartbreak. A song about the right love at the wrong time. I decided right then and there, it was my new favorite.

“What is this song called?”

“‘Glycerine’ by Bush. It’s the one song I’ll never get sick of.”

“I love it,” I whispered. It was raw, beautiful.

After asking him to play it for me again, we lay in comfortable silence once more. Halfway through the third time, I felt his pinky finger graze mine. My pulse sped up, and I tried not to move while I wondered if it was on purpose. As casually as I could, I turned my palm skyward, waiting to see what he’d do. I couldn’t breathe as Asher laced his much-larger fingers with mine.

I didn’t know what to say. What to do. I was too afraid to move in fear of ruining this moment. His thumb rubbed against mine, and I squeezed a little bit tighter.

“What does your name mean?” he asked out of nowhere. Ash wasn’t one for small talk, so the question took me by surprise.

“It’s a type of bush,” I said anticlimactically, and he rubbed at his mouth with his other hand to hide his smile. “But my name is from Sleeping Beauty,” I explained. “Princess Aurora’s real name is Briar Rose.”

“Your parents don’t strike me as Disney fans,” he deadpanned, and I laughed because it was true.

“I guess my mom was once upon a time.”

“But you do look like a princess,” he teased.

“Tell me about your mom?” I asked after a beat of silence. He inhaled deeply, returning his gaze to the stars. “Her name was Isabel. She came from a wealthy family, but she met my dad and got pregnant with me shortly after. She was beautiful. And she gave good hugs. She beat me at every video game we ever played.”

I laughed, never having expected that.

“She died saving me,” he explained, wiping the lingering smile clear off my face. “I had been working on a ramp for my bike all day. I decided to try it out in front of my house. We never had a lot of traffic, so I didn’t think anything of it.”

I held my breath, knowing where the story was going.

“My mom pulled into the driveway with a trunk full of groceries. She waved and smiled at me, but I didn’t smile back. I was frustrated because I couldn’t land this trick. I tried over and over, with my headphones blasting in my ears. Each time, I got sloppier and hit the jump harder. On the last try, I don’t know what happened, but it sent me flying. I landed right in the middle of the street. I didn’t hear it coming, but I saw the car, a big, white Dodge Durango. I couldn’t move quickly enough. I hurt my leg so I couldn’t stand up. I saw the car try to swerve, and then I saw my mom rushing toward me. I remember her dark hair blowing behind her as she ran. For some reason, that’s what stood out the most. She was able to push me out of the way in time, but the car hit her instead.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, brushing a tear away. Because what else could you say to something like that? That’s a kid’s worst nightmare.

“My dad blamed me. I blamed me. And that’s when everything changed.”

“You were just a kid, Ash. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah,” he said noncommittally, and I knew he didn’t believe it.

“I think I would have liked her,” I said, referring to his mom. “She sounds like the opposite of mine.”

“She would’ve loved you.”

One green eye and one brown with flecks of gold met my blues, and something passed between us that I didn’t understand, but I felt it nonetheless. I licked my lips, and his gaze followed the movement. I thought, once again, that he might just kiss me. My phone buzzed violently against the metal hood, making me jump. Asher blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair.

“We need to go,” he said, jumping down and climbing back in the driver’s side.

“Yeah,” I said and cleared the lust from my voice. “I should get back.”

And the moment was gone.

“Sooo, are you in? Bry?” Nat asks, snapping me back to the present. That night was just weeks before the night he told me about his scholarship. The night he left for good.

“Who’s all going?” I interrupt her primping when I open one of the French doors to my closet that she’s sitting in front of and slip inside. Dropping my towel, I snag my H&M black cropped top off the hanger, a pair of frayed jean shorts, and my plain black combat boots. I quickly dress as I listen to Nat’s never-ending list of attendees.

“Jay for sure. I think Steven and his girlfriend with bad eyebrows… What’s her name? Melissa? Anyway, Thomas, Trey, Lexi… Oh, and Jackson will be there, too.”

