Asher

I finished the job I was doing over a week ago, so instead of working, I’ve been at my dad’s house. He’s getting worse—I can see it in his appearance, but his expression tells me that he knows it, too—and he refuses to go back to the hospital. He’s basically just waiting to die at home, at this point.

Suit yourself.

I’ve mostly busied myself with cleaning this dump in silence, while my dad searches for the words to say. He watches me. I ignore him. He talks to me. I ignore him. There’s nothing he could say to take back the past ten years of my life, but it doesn’t stop him from trying.

“Where are you staying?” John asks from his place on his trusty old recliner. I fucking hate that chair. I’m surprised his skin hasn’t grafted to it by now. I glance up at him, debating on whether or not to respond, but something in his hopeful expression has me caving.

“Dash’s.”

He nods, expecting that answer, but doesn’t have anything else to add.

I turn my attention back to the giant oak entertainment center—probably about the same age as the decrepit couch—that takes up almost the entire length of the wall. The bottom is lined with cabinets sporting broken handles, and inside is filled with newspapers, my mom’s collection of Disney movies on VHS, art projects from when I was a kid, and old family pictures. What’s noticeably absent are photos of my mom and me. I know they used to be in here. That old bastard probably destroyed them.

I pick up a homemade Christmas ornament with a tiny handprint and a picture of a child I don’t even recognize anymore—happy and toothless and carefree. I turn it over. In jumbled, oversized letters, the back reads “Asher Kelley, age 7, 2^nd grade”. A familiar feeling washes over me like an old friend—a mixture of anger and resentment—and I stuff it down into the trash bag full of all the other useless shit.

“You’re tossing that?” Dad asks, taking a swig of his water bottle, and I almost laugh. The sight is so foreign. I don’t ever remember him drinking anything but beer or liquor. The occasional cup of coffee, maybe. I want to tell him it’s too late for that, but I bite my tongue.

“Your mother loved that…” he trails off. Clearing his throat, he adds, “I loved it.” His voice is uncharacteristically gruff, and his eyes so sincere that it momentarily throws me off.

“Loved it so much that you threw it in with the rest of the crap you don’t give a shit about?” I start grabbing junk by the handful and shoving it into the bag, not even sparing a glance at it. It’s better this way.

“Son.”

A turkey handprint from Thanksgiving. An article from the year I made regionals in swim. A birthday card.

“Son.”

A Hot Wheels car. A photo of me with my first swim medal.

“Son!”

“What!” I snap, rising to my feet to grab another garbage bag.

“I’m sorry,” he says simply, yet emphatically. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I shake my head, not wanting to hear this shit again. “I’m fucking here, aren’t I?” What more does he want from me?

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “Don’t throw away the good things in your life on my account. I’ll be gone soon, probably not soon enough for your liking, but you’ll want these things one day. Trust me on that.”

Tears well up in his eyes, and I look away. My dad has never had a problem expressing his feelings. Just the opposite, actually. He loved hard, and he fought harder. Whether he was crying happy tears at one of my swim meets or in an alcohol-induced fit of rage, he felt everything more than most people. Even when he beat the shit out of me, I knew that he loved me, as fucked up as that sounds. He’d always had trouble controlling his emotions, but after my mom, the calm to his storm, passed away, there was no one to help him reel it in. More than that, there was no desire to reel it in. I should’ve been enough. But I wasn’t. And therein lies the problem.

If for some god-forsaken reason I ever become a father, I will live and fucking breathe for that kid. I will die before ever letting one single bad thing touch that kid. And I for damn sure wouldn’t hurt my kid or send him off into the hands of a psychopath.

“I came for you, Ash,” he admits in a quiet voice, shocking me. I don’t show it, though. I stare blankly, waiting for him to continue.

“I know it doesn’t matter now. But after I completed my court-ordered rehab, I went to David’s house. I wasn’t supposed to, not legally, but I didn’t care. I knew you probably wouldn’t want to stay with me, but I had a plan. I was going to help set you up with your own place. But you were already gone. Said you ran away, and he never bothered looking.”

