Briar

Saturday morning comes fast, and I haven’t seen Ash since the day at the pool. He’s been making himself scarce lately, and I don’t know what to make of it. Last night when Dash and I had our usual birthday celebration, it took all I had in me not to press for answers. Answers to where he’s been and what he’s been up to. I have three years of questions I need answered. But, I managed to keep my mouth shut, not even mentioning him once. We video chatted with the parental units—well, with my mom, as Dad was too busy on a business call—watched movies, and ordered from his favorite pizza joint, before I finally called it a night.

I told myself to put Asher out of my mind. Things are different now, but somehow not different at all. Because even though I’m older, we still can’t be together. And on top of that, he now hates me, for some unknown reason. But, turning my feelings off is easier said than done, so I caved to my desire to touch myself to thoughts of Asher. I imagined him sneaking into my room and slipping inside me. Only he wouldn’t be sweet like Jackson was. It would hurt—because everything with Ash hurts—and I’d beg him not to stop. I couldn’t even hate myself for it afterward because I was finally able drift off to sleep, blissfully sated.

This morning, however, is another story. The moment I opened my eyes, at six A.M. for some god-awful reason, a sense of dread blanketed my mood, like a dark cloud hanging over my head. I didn’t know why, but I was pretty sure Asher had something to do with it.

Now, I’m standing in the kitchen in an old white T-shirt that reaches mid-thigh, making breakfast burritos for the hungry men who will be infiltrating my kitchen soon on the griddle of the restaurant-style range. I look at the clock on the microwave—seven thirty. I have a good hour before everyone wakes up and shows up, but the food can be reheated. And I can guarantee the drinking will start before ten A.M., so these assholes will need sustenance.

The silence is too much, so I grab my earbuds and hit shuffle on my playlist. An acoustic version of “Hoodie” by Hey Violet filters through my headphones. Jesus, I’m pathetic because everything always comes back to Asher. This song included.

I’m sprinkling shredded cheese onto the potatoes, swaying and singing, when I feel a hand brush across my neck before clamping down. I whip around, wielding the spatula in front of me like a weapon, only to see Asher standing there, looking highly unimpressed.

He has on a thin, black tank top with the sides cut out and gray board shorts. His hair is wet and slicked back, as if he just got out of the shower, and I can’t help but wonder if he used my conditioner again. Now my heart is racing for another reason entirely.

“Jesus, Asher!” I whisper-yell. He tugs on the white cord, ripping the bud from my ear with a wicked smirk plastered to his face.

“I said your name. Multiple times.” He shrugs, like that gives him an excuse to scare the life out of me.

“Where have you been?” I ask, without meaning to, turning back to switch the griddle off and scoop everything onto plates.

“Don’t tell me you’ve missed me, Sugar Plum,” he whispers, still crowding my space, and I feel his breath on the back of my neck.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why no—” Asher starts, but stops, and I twist around to look at him expectantly. The playfulness is gone, and his expression is back to being stone-cold.

“What?” I ask with a nervous laugh. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Is that my shirt?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the tattered, blood-speckled tee. The one he left behind in my brother’s room the night he left. The one I snatched after he crawled back out the window, and sniffed in the privacy of my room for weeks afterward, until his scent was gone just like him. The one I don’t even think of as being his anymore.

“It’s mine,” I say firmly, chin thrust forward. My ears are burning with embarrassment and I feel my face heat, but I don’t show it.

“Funny, I bled on a shirt just like that.”

“Well, even if it was yours, I think the statute of limitations would be up by now.”

He laughs, more of a single huff, really, before scrubbing a hand over his face. “Why’d you keep it, Briar?”

I have two choices. I can either play dumb or tell the truth. The truth is awkward and uncomfortable, but I decide to go with it. Maybe if I give him a little morsel of honesty, he’ll open up about why he left the way he did, leaving all thoughts of college and Dash and me behind. Or maybe I’m just a glutton for disappointment.

“Because I was sad. Because you left me, and I had—no—have no idea why. Because the only friend I had after you disappeared was my own brother and I missed you so much that it physically hurt. And because this stupid shirt was the only thing that made me feel closer to you.”

Asher doesn’t speak, just stands there with his mouth pressed in a flat line. His eyebrows pull together as if he’s trying to work something out in his head. He opens his mouth to say something, but before I can get my hopes up, he snaps it shut.