“Seriously?” I ask, cutting my eyes to hers. Jackson Price is arguably the hottest guy in school. The only guy to pique my interest even moderately, other than Asher Kelley. And the only guy I’ve ever slept with. I’ve hooked up with plenty of guys, but as soon as it moved from anything more than heavy petting, it was like a record screeched, and it wasn’t fun anymore. I had a change of heart, mid-hookup, every single time.

Jackson happened a couple of months ago, and Nat dragged me to a party at his house. Part of me was still holding on to my childish delusions of being with Ash someday, when Whitley came bouncing in, blowing that to pieces.

She was standing there all tall and dark and edgy, the complete opposite of everything I am, bragging about sleeping with Asher over the weekend. Of course, she wasn’t telling me. She was talking to a girl named Marjorie—loudly, for my benefit, no doubt—with no shortage of crude gestures and the hickies to back it up.

I remember exactly how I felt in that moment. The way the beer turned sour in my stomach. The way my chest ached and the way my face heated with anger, embarrassment, and jealousy. I remember how I let Jackson, whom I barely knew, lead me upstairs and take my virginity. I remember how I wanted to give it to him, if only to spite Asher. I remember his practiced movements and the pain he caused, even as he tried to be gentle. I remember how even though I hated myself for it, I could almost pretend it was Asher if I kept my eyes squeezed tight. But mostly, I remember how I felt the next morning. Empty and completely alone, even with Jackson’s arm curled around me, and every bit the child that Asher always accused me of being.

I’m that girl, the one who got drunk at a party and gave it up to the first boy who came along. And I’ve avoided him ever since. What would Asher think of me now? Even thinking his name is enough to cause physical pain, but I bury it. It’s been three years. Three years since he walked out of my house and never came back. Three years since I’ve so much as heard his voice. Three years since I’ve been pining for a boy who was never even mine. This is bordering on pathetic.

“He wants you, Bry. I don’t know how he could make it any clearer.” Nat fluffs her dark hair and stands, giving herself a once-over in the mirror. “I’d fuck me,” she says with a nod of approval. I roll my eyes, but a laugh slips out.

“Why, though?” I muse aloud. There is no shortage of high school girls who want to hook up with Jackson Price. Or college girls, for that matter. He set his sights on me, seemingly out of nowhere last year. He’s gorgeous, funny, charismatic, but…a bit of a whore.

“Besides that whole innocent, blonde, blow-up doll look you’ve got going on?” She circles a finger in my direction and grins when I flip her off. With my freakishly big eyes and pouty mouth, it’s not the first time I’ve heard that comparison. She knows I hate it. “Give him a chance. You don’t have to marry the dude. Just…have fun. With his penis.”

“You’re an idiot.” I laugh. She has a point, though. I need to put Asher out of my mind for good.

Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling off the I-10 in my little black Jetta. We’re only about twenty miles from my house, but it’s like a different world out here. No streetlights, no noise, no gas stations on every corner. Just a long, eerie, dirt road that leads to the old trotting park.

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m driving.” I shrug.

“You’re nervous,” she accuses.

“You wish.”

I pull up next to a few other cars and trucks I don’t recognize and kill the engine. Without so much as a word, Nat hands me the chapstick she just used at the same time I hand her some gum from my purse after popping a piece into my mouth. I rub my lips together and hand her the tube when a loud banging on my window causes me to jolt.

“Jesus!” Nat yells—while I make some noise that comes out as more of a squeak than anything—and cackling from outside my car follows. I open the car door to see Brett and Jackson standing there with shit-eating grins plastered to their faces, beers in hand.

“For you, Briar, my lady,” Jackson says, offering me a can with a dramatic bow. I’m still catching my breath and trying to calm my frantic heart, but I take the beer anyway as I glare at him.

“You guys are dicks,” Nat mumbles, accepting her own beer from Brett.