My fists clench at my sides. It’s bullshit. All of it. My dad didn’t have a dime to his name.

He continues, “I figured it didn’t matter where you were, long as you weren’t with him. You’re strong. Smart. Hell, you raised yourself after your mom died. I wasn’t worried.”

“I don’t claim to know a damn thing about being normal, but I’m pretty sure normal people worry about their kids,” I say sarcastically.

“That’s not what I meant.” He sighs, rubbing at his forehead with a shaky hand. “Of course, I worried. I wondered. But I had faith that you were safe.”

I used to think my dad was the strongest man alive. I remember arguing with my friends, each of us bragging about the strength of our fathers, claiming they could lift cars and other ridiculously embellished tales. Now, he’s sickly thin, except for his distended stomach. Weak. Frail. Pathetic. And fuck, if some part of me isn’t starting to feel sorry for him.

“I was almost eighteen,” I offer, staring at a cigarette burn in the carpet. “So, it was just a matter of laying low for a few months.” I don’t tell him how I stole money from my uncle and hopped the first bus out of there. I don’t tell him how I met Dare on said bus, who could tell that I was running from something and offered me a job a few hours into the trip.

“Why didn’t you come back after your birthday?”

Is he serious?

Tearing my eyes from the burnt spot, I look him in the eye.

“I didn’t have anything to come back for.”

“The Vale girl might not agree with that statement.”

I bark out a humorless laugh.

“She’s the reason I left.”

He knows this better than anyone. But he inspects me, as if looking for a piece to the puzzle that he’s missing.

“Look,” I say, gripping the back of my neck and focusing on the popcorn ceiling. “I know you’re trying to make amends before it’s too late, but you can’t force that shit on me. You’re ready, but I’m not.”

“I get it. I do,” he says. “I just can’t die with you thinking that I didn’t—that I don’t—love you,” he stutters. “That you ever deserved one goddamn second of what I put you through. You lost both of your parents the night your mom died. My biggest regret is blaming you.”

Inhaling deeply through my nose, I pace the living room.

“I don’t need forgiveness. I just needed you to know.”

“I gotta get out of here,” I say, already walking toward the door. My dad gives a resigned sigh, and I pause, one hand on the door, looking back at him.

“I, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

I thought about going back to Dash and Briar’s, but I needed to clear my head. Instead, I found myself at a local hole-in-the wall bar. I had exactly three shots of cheap whiskey before a woman approached me. She was pretty, in that white trash, damaged sort of way. You could say she was the female version of me. And from the way her tongue flicked over her straw, I knew I could’ve had her in the bathroom. In my car. Right there on the bar, if I really wanted it. I looked her up and down, debating, but Briar’s face was all I could see, and we made a deal, after all. I couldn’t fucking pull the trigger, even if I wanted to. Even without the deal. Which, in turn, pissed me off even more. I slapped a twenty onto the counter and walked out without a word.

I’ve been driving around for the past two hours now, as “The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot” by Brand New blares from my speakers. I light up a cigarette, relishing in the comfort and the slight buzz as the nicotine is absorbed in my bloodstream. I quit smoking in River’s Edge—except for the occasional cigarette if I’m having a few beers—but I’ve been craving them more since I’ve been back.

I’m heading toward The Tracks, but at the last second, I cut across four lanes of traffic to take a different exit. The one that leads back to my old house. Something doesn’t feel right. Or maybe it’s just that I haven’t eaten, and the whiskey is hitting me harder than usual, so I decide not to make the drive out there tonight.

When I pull up to the driveway, I know something is off immediately. There’s a car that I don’t recognize, and once I’m out of my truck, I hear yelling from inside the house. I run toward the sound to find the front door cracked open. Walking as quietly as I can, I nudge it open and step inside.

Whatever I thought I’d be walking into, this wasn’t it. David, my uncle, has John against the wall with his hand around his throat.

“Not so tough now, are ya?” David spits. “Tell me where the boy is, for the last time.”