Asher steps toward me, and I suck in a breath. He hooks a finger under my chin, and I have to tilt my head up to make eye contact when he’s this close. My hands that are braced on the oven handle behind me start to feel clammy, and I’m afraid to breathe, afraid to do anything to ruin this moment. His dark, mismatched eyes search my blues, for what, I don’t know.

But it all comes crashing down when I hear the last voice I expect to hear. Here. In my house.

“Uh, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Whitley says, each word dripping with disdain.

Asher snaps out of his trance, and the mask of indifference is firmly back in place.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?” I didn’t even hear her come in. I haven’t so much as laid eyes on her since the party where she bragged about hooking up with Asher, and if I never see her again, it would be too soon.

“Aw, didn’t Asher tell you? I’m his date for your brother’s party. Thanks for keeping him entertained ’til I got here.”

I look at him, my eyebrows clear up to my hairline, unable to comprehend the fact that he invited her, here, of all people. Of all places. That’s a new level of low, even for him.

“You’re not my fucking date,” Ash spits with more venom than he’s ever directed at me.

Before anyone can say another word, the front door swings open and Adrian, two thirty-packs of beer under each arm, and a couple of other people I don’t recognize make their way toward the kitchen.

Asher’s jaw hardens and he shoots a look to my bare legs, and it’s only then that I realize I’m still standing here…without pants.

“Breakfast burritos are ready,” I supply, keeping myself hidden behind the countertop.

Adrian notices Whitley being here and looks at me with an eyebrow cocked in question. I shoot him a look that says tell me about it. No one really likes her. I’m not sure why she sticks around, or why they allow it.

“You’re too good to me, baby,” he says, clutching his chest and making his way toward the food. He fixes his plate and is already inhaling it in three seconds flat. If you want to win Adrian’s heart, food is the fastest way to it. Hands down.

“Damn, girl,” he says through a mouthful, as everyone else starts helping themselves, “shit is the bomb.”

“Briar,” Asher says, his voice cold and hard. Just like him.

“What?” I snap at him. I’m not ready to play nice yet.

“Clothes,” he says in a threatening voice. “Now.”

Adrian stands up from the barstool at the counter and peers over at me, giving me a thorough once-over. Asher plants him back down with a firm hand to the shoulder as I walk away, fighting the urge to cover myself.

“I’d straight-up suck a fart out of that ass,” I hear Adrian say, followed by, “Ow, motherfucker!”

I’d laugh if I weren’t fuming. I’m not even mad at Whitley. This is what she does. But Asher? He knows how she’s always treated me. He knows how I feel about her. And still, she’s here. Smugger than Simon Cowell.

I quickly pull on my white bikini and some cut-off jean shorts and head back to the kitchen. Dash is awake now, already eating, and stands when he sees me. Asher is sitting on the arm of the couch, and Whitley is perched between his spread legs.

“Thanks for breakfast, Bry,” Dash says, hooking an arm around my neck and giving me a quick peck to the top of my head.

“Surprise,” I say half-heartedly, my eyes still locked on the man version of the boy I used to love.

Asher stands abruptly, causing Whitley to stumble. “Going to take a piss.” He walks by me, not looking even a little sorry.

“I’m going to go grab some towels. Be ready to leave in five?” I ask. Everyone mumbles their agreement.

Once I round the corner, I pause at the bathroom door to make sure no one else is around, and before I can talk myself out of it, I’m barging in. Asher’s standing in front of the toilet, peeing, perpetually unfazed.

“This gonna be our thing? Meeting up in the bathroom? Not exactly the most sanitary place, but I guess it will do.”

“Why’d you do it?” I seethe, too angry to be mesmerized by the glint of silver as he shakes himself once he finishes, before tucking himself back into his shorts.

“Do what?” he says with a sigh, as if he’s exasperated by my antics.

“Why would you invite her? You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I’m not your fucking boyfriend, Briar.” He wields words like a weapon, and they hit their intended target, like a punch straight to my gut.

Of course, he isn’t my boyfriend. Even if we were together, words like boyfriend and girlfriend would seem too trivial a label for us. But it’s about respect. And intent. He intended to hurt me, and that is what stings the most.

“I’m done, Ash. With whatever this is.” I wave a hand between us.

“Like I said, I’m not your boyfriend. So save the breakup speech.”

I drop my gaze, hating how I can want him and detest him simultaneously.

“Are you going to fuck her?”

A shrug. “Probably.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“It’s about time you realized it.”