“Who do all these cars belong to?” I stuff my phone into my back pocket and leave my keys in the ignition in case we need to make a quick getaway. Local cops are starting to catch onto the growing fascination with this place, and I heard they’ve been patrolling the area more than they usually do.

“A couple belong to our group, but I’m not sure about the rest. Guess we had the same idea.”

“No better way to celebrate the end of school than to hang out in an old, decrepit building. Yay,” I say, weakly pumping a fist into the air, sarcasm dripping from every word. I’m surprised Jackson deigned this place an acceptable hangout. I wouldn’t think he’d be caught dead here.

Nat saunters over to me and hooks an arm though mine as we start to walk toward The Tracks. “Don’t be a pussy.”

As we get closer, I notice a huge gate surrounding the perimeter of the building. I reach the entrance and tug on the padlock.

“Guess they’re cracking down.”

“That’s always locked. This way, amateur,” Jackson says, peeling back a break in the chain link fence. “Everyone else is already inside. We just came out to get you guys.”

Nat giggles, totally getting off on this creepy shit, skips over to where he’s crouched, and slips through the hole. I hand my beer to Brett and follow her, but my belt loop gets stuck on a rogue piece of metal protruding from the fence. A warm hand lands on the small of my back, and my head snaps around.

“You’re stuck,” Jackson smirks and gives an innocent shrug. I’m on my knees, halfway through the fence with my ass on display, but Jackson holds my gaze as he reaches to free my belt loop with his fingertip. I wonder if he’s thinking of that night. Does he regret it? Does he know I do? Not that it was his fault. I was on a mission to self-destruct that night, and I was lucky I ended up with someone halfway decent.

“Thanks.” I’m not really sure what to say, or how to feel. I have a tendency to overanalyze things, so it’s probably best that I don’t try to decipher anything just yet. I stand up and brush the dirt off my knees and tighten the mess on my head. Brett passes me my beer and shoves his way through while Jackson opts to scale the fence like a fucking ninja. He lands in front of my feet, looking smug as hell, and I arch a brow in return.

“Am I supposed to be impressed or something?”

“Only if you don’t want to wound my precious ego,” Jackson says, clapping a hand to his heart dramatically. He really is gorgeous—in that all-American, golden boy way—with his light brown hair, high cheekbones, and strong jaw. He’s tall and broad and clearly doesn’t take himself too seriously. Maybe I misjudged him.

As we all approach the massive, formidable building, nerves and excitement tangle in my stomach, and the baby hairs stand up on the back of my neck. The hot August air is suffocating, and a bead of sweat rolls down the small of my back. I head for the rusty, decayed turnstile, but stop short when I notice the razor wire coiled in the old entrance. Jackson hooks an arm around my shoulders and jerks his head to the right with that Ken-doll smile. He leads us to a different gate, this one with vertical bars. At first, I’m confused as to why we’re going this way, but then I notice that one of the bars has been pried apart, leaving enough room to squeeze through. Razor wire and double fences…makes you wonder what happened here and why they’re so determined to keep people out.

Before I can ask how we’re getting inside the building, Brett darts toward a ditch with steep walls. He skids down the sides like he’s surfing on concrete, and Nat—never one to give a shit about consequences—downs her beer, then slides down on her butt after him.

“Nuh-uh.” I shake my head when Jackson looks to me expectantly.

“Mhm.” He grins.

“Nope. No fucking way. I’m wearing shorts!”

“I guess I’ll just have to carry you then.”

“You wouldn’t.” I call his bluff, backing away slowly.

Nat yells something along the lines of, “Just do it, you stupid jock!” before slipping through the gap and disappearing into the abandoned building.

Jackson charges for me and I screech, losing my grip on my beer when he drops a shoulder and scoops me up over it. One arm bands around the back of my thighs, and he chuckles when I grip his waist for dear life. I know what’s coming next. Jackson effortlessly skids down the side of the ditch, his white Nikes crunching over the loose dirt and gravel.