“I told you,” John wheezes, trying to loosen the hold on his neck. “He doesn’t want nothin’ to do with me. Haven’t seen him in years.”

“That’s bullshit, and we both know it. Tell. Me.”

“Fuck you,” my dad says before spitting at him.

Before I can get to them, David’s face contorts with rage, and his elbow cocks back before nailing John square in the face. He hits him one, two, three more times as I charge in their direction, both oblivious to my presence.

Coming up behind David, I sucker punch him to the side of the head, and he goes down like a ton of fucking bricks. I jump on him, raining blow after blow to his face, head, stomach, anywhere I can.

Three years and fifty pounds later, I can finally hold my own against him. I’m not the malnourished kid I once was.

“I gotta say, I didn’t see this coming,” David says. “It’s touching, really.” He laughs, and I hit him again, but he doesn’t seem fazed. A sound from my left distracts me, and I look over to see my dad struggling to get to his feet. David jumps on the opportunity, striking my jaw with his fist. Flipping me onto my back and straddling me, he gets the upper hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I see John pull himself up, using the arm of the recliner as leverage. I take another hit to the eye, then the mouth, before I hear the unmistakable sound of a pistol cocking.

David freezes with his fist mid-air, and I give him a deranged smile through bloodstained teeth. I shove him backward with both of my palms, and then I stand above him.

“How does it feel?” I ask, my voice calm and steady. “How does it feel to be on the receiving end?” I give a swift kick to his ribs, and he clutches his side, the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh.

“I want my money,” he wheezes.

I laugh, shaking my head. “How about a bullet instead?”

“Just give me the fucking money, and I’ll leave,” David says, not making any attempt to get up.

“If I wasn’t sick, I’d beat you to a bloody pulp for touching my kid,” John says, his gun still trained on David.

It’s David’s turn to chuckle. “That’s fucking rich coming from you.”

“How about this?” I interrupt before David gets himself shot. By the look in my dad’s eyes, I know it’s not out of the question. “You get the fuck out. Forget the money, and I’ll forget the fact that I know all about your extracurricular activities.” His mouth drops open in shock. “Yeah, you didn’t think this through, did you?” I squat, not-too-gently stubbing two fingers against his forehead. “How many warrants do you have out for your arrest, anyway? You thought just because I didn’t speak that I wasn’t listening? I know details, David. Names. Locations. And if you come back here again, I’ll sing like a goddamn canary.”

My dad looks between us, thoroughly confused, but he doesn’t let his guard down. He jerks the gun in the direction of the door, and David scrambles to his feet.

“This isn’t over,” he warns, and then he’s gone.

“I guess there’s a lot you haven’t told me,” my dad says, tiredly collapsing back into his recliner, like it’s just another Tuesday night.

“Your brother likes to steal cars and sell them for parts. Among other things.”

I even did it with him for a while. I was pissed off at the world, and the money was too tempting to pass up. Except I never saw a fucking dime. He kept me indebted to him by buying me nice cars, phones, shoes, whatever. It was nice not to have to worry about where my next meal came from for once, but I wanted my cut, and I told him that. He made excuses at first. It was always something. But still, I did his bidding. I was the youngest and the fastest. He could tell I was pulling away, and he started to lose it.

And then when I really wanted out, he got pissed that I wasn’t doing his dirty work anymore. He and his lowlife friends took turns beating the shit out of me, not even stopping when I vomited from the pain. When they were finally done, I was unable to move, unable to open my eyes. I’m pretty sure he thought I was dead. He left me for dead.

I lay there, bleeding in the dirt, in a pile of my own puke, until the sun set and rose again. Once I could walk, I hobbled back to David’s house when I knew he’d be gone and stole his chunk of cash. Booked a cheap hotel room for a few nights until I could move without being in pain and then took a cab to the bus station. When the lady asked for my destination, I told her I didn’t care. I just needed the first bus out of there. I met Dare on the bus, and the rest is history.