I leave the bathroom first, grab my stuff from my room, and shoot off a text to Nat telling her how much I hate her for not being able to come today, while the boys load up the trucks with beer and snacks.

I ride with my brother and Adrian, while Whitley hops in with Asher—shocker—and the other guys. The lake is a good forty-five minutes away, and somewhere along the way, I decide I’m going to have fun with my brother and our friends, regardless of Asher and Whitley’s presence. Adrian cracks jokes and keeps the conversation flowing, and by the time we pull up to the lake, I’m feeling lighter. Happier.

Ignoring the pain from walking barefoot on the rocky beach, I go straight for the water. It’s a scorcher at one hundred fourteen degrees today, so I don’t waste any time.

An arm is slung over my shoulder, and I’m tugged into Adrian’s warm, tan side. Arms still crossed, I look up and offer him a big smile. Asher was my crush, but Adrian was always like another brother to me. Albeit, a perverted brother, but a brother nonetheless.

“Hey.”

“Why do you look like you’re about to off yourself?”

“Shut up, I do not.” I laugh, throwing an elbow into his side. “I’m just thinking.”

“Thinking about…?” he hedges.

“Just stuff.”

“Stuff like the fact that Whitley is here and hanging all over Kelley like he holds the key to all the blow in the entire state?”

I cringe, not only at that visual, but also because, apparently, I’m so transparent that even Adrian can see through me.

“He doesn’t want her, sweetheart,” he says, ducking his head close to mine.

Giving up the charade, I ask, “How do you know?”

Adrian looks backward, a cocky grin plastered to his face.

“Because if he wanted anything to do with her, he wouldn’t be staring over here, looking like he’s about to commit murder right after he pisses on you to mark his territory.”

Trying to appear as casual as possible, I glance behind me to see Asher sitting on the tailgate of his truck, white knuckling his beer bottle. Clenched jaw. Spine ramrod straight. Yeah, he’s pissed. Meanwhile, Whitley is oblivious, prancing around in her hot pink bikini that barely covers her crotch and half a nipple, making every effort to be noticed by Ash—and every other guy at the lake.

“Then, maybe he should do something about it,” I say, suddenly feeling so fed up with this game we’re playing.

“Give him a minute.” He chuckles. “Kelley doesn’t catch feelings for anyone. Not once in all the years that I’ve known him has he had a legitimate relationship. Figures the first girl he falls for ends up being his best friend’s little sister.”

The first girl he falls for…

I don’t know if what Adrian is saying holds any truth—Asher is a very different person than he was before he left—but those words dull my anger, just a little. Sweet, vulnerable Asher doesn’t know how to love anyone. Doesn’t know how to let anyone love him. I could’ve loved him enough for the both of us if he let me.

“Let’s go!” Dash yells, and I look over to see him standing on Adrian’s dad’s pontoon that they’ve already managed to unload into the water. “Who’s taking the Jet Skis?” he asks, holding two keys attached to bracelets.

Slipping out from under Adrian’s side, I run up and snatch one of the keys from him. I love these things, plus the more distance between Whitley and me, the better.

“You sure?” Dash asks, concern etched into his features.

“I’ll be careful, Dad,” I tease, giving a reassuring smile. Dash tosses me a life jacket, and I strap it on over my chest. I unbutton my shorts and let them fall to my ankles before tossing them onto the pontoon.

“All right, who else?”

Adrian starts toward us, but Asher hops off the tailgate, tosses his empty bottle into the bed of his truck, and then claims the other set of keys without a word. Adrian shoots me a knowing look.

Lovely.

“Stay close to Kelley. I’ll see you out there.”

Everyone piles onto the boat while Ash and I make our way toward the Jet Skis.

“You know how to drive one of these things?” Asher asks, shrugging on his own life jacket—looking put out that he’s not above the law and has to wear one—as I swing a leg over and hop on.

“Yep.”

“Of course, you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not a damn thing. Ready?”

Instead of answering, I stick the key in and hit the start button. Asher gets behind me, and we both coast, unspeaking, until we pass the no-wake zone. As soon as we hit the buoys giving us the green light, Asher speeds off ahead of me.

Dick.

I squeeze the throttle on the handlebar and manage to catch up to him. His head swivels over to me, and I see a dark brow lift in amusement behind his black sunglasses. He ups his speed, daring me to keep up, and I don’t plan to back down. My hair whips in every direction, and I’m laughing like a lunatic, but I don’t care. It’s not like he can hear me, anyway. I can resume my anger once I’m done having fun.