“Don’t mess up your pretty shoes, golden boy.”

“Brave words from a girl who’s at my mercy.”

Instead of putting me down, he carries me inside the narrow opening. I’m hanging upside down, and that, coupled with the fact that it’s dark as hell, makes it hard to see much except beer cans littering the concrete floor and an endless amount of graffiti splashed on every surface. I hear muffled voices and laughter, so I know we’re getting closer.

“You can put me down now,” I say, using my hands against his lower back as leverage to swing myself upwards. But Jackson’s grip on my thighs only tightens.

“Why would I do that when I have such a nice view?” He smacks my ass, and a laugh tumbles from my lips. I don’t even know if I like Jackson, but it feels…liberating. Like I’m finally starting to break free of the curse Asher unknowingly cast upon me the day he left. Or maybe it was the day he landed at my feet on my brother’s bedroom floor. But my freedom is short-lived, because mid-laugh, I hear an all-too familiar voice.

“What the fuck.”

Dash. He’s here? Jackson finally sets me on my feet, and I right myself just in time to see my brother storming toward us, looking positively murderous.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, tucking my hair behind my ear, aiming for casual.

“You wanna tell me why you just had your hands all over my baby sister’s ass?” Dash asks, ignoring my question, shooting daggers at Jackson over my head.

“Whoa, dude. You have a sister?” Jackson throws his hands up in surrender. “I swear I didn’t know.”

I scrunch my nose at that. Everyone knows Dash, and I mean everyone. In fact, I’m known as “Dash’s little sister” to most people. But why would he lie?

“You didn’t know, or you didn’t realize I’d be here?”

Jackson’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t answer. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone. Dash is protective, in the way that every big brother is, but this? This reaction is completely foreign to me.

“Dash, I told you I was going out with friends. What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that you didn’t mention him.”

“We’re just hanging out,” Jackson tries, but Dash cuts his eyes to his, and Jackson wisely shuts up.

“You. Keep your hands to yourself. And you,” Dash says, turning his attention to me, “be smart.”

Dash turns and heads back to his group of friends on the other side of the dark, dank basement. The air seems to shift, and I hold my breath, somehow aware that something big is about to happen. My eyes follow Dash in slow motion, and my heart sinks like a ton of bricks when I lock eyes with him. Asher fucking Kelley.

Asher stands there, unmoving. Adrian and their friends are laughing and talking all around him, but he’s zeroed in on me. I hear Jackson whisper-yelling at Brett for not warning him that my brother would be here, but it’s all that I can do to focus on the important stuff, like standing upright and breathing. I can barely make out his face in the dark, with only glow sticks haphazardly tossed around for light, but I know it’s him. I can feel it. I can feel him. And more than that, I can feel the rage floating off him in waves. But what does he have to be angry about? He’s the one who left me. Lovesick and lonesome. If anyone’s allowed to be upset here, it’s me.

I force myself to turn my back on him, already feeling the loss. I don’t want him to know he can still get to me. I don’t even know if he remembers that night. Asher pretty much stayed drunk back then, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s changed.

Nat’s face is suddenly in my line of vision, and I do my best to blink away thoughts of Asher.

“I think I just came,” she breathes, fanning herself. “When did your brother get all hot and…growly?”

“Apparently, it’s a new development,” I say bitterly. Jackson and Brett finish their little lover’s quarrel and come stand next to us.

“I’m sorry,” I start. “I have no idea why he’s even here.”

“It’s all good,” Jackson says, running a hand through his perfect teen-heartthrob hair, flashing a cocky grin.

“I don’t know what his deal is,” I admit distractedly, because my brain is still stuck on Asher. Why is he here? Where did he go? What happened? Why is he looking at me like that? I lost my first love and my best friend that night. I never thought I’d see him again, and now he’s here, hanging out with my brother like nothing ever happened. His dad served time soon after he left, but he got out after less than a year, and he’s been rotting in that god-forsaken house ever since.