But I don’t say all that. No one knows those fucked-up details but me.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” my dad admits, bringing me back to our conversation.

I wipe the blood off my mouth with the back of my hand before I realize that it’s pointless. My hands are just as bad as my face. I should’ve hurt him more. I should’ve made him pay. Instead, I let him fucking walk away.

“Why’d you come back?” John asks, looking like he’s on the verge of falling asleep.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Had a feeling.”

He opens one eye and assesses me. “Well,” he says after a long beat, “I’m glad you did.”

* * *

My jaw aches—either from taking the hit or clenching it so hard the entire drive home, I’m not sure—as I haul ass down the dimly lit streets of the neighborhood. I glance at the dash, and the time isn’t much more than a blur of neon blue, thanks to the swelling in my right eye. Two oh eight A.M.

I swing into the driveway with one, single thought. Briar. But I slam my bloody fist into my steering wheel when I notice that Adrian’s car is here, too, which means Dash is still awake.

My body is moving faster than my brain can catch up, and then I’m sneaking around the side of the house and wedging Briar’s window up with the heels of my palms. My head swims as I hoist myself up and through the window, but I ignore it. My boots hit the hardwood floor, and Briar gasps, sitting up in her bed.

“It’s me,” I say quickly.

“Ash? What happened?” Her voice is a whisper, and though the dark works to my advantage, I know she can sense that something is wrong.

This scene is all too familiar. Me wounded and belligerent. Her unwavering concern for me.

I stand there unmoving, unspeaking. I know what I want, but I don’t want to ask for it. Don’t know how to ask for it. But Briar knows, because she lifts her blanket in invitation.

Right now, I don’t care about our pasts. I don’t care about the bad decision she made back then, or the numerous bad ones I’ve made since. All I care about is crawling into her bed and leeching off her quiet and calm.

Wordlessly, I kick my boots off, then unbutton my jeans, dropping them to the floor along with my keys. Briar says nothing. She’s completely still as she watches me. Her messy blonde hair is everywhere, and the moonlight shining through her window allows me to see the outline of her nipples beneath her thin, white tank top.

We lock eyes, and she sucks her bottom lip in a nervous gesture. I reach behind my neck, pulling my black T-shirt over my head, letting it fall to join the rest of my shit. Closing the distance between us, I slip in beside her.

Briar lies on her side, facing me, and her fingers reach out to touch my face. I intercept her, directing her hand away from my wounds, and instead, she curls her fingers into the short hair at the nape of my neck.

“Turn around, Bry,” I rasp, lowering my head to hide my face. She massages the back of my head, and fuck, it’s probably the most affectionate gesture I’ve ever received.

“Talk to me,” she murmurs pleadingly. “You’re drunk.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and pry her hand from me, holding it away in a tight grip.

“Please.”

Her voice is barely above a whisper, and then her nose grazes mine. I don’t pull back, so she does it again, but this time, our lips brush, too. Briar hooks a bare leg over mine, her lips touching mine with every move, every breath, but we don’t kiss.

I’m still holding on to her wrist between us, and she twists her arm to bring my hand to the curve of her hip. Her shirt has ridden up, and I feel the warmth of her skin against my calloused hands. I shouldn’t be able to touch anything this pure, I think to myself. I’ll only taint it.

Despite the fucked-up events of tonight, I’m hard as a rock. I want nothing more than to bend her over, shove inside, and forget all the bullshit. But she’s not Whitley. She’s not any of those girls. This is Briar, and she is fucking everything, even if she is a little liar.

“Turn around, Briar,” I say, firmer this time, as I physically turn her over, then lock my arms around her waist. Her firm ass settles right on my cock, and I fight the urge to grind against her. If I were a little less exhausted and a lot less fucked up, things would go very differently.

Her fingers trace mine, and I know that she feels the gashes and tacky half-dried blood, but she doesn’t speak. I wait for her breathing to even out before I dip my head forward, inhaling her scent and pressing my lips to the back of her neck. It isn’t long before I start to drift off, too content to care about the consequences that tonight might bring.