We’re in the pontoon’s wake, and I hear Dash and Adrian hollering at us. They’re holding up something that I can’t make out… Is that a beer bong? Yup. It’s definitely a beer bong.

Asher stands on his Jet Ski, hands still on the handlebars, and cuts out of the wake, hitting several waves that send him flying through the air. But, he doesn’t lose control for even a second. He’s always loved the water, and it loves him right back. His dark gray board shorts cling to him like a second skin and hang low enough to expose the defined crease between two toned ass cheeks. That, combined with the vibration between my thighs, has me feeling more than a little squirmy.

Instead of staying with the boat, I veer off and follow Asher. He glances over his shoulder, and I swear I see a hint of a smirk on those gorgeous, pouty lips of his. If I thought we were going fast before, we’re flying now. I check the speed. Thirty-eight miles per hour. Okay, so maybe it’s not that fast. But it feels a lot faster on water.

Every time we hit a wave, he checks back on me, and some stupid, naïve part of me equates that as caring about me—at least in some capacity. Baby steps.

After playing around in the water a little more, Ash leads the way back to Dash and everyone. We’re parallel to the pontoon, but this time, I’m in front of him. I look back at Dash for a split second before I hear Asher yell.

“Briar!”

My head snaps to my right, and I see another Jet Ski coming straight for me. Fear takes hold and I’m frozen, unsure of what to do. If I hit the off button at this speed, I’ll be ejected. I can’t go left, because the pontoon is there. My only option is to pull out the key and take a sharp right.

I just narrowly avoid being hit, water splashes onto my face, and the two guys on the Jet Ski look back, oblivious to the fact that they almost took me out. I’m still trying to calm my racing heart when Asher’s suddenly at my side.

“You okay?” he barks out, his eyebrows cinched together.

“Yeah, I—” Before I can finish my sentence, he takes off after them.

“Asher! Don’t!”

But there’s no stopping him. He’s off like a rocket, chasing them across the lake. He has to be going at least sixty miles per hour to catch up to them. This is the old Asher. The hothead, always looking for a fight.

“Bry!” Dash yells out to me, panic lacing his voice.

“I’m good!” I shout back, climbing back on and giving a thumbs-up.

Asher passes them, and I’m confused for a second, wondering if he thought better of it, until he turns back around, heading straight for them.

Is he playing chicken?

They try to dodge him, but he mirrors their every move. I hold my breath, watching through my fingers and hoping to God he doesn’t hurt himself or anyone else, when he cuts right, just before they’re about to collide, and soaks the shit out of them. The guy tries to take a sharp turn to avoid getting hit, but they end up tipping over and going under.

Adrian and Dash howl with laughter, while Whitley rolls her eyes because the attention isn’t on her. I think I let out something between a nervous giggle and a relieved sigh, but I can’t tell because my pulse is still pounding in my ears.

I’m not sure exactly what’s going on from here, but I can hear Asher’s threatening, booming voice, and then he’s throwing his arms up and pointing back at me. One guy swims to the shore, and one mounts the Jet Ski, idling. A few more words are exchanged before they go their separate ways.

Once he’s back, he tells me to get my ass on the boat. I idle as close as I can get and Adrian extends a hand to pull me up. I ditch my life vest, then pull the key bracelet off, handing it to one of Dash’s other friends. Asher dives off his Jet Ski and climbs onto the boat behind me.

“Key’s on the handlebar,” he says to anyone and everyone, but staring at only me, and one of the other guys jumps in to get it.

“It wasn’t—” I start, but he cuts me right off.

“No, it wasn’t your fault. Those fucks were drunker than shit.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I didn’t expect that. I don’t know why, I just assumed he’d find a way to turn it around on me.

“But, you weren’t paying attention.” Annnnd there it is. “If you hadn’t thought fast…”

“Thank you, Asher,” I say simply.

He gives a short, forced nod, but then Whitley is there next to him, tracing her talons up and down the dips and grooves of his abs. Asher tenses ever so slightly, but I catch it.

“That’s a really cute suit, Briar,” Whitley says, her saccharine sweet voice dripping with insincerity.

“Thanks,” I deadpan.

“It’s really brave for someone so…curvy to wear white. I wish I was as confident as you are.”