“Earth to Briar?” Nat pulls me from my chaotic thoughts once again. “Okay, I sent the boys to get us drinks. Spill.” I take a quick glance around and confirm that Jackson and Brett are, in fact, nowhere to be seen.

“What do you mean?” I usually tell Nat everything. And I mean everything. But I can’t have this conversation. Not here, and not now.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just try to play dumb. I know something is bothering you, and I have a feeling it’s not the fact that your brother just cockblocked you.”

“He’s here,” I say, widening my eyes for emphasis.

“Who?” Nat immediately scans the building, her eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

“Him.”

“Asher?!” she whisper-yells, and I send a pointy elbow into her side. “Ow! He’s not fucking Voldemort. You can say his name.”

“Say it a little louder. Please,” I deadpan. Jackson and Brett are walking toward us now, a six pack of beer in tow. “Okay, they’re back. Don’t say anything. And don’t make this weird. Please.” Nat makes the “cross my heart” gesture before turning her attention to the guys. Super reassuring.

“Try holding on to this one this time, butterfingers,” Jackson quips, and I accept the beer, downing the entire thing in one gulp.

Jackson whistles and a few people cheer, while Nat gives me the “Oh, honey…” look. I glance up to see Dash making his way over, concern tugging at his expression. Asher’s face becomes visible as he steps out of the shadows, but he does nothing but glare as he walks toward me. This is literally the last thing I need in my life right now. Asher, Dash, and I in the same room for the first time in three years. Dash still has no idea what happened that night, and even though I’m dying to confront Asher, it has to stay that way. For everyone’s sake.

I look to Nat, wordlessly pleading with my eyes for her to do something, anything to break the tension. She gives me an almost imperceptible nod, letting me know she understands.

God, I love her.

“Soooo,” she singsongs, climbing onto an old upside-down paint bucket with a devious look in her eyes. “Who wants to go exploring?”

Phones and flashlights are whipped out, and Adrian and Dash take the lead, Natalia hot on their heels. Asher hangs back, not making a move, as everyone else follows suit. Our eyes connect, and I wait for him to reveal some hint of the boy I grew up with, but there’s nothing. Nothing except contempt, and maybe even disgust. I rub my arms, suddenly feeling cold and insecure under his icy glare, even in the stifling heat.

I turn my back on him and catch up to our group, digging my phone out of my back pocket to use for light, but my battery is at five percent. Shit. I tuck my phone back into my jeans. I’ll have to make sure to stick close to everyone without my own light.

This place is seriously creepy. Graffiti covers every surface, and everything is in shambles. We pass what must have been the bathroom, full of crushed porcelain and crumbling concrete before entering another big, open room.

“Look,” I say, snagging Nat’s phone from her hand and shining it above us to illuminate what’s left of the signage. “Pot pie, Salisbury steak, burgers, and coleslaw… We must be in the old kitchen.” We were standing where the food lines were, and each one had a different sign. It’s fascinating to me that this place is in ruins, but some things, like the menus and even some old light fixtures, have been well-preserved.

“Guys, over here,” Dash says, sounding far away. I follow his voice and find him standing on the old grandstand that overlooks the dirt area where the track once was. As I get closer, I hear crunching with every step and look down to find—

“Is that…?” I ask, lifting a foot.

“Bird shit.”

I jerk my head at the sound of Asher’s voice. It’s deeper than I remember, and it cuts right through me. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that I’ve been missing that voice for three years, and the first words he says to me are bird shit. I shake my head and trek through the piles of mummified poop and stand in the open air, trying to make out the stables through the glassless windows, to no avail.

“I wonder what happened to the windows,” I muse aloud. They run the entire length of the grandstand, and every single frame is empty.

“They blew them up in that Charlie Sheen movie,” my brother offers. “I saw it on YouTube.”

“Yeah, and killed thousands of pigeons in the process. Pissed PETA off real good,” Asher adds. I feel my eyebrows pull together as I try to decipher his tone. He isn’t amused, nor does he seem particularly saddened by the fact. Just…cold ambivalence.