I roll my eyes, letting her comment roll off my back before walking away. Is this what we’re resorting to now? Backhanded, mean girl compliments? Seeing her touch his body with such ease, such intimacy, was far worse than any insult she could sling at me. I sit on the cushioned bench on the very back of the boat, resting a forearm on my folded knees.

Dash, deciding this is as good a place as any, throws the anchor over the side, next to another boat full of partiers. There are probably ten or so guys and girls who look to be a little older than us. Maybe mid-twenties. Dash grabs the beer bong and steps over onto their boat and introduces himself. Ever the attention whore.

“Having fun, pretty girl?” Adrian asks, plopping down beside me, flashing that megawatt smile. He’s ridiculously attractive with his inky black hair, caramel-colored skin, and golden eyes. Why couldn’t I crush on a guy like him? Because that would be too easy.

“I was before I almost died.” I laugh.

“I don’t think it was the near-death experience that put that look on your face,” he teases. But he’s also right.

“When did you get so insightful?” I grumble.

We both watch as Whitley sits on an uninterested Asher. At least, he appears to be uninterested, with the way he stares directly ahead as Whitley bounces around on his lap to some shitty Ke$ha song playing from the other boat.

Adrian tucks a wayward hair behind my ear, and I must give him the dirtiest side-eye known to man, because he laughs and leans in, explaining himself.

“Trust me. He just needs a little push.”

I swallow hard and give a shaky nod. Good thing Dash is too entertained by his new friends to notice Adrian’s show. Though, somehow, I suspect that he’d get away with it, anyway. Adrian just has that way about him. He can bullshit his way out of anything, and everyone loves him. Even Ash, though you’d never know it by seeing them together.

“Don’t look at him,” Adrian says in a hushed voice. “Keep looking at me.”

I look into his usually mirthful eyes, but right now, they’re full of heat, and I’m wondering if this is still an act. He cups the side of my neck, pulling me closer. His lips are just an inch from mine, and even though I know it’s all for show, my stomach twists with nerves.

“Damn, Briar. I’m starting to think you’d be worth the beating I’d get from your brother and Kelley.”

Huh?

“I’m gonna kiss you. Go with it.”

His fingertips touch my cheek, and for some reason, my first thought is how they’re so much softer than Asher’s calloused hands. It’s a testament to how different their lives have been. How different they still are.

I’m about to say no. These kinds of games always lead to trouble. I chance a look at Asher out of the corner of my eye, and all I can focus on is his death grip on Whitley’s thigh.

All of a sudden, Adrian’s soft lips meet mine. I gasp, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in to tangle with him. Before I can process the fact that it’s happening, his mouth is ripped away from mine. And then a moment later, a splash.

My eyes shoot open to see Asher in front of me—face full of anger and clenched fists full of rage—and I hear Adrian sputtering and chuckling from the water. Asher pushed him off the edge? That fucker was right.

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

Anyone in their right mind would be afraid, but Adrian literally laughs him off.

“I mean, we can share. It’s not gay if your balls don’t touch!” Adrian yells, sending a wink in my direction.

Turning his attention to me, Asher grabs me by my bicep and drags me toward the other side of the boat.

“You’re coming with me. Say whatever the fuck you have to say to your brother.”

“Why should I?”

“Don’t fucking play with me right now, Briar,” he says roughly, snatching up a life vest and smacking it to my chest. “You’re going to pay for that little show.”

* * *

Asher

I’m going to kill Adrian’s bitch ass. I know exactly what he was trying to do. But I also know that he wouldn’t pass up the chance to hook up with Briar if it came down to it, either. And what the fuck was she thinking, letting him put his hands on her? His lips on her?

After making up some excuse about needing to get back home, Dash hugged his sister and thanked me for offering to help her. I’m a piece of shit, but ask me if I care right now.

She was wearing my shirt this morning. Just my shirt. She kept it. When I saw her standing there with her back to me, bare legs and messy hair, I wished things were different. I wished I wasn’t a fucking lowlife scumbag and that she wasn’t the girl who purposely fucked me over because her pride was wounded.

Nothing makes sense. I was about to ask her why she did it, once and for all, if only to keep from crushing my lips to hers, but then fucking Whitley walked in.

I didn’t invite her. Fuck that. If there’s a party, or anything even resembling one, Whitley will find out about it. My guess is that one of the other guys who still risks his life by putting his dick inside her tipped her off. I know she still tries to talk to Dash, but he shut that shit down a long time ago. And if Dash won’t touch her, that automatically excludes Adrian, seeing as how they like to share.

I’ll admit that I’ve fucked her in the past, but it was never a relationship. We were just two lonely, miserable people who used each other. I used her for coke, and she used me for sex. She knew the drill. It’s not like I could sleep with my best friend’s fourteen-year-old sister, so I didn’t really care.

I let Briar think that I invited her. Maybe it was payback for having to see her with Jackson. Maybe it was my way of getting her to hate me so I wouldn’t be tempted to forget her transgressions and make her mine. Maybe I’m just an asshole.

I step onto the Jet Ski and hold out my hand to help Bry on behind me, but she doesn’t take it.

“Where’s yours?” she questions.

“My what?”

“Your life jacket. It’s illegal to be on that thing without one,” she says, arms crossed.

A devious smirk spreads across my face. “You’re stalling, baby girl.”

She takes a fortifying breath before taking my hand and cautiously stepping down. Once she’s on, her thighs hug mine, and I can feel the heat of her pussy on my back.

This was a bad fucking idea.

I spot the key hanging off the handlebar, and I start it up, ignoring Whitley’s shrill protests from the boat. The ride back to shore does little to calm my anger. If anything, I’m only getting more pissed off by the minute.

Briar’s only five feet tall, but the girl is all legs. And right now, those thighs have me in a vise grip as she holds on to me for dear life. After hitting a rough wave that forces us even closer together, she finally wraps her timid arms around my stomach. I’m hard from her touch alone. I feel her tuck into me, her forehead hitting the top of my spine—probably to shield her face from the wind—and her long, blonde hair whips in my face.

We hit another wave, and instinctively, my left hand shoots out to grip her thigh. But I don’t remove it. Not even when we’re in the no-wake zone.

Once we reach the shore, I yank the key out while she takes off her vest, exposing those perky tits covered by thin scraps of white triangles. Fuck, she looks good. I bend down and lift her around the waist, and even though she squeals, her legs immediately lock around me.

“Put me down!”

“Shut up.”

She tries to wriggle down my body, but all she does is make my dick harder, and the moment she feels it, she freezes. I laugh darkly at her wide eyes.

Once we’re to my truck, I lay her down in the bed of it, on top of an old quilt I keep back here to prevent tools from scratching the paint.

“Tell me, Briar. What was your plan?” I ask, leaning over her.

She lies there, and with the setting sun making her hair appear more golden than blonde, those faint freckles across her nose, and cheeks rosy from the sun, she looks even more innocent than usual. She shakes her head. “What are you talking about?”

“Your plan. With Adrian?” Don’t play dumb, baby.

“He wasn’t being serious.”

“Bullshit,” I say, trailing my hand up her soft thigh. Higher, higher, higher. “Were you going to let him touch this?” I grip her between her legs through her bathing suit bottoms, and she gasps.

“Huh? Were you going to let him touch your pussy?”

“No,” she breathes, as the flat of my fingers start to rub up and down.

“Because he would, you know. He’d fuck you in a heartbeat if given half the chance.”

“You’re such a hypocrite,” she says, eyes closing in pleasure. “You can be all over Whitley, but I can’t kiss anyone?”

“Fuck Whitley. I don’t want her.” I want you. I don’t say it out loud, but the insinuation is clear.

She pushes into my hand, and I feel her wetness through the fabric of her bathing suit.

“Who are you wet for, baby girl? Is it for him? Or me?”

Briar doesn’t answer, too focused on trying to close her legs around my hand to stop my movements. Her eyes dart around, making sure we don’t have any company. The sun is going down, so there are people only feet away, packing up for the day.

“No one can see you,” I say, covering her body with mine. “But even if they could…let them watch.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she says on a gasp, but she parts her legs for me anyway, and I rub her clit with the heel of my palm at the same time that I pull her bathing suit top to the side with my teeth. I suck the soft flesh into my mouth, leaving my mark on her.

“You wanted to play big girl games, Briar. Now, I’m going to treat you like a big girl.”

Briar’s head drops back, exposing her slender throat. A lone freckle where her neck meets her shoulder catches my eye, and without thinking twice, I bite into her. Hard.

She shrieks in pain before I feel her entire body tense up, and her knees clamp shut, effectively trapping my hand between her legs. Once she starts to shudder and shake, I realize she wasn’t screaming in pain. She was screaming from pleasure.

Baby girl likes it rough.

“Did you really just come?” I ask wryly.