“That’s disgusting,” Nat says, tiptoeing toward us—like that’s somehow going to help her avoid the droppings—with her nose scrunched up like she just smelled something foul.

“That’s sad,” I argue.

“Why, because you weren’t there to give them a funeral?” Asher says snidely.

When I was eleven, I found a dead pigeon on our lawn. The bright, crimson blood coming out of its eye a stark contrast to the light gray feathers. We were coming home from Dash and Asher’s swim meet, and I cried and begged my mom to let me give it a proper burial. She screamed about it being full of diseases, ordered me to stay away, and called my dad to dispose of it. By the time my dad got home, he said the bird was gone. Later that night, when Asher snuck into my brother’s window, he whispered into my ear not to worry. He’d buried it near a bush in our yard. Sure enough, the next day I saw the little mound of dirt and expressed my gratitude, but still thought something was missing. It was so plain. So sad. Everyone deserves to be buried by something pretty, I’d told him. Even a stupid pigeon. He laughed, the way he always did when he thought I was being a bleeding heart, and plucked a big, purple succulent, also known as a desert rose. The colors were beautiful. The middle was made up of a vibrant purple and faded into a lighter shade. Succulents weren’t your typical funeral flower, but I couldn’t have loved them more. “Is that better?” he said as he squatted down to place the flower atop the dirt, ever so carefully. Almost tenderly.

I remember thinking how surprising it was to see this gorgeous, rough-around-the-edges bad boy doing anything with such care, much less tending to a flying rat. Correction: a dead flying rat. That was one of the first things that drew me to him. I knew it was just a bird, but I cried all night thinking about it, unable to get the image of its bloody eye out of my head. And Asher… He knew it bothered me. He’d listened. And he’d fixed it. Clearly, that Asher is not here today.

Dashiell’s eyes dart between the two of us, no doubt wondering what could’ve possibly caused tension between us already. I look down, afraid my guilty eyes will give us away. Asher scoffs and walks off. Dash shoots a look to Nat, and she holds her hands up in mock confusion before following suit.

“He’s been through some shit, Bry.”

I shrug, feigning indifference. “Okay.”

“He’ll come around.”

“If you say so. When did he get back?” I can’t help myself from asking.

“Couple of weeks ago?” he guesses, running a hand over the top of his sandy blond hair.

“Oh.”

I don’t know why that feels like a punch straight to my gut, but it does. He’s been here for weeks—plural—and he hasn’t come to see me. Not once.

“Why are you guys here, anyway?” I ask. I know they didn’t come to hang out with a bunch of high school kids.

“I really don’t know. Asher asked me to meet him here, and then your friends showed up.”

He had plans with Ash, and he kept them from me.

“I would’ve told you sooner…” he trails off, looking uncomfortable, and I know more is coming.

“But?”

“But, he asked me not to tell you.”

Okay. Ouch. That hurts more than it should. I feel tears starting to well up, and I hate that I’m still affected. I’ve shed enough tears for Asher Kelley over the years. I vow to myself, right here and right now, that these are the last ones.

“Look, I know you guys were close, too. He was like a brother to you.”

I cringe at his word choice. I’ve felt a lot of things toward Asher, but sibling love was never one of them.

“I just don’t get why he wouldn’t want me to know.” The night he left was perfect…until it wasn’t. It was as if a switch went off, and I have no idea what tripped it.

“I don’t think he wanted anyone to know, really.” Dash shrugs. “He hasn’t told me much, but I know the past three years weren’t exactly fun.”

My chest aches at the thought of anything bad touching Asher. He’s had too much of it in his life. Throughout the years, whenever he got a raw deal—whether it was a misunderstanding or plain old shitty luck—he never complained. Not once. He simply accepted every negative thing life threw at him. More than accepted it, he expected it. Like he thought he deserved it. And it broke my heart.

“Come on. Let’s get back.”