She throws an arm over to shield her face and rolls away from me.

“Fuck you.”

“Why, so you can come on my cock this time?”

“You’re disgusting. Take me home.”

“How long has it been, Bry? You must be going through quite the dry spell to get off so easily. Or is it just me that has that effect on you?”

I’m just saying things to get under her skin at this point. Getting a rise out of her is my newest addiction. It’s better than cocaine. Briar sits up and jumps down from the tailgate, then stomps around to the front of the truck. She hops into the passenger seat and slams the door.

I decide to let her stew in her post-orgasmic bliss-slash-guilt while I set the Jet Ski up onto the trailer. It takes a while, and by the time I get back, the sun has completely set.

Briar sits in the front seat, chipping away at her white nail polish. She doesn’t glance my way when I open the door. Not even when I start the truck. And not even when we pull up to her house.

“You wanna tell me why I’m the one with blue balls and you’re giving the silent treatment?” It was a joke, but apparently the wrong thing to say, because when she looks up at me, her eyes are shining with unshed tears.

“Why do you do this to me?”

“What exactly am I doing to you? Besides making you come on my hand?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing. You’ve been stringing me along since I was fourteen fucking years old.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I seethe. Does she think I do this on purpose? That I like feeling this way? I want to hate her. I do hate her. But I also just want her. This is her fault. If it weren’t for her, none of the past three years would’ve happened.

“No, Asher, I think I do. You don’t want me until someone else does. But we’re just friends, right? At least, we were. Now, we’re not even that.”

“Because you’re so innocent,” I snap back. “Little Briar fucking Vale. Such a saint. Such a victim. That’s what you want people to think, isn’t it? But they don’t know you like I do. I see you.”

Briar huffs, avoiding eye contact while clumsily slapping around for the handle.

“I was trying to protect you,” I say grudgingly. “Jackson isn’t a good guy.”

“You’re miserable. And you won’t be happy until everyone is just as miserable as you. I’m done.”

“Why don’t you ask him about his list then?” I toss back, ignoring the fact there is some truth to her words.

She gives me an appraising look, probably trying to gauge whether or not I’m telling the truth before she storms out of the truck and slams the door. Her pale hair whipping around in the dark behind her is the last thing I see before I drive off. I can’t be here right now, so I go to the one place I’ve been avoiding since I got into town.

Home.

* * *

I stand in front of the house I grew up in with its flaking, once-white paint, and front yard full of dirt for the second time since coming back. The first time, I took exactly one step inside before bailing.

The olive-green Oldsmobile sits in the cracked driveway, and nothing seems to have changed since I’ve been gone, except the boarded-up front window. The mailbox is knocked over, almost completely horizontal. I kick it when I walk past, inadvertently causing it to stand almost straight.

Don’t say I never did anything for you, you piece of shit.

Once I’m at the front door, I smell the old familiar scent of mothballs that my dad insists keeps stray cats away. I raise a fist to knock before deciding to let myself in. Inside, it’s dark, hot, and smells of stale cigarettes. Years of smoking in the house have resulted in nicotine-stained walls, but I can still see faint white patches where pictures used to hang.

And then I see him. John Kelley, in all his glory. Passed out in his black, cracked leather recliner, in front of an old television with a rabbit-ear antenna. A cigarette dangles from his fingertips with ash a mile long, and below it sits a collection of beer bottles.

“You got somethin’ to say, boy, or are you just gonna stand there and keep killing me in your mind?”

Okay, so maybe he isn’t asleep.

Wordlessly, I scan his face, noticing his yellow complexion and clammy skin. I didn’t know how I’d feel standing in this house, facing this man who couldn’t seem to put his bullshit aside for one goddamn minute to be a decent father. Even a decent human would’ve sufficed. But, the bitterness, resentment, and flat-out disgust are all still there.

“Well, no need,” he says with a cough. “My liver will kill me before you get the balls.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” I ask, the picture of apathy as I casually sit on the filthy couch. It’s the same one that was old, even when I was a baby, with its plaid design made up of different shades of tans and browns and wooden arms.

“No,” he says thoughtfully. “No, I guess you wouldn’t have any reason to, would you?”

“If you think that we’re going to be buddy-buddy just because you’re dying, think again.”

“Then, why are you here?” he rasps, taking a drag of his cigarette.

I look him dead in the eyes. “To bury you.”

He nods once, before looking back at the TV. “Fair enough.”