I nod, not trusting my voice to hide the hurt, and we head back to our friends. Nat curls her fingers around my hand and gives it a squeeze without saying a word, and we all explore some more. When we come up to a decrepit escalator, I have to stop and stare. It’s the creepiest, most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. No one realizes I’ve stopped, so they keep moving, but there’s something about this escalator that has me rooted to this spot.

I pull out my phone. Four percent battery. If I’m lucky, I can get a picture or two before it dies. I back up, taking in the missing stairs and gutted handrails with metal protruding like curled ribbons. I lean over the ledge, just a little, to get a better angle, and snap a photo. I survey the picture, and it’s too dark to make out. I lean a little further, hoping for enough battery life to use the flash one more time, and snap another.

“Don’t fall.”

I jerk at the cold, taunting words rumbled near my ear and pitch forward. Instead of falling to my death, I’m yanked back by a fist closed around the back of my shirt. I stumble before righting myself, and I attempt to calm my erratic heart. My chest heaves, and Asher’s eyes follow the movement for a fraction of a second before the apathetic mask falls back into place. Those green and brown eyes appear even darker, and the shadows cling to his features, making him look like some sort of otherworldly creature.

For long moments, we stare. Him with his hands in his pockets, me with one hand on my chest, still catching my breath, but both of us unspeaking. I open my mouth to say something, anything, like maybe why the hell did you just almost kill me? Or why did you leave us? But the words are stuck in my throat. Realizing that I’m not going to be the one to break the silence, Asher gives me a derisive laugh before shaking his head and prowling off. I really hate the sight of his back walking away from me.

* * *

“Okay, so tell me about that night again. Don’t leave anything out,” Nat says from the driver’s seat of my car. After my encounter with Asher, I practically dragged her out of the building, leaving Jackson and Brett’s drunken protests behind us. I was feeling a little lightheaded myself—from chugging that beer, or being near Asher again, I still don’t know—so I asked Nat to drive.

“I’ve told you this a million times.” I sigh, reclining my seat all the way back. I stick my hand out of the backseat window, feeling the hot, summer wind whip against it. “I threw myself at him. He was into it for a minute. Then, Dash and Whitley showed up before anything else could happen.” Not that it would’ve happened anyway, much to my fourteen-year-old self’s dismay. “He basically told me we made a mistake, gave Whitley a ride home, and I never saw him or heard from him again. Until now. He didn’t even end up taking the scholarship. I checked.”

“Hmm,” Nat says thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against the leather steering wheel. “I mean, obviously, he was running away from whatever he was feeling for you. But to disappear for three years? That’s a little extreme, even for him.”

I snort at that. There’s no way I had anything to do with his vanishing act. I’d have to mean something to him for that to happen, and the past three years have proven otherwise.

“There’s no point attempting to figure Asher out. You’ll only hurt your brain trying.” I would know. Asher’s always played his cards close to his chest, never letting anyone in on the thoughts and feelings within.

We pull into the long driveway leading up to our ranch-style house, then Nat throws the car into park.

“All right, I’m out. I have to help my mom set up for an event tomorrow, so I promised I’d be home early.”

“Boo. Call me after.”

After Nat takes off in her little red sports car, I make my way toward the house, then tiredly stab the code into the keypad at our front door. Too lazy to go to my room on the other side of the house, I steal Dash’s charger from the kitchen counter and plant myself onto the couch in the media room. It’s fluffy and huge and could sleep ten people at least. This is my preferred room in the house. I throw in my favorite movie—the one I love to hate and hate to love since it reminds me of that night. Tombstone.

I can’t focus on the screen. The events of tonight and the ones of three years ago play in my head on repeat, searching for something, anything, that will fill in the missing pieces. I keep coming back to the same two questions. What made him leave? And what brought him back?

Before long, I drift to sleep with images of Asher’s hardened expression in my mind.

“Don’t fall…”

Someone should’ve warned me not to fall years ago.