Minutes pass, him not knowing what to say, and me not wanting to say anything at all. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“I never meant for you to meet David.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Even hearing that name has my blood boiling, but he keeps speaking.

“I didn’t want him to know you so much as existed. And, hell, for the first few years, he didn’t.”

I give a heavy sigh, aiming for bored. “Is this going to be a thing? You’re dying, so now you’re trying to absolve yourself of all your sins and guilt?” I roll my eyes and sit back, propping one foot on my knee, arms spread over the itchy fabric of the couch. “Save your breath, because I don’t give a fuck about any of it.”

“My father…” he trails off, looking away before continuing. “He was rough with us both. But David was different. He’d always been…off, even from a young age. I don’t remember a time in my life when he was normal.”

I feel my smirk falter. “I said stop.”

“Then, once your mother died—”

“What happened to your window?” I say, nodding my chin in the direction of the boarded-up mess, changing the subject. I’m not talking about David, and I sure as hell am not talking about my mother.

“Ask your little girlfriend.”

My eyebrows pull together in confusion.

“Who?”

Maybe he means Whitley. She’s the one who told me he was hospitalized a few weeks ago and begged me to come home. Her mom is a registered nurse, and even though we don’t exactly live in a small town, it’s hard not to know who my dad is.

“The little blonde girl you used to run around with.”

“Briar?” That doesn’t make sense. How would she know what happened?

He nods and reaches for the beer bottle at his feet, liver be damned. “Threw a brick right through my window. She stood there seething for about ten minutes first. I didn’t think she’d do anything. She was just a little girl. So, I went about my business.”

His business. Also known as drinking enough vodka to kill a horse while watching Skinemax. Most likely in his underwear.

“I about shit my pants when it happened. Got my drunk ass up just in time to see her flip me off.”

“When?”

“Right after you left.” He shrugs. “Before I got my DUI.”

Well, well, well. Briar isn’t such an angel, after all. But I already knew that, didn’t I?

It doesn’t change what she did, but it does have my lips tugging into a reluctant grin. No one has the balls to stand up to John Kelley. Not even me, for a long time, anyway.

I stand and scan the hellhole I used to call home one more time before deciding to leave. I used to fucking hate this place. It made me physically ill to be here, to be around my dad. To face the memory of my mom. Now, I’m just glad I got out, even if I had to go through hell.

“See you around, I guess.”

“Does that mean you’re sticking around?”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say his voice sounds hopeful.

“For now.”

When I’m sitting in my truck, I scroll through my phone to the one number I haven’t used in years and press call. After three rings, I start to think she’s not going to answer, but on the fourth, she picks up—voice all velvety and thick with sleep.

“Hello?”

“You asked me why I do this to you. The truth is, I don’t fucking know why. But until I figure it out, you’re going to stay away from Jackson, you’re going to stay away from Adrian, and you’re going to stay away from fucking Billy Bob working over at the Circle K.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Because this isn’t finished, Briar. You and I were never just friends.”

I hang up without waiting for a response, tempted to sneak into her room and really drive my point home, but I decide to leave it. For tonight, at least.

I end up heading back to their house after driving around for a while. A couple of days ago, I called the number listed on the building permit posted in a yard a few streets over on a whim. Asked the dude if he needed a roofer, and without even wanting to meet me, he told me the house would be ready for the roof by tomorrow and to show up ready to work.

Fuck, I love my job. I don’t have to talk to anyone. I’m my own boss. I can work at my own pace, for the most part. I only take jobs when I feel like it, and if I don’t hire anyone to help me, I can bust a roof out in a few days and make a good chunk of money. That also means I’m not tied down to any one place for too long. Plus, I’ve found that when you’re hammering into shingles all day, you don’t have time to get lost in your head. And my head is not a pretty place to be.

I’m not exactly rich. Not compared to the people of Cactus Heights. But it’s sure as fuck more than I ever dreamed of making, and more than John ever made. We didn’t have money growing up, so I’m used to living modestly. Dare was the one who convinced me that I needed to spend a little to live a little, and I finally caved and bought my truck. It’s the first thing in my entire life that’s ever been mine and only mine. Besides Briar, I think, but she never really was mine.

As I’m dozing off, I remember to set my alarm and notice a text from the little devil herself.

Briar: Same goes to you. No more Whitley, or no deal.

Me: Easy enough.

I know she fell back asleep, judging by the silence when I came in, so I don’t wait for a response.