* * *

Briar

I’m not sure what time it is when I wake up, but the sun has just barely started to peek over the mountains in the distance, so I know it must be before six.

I look down at the hand flattened against my stomach, halfway under my shirt. He’s really here. He’s still here. I almost expected him to be gone when I woke up, leaving me to wonder if it was all just a dream.

Carefully, I lift his hand to inspect the damage that I felt last night, and I notice streaks of dried blood on my stomach, on my shirt, my hip, and as I turn around to face his sleeping form, I see that it’s on my white sheets, too.

Jesus, Asher. What did you do this time?

Underneath his nose is also caked with blood, and his right eye is bruised and swollen. I lightly kiss his knuckles before leaning forward to do the same to the corner of his eye, and then I feel his hands squeeze my ass, pulling me into him.

“Mmm,” I moan, dragging my hands through his hair and dropping my head back as he peppers open-mouthed kisses all over my neck, shoulders, and chest. He rolls me onto my back and settles between my spread legs, letting me feel his want for me.

Something about this time just feels…different. More intense. More real. We still haven’t spoken. We let our bodies do the talking, and in this moment, we’re the most honest we’ve ever been with each other. We show each other everything we’re feeling with our gasps and tongues and teeth.

Asher shifts down slightly to take my nipple into his mouth and sucks it through the fabric of my shirt. God, I love when he does that. I arch into his hot mouth, and he brings both hands up to squeeze my breasts. Flattening his palms, he smooths them up my chest and over my shoulders to push the thin straps of my shirt down my arms.

With his forefinger, he pulls down the top of my tank, exposing one pink nipple. Looking up at me for the first time, he closes his mouth around the hardened tip and bites before licking and sucking away the sting. I feel myself growing slick at the mixture of pain and pleasure that Asher is so skilled at, and I shamelessly lock my legs around his waist, rubbing myself against him.

Ash reaches behind him, grasps one ankle, and unlocks my legs before moving down my body, kissing everything along the way. My heart hammers in my chest, and goose bumps assault my arms and stomach as he gets lower and lower.

This is something we’ve never done before, something I’ve never had done to me, but I’m too far gone to be nervous. I just want him. I want it all from him. Everything he has to give me, before he decides to take it all away, again.

Once he settles between my thighs, he pushes them open with a hand on each one, squeezing the soft flesh. Lowering his head, he rolls his face between my legs, then nibbles at my panty-covered clit.

Holy shit.

My hips rock against his face on their own accord, chasing that delicious friction. Asher hooks a finger inside my plain black underwear, pulling the crotch to the side, and exposes me to him completely.

He pauses, and I see his throat bob as he swallows. I think he’s going to say something cocky, or maybe make me beg for it, but he just stares for a moment, looking conflicted, yet mesmerized. Angry, yet excited all at the same time.

I squirm under his attention, needing to feel more—to feel everything with him. Asher pushes my legs together before pulling my underwear down to my ankles. Smoothing his hands back up my closed legs, he spreads me, ever so slightly, with his thumbs. My entire body is trembling from my toes to my chin, but it’s not out of fear. I’m literally shaking with need.

“My beautiful little liar,” Ash breathes before closing the final distance and places a wet kiss on my clit. I suck in a breath at the feeling of his mouth on me. God, I didn’t know anything could be this good. I try to spread my legs for better access, but Asher keeps them clamped shut with a hand on either thigh.

I look down at him, confusion painting my features, but then his tongue slides in between my lower lips. My back bows off the bed, and Asher’s bruising grip on my legs keeps me anchored to the bed. To the earth.

“Quit squirming, baby,” he mumbles between my thighs.

Baby. Not taunting. Not baby girl. Not little girl. Baby.

I tangle my fingers through his perfectly disheveled hair as he devours me, needing him closer. But we’ll never be close enough. His tongue flattens against me, and with a few long strokes, I’m tensing up, ready to combust.

“Asher,” I say, tilting his chin up to look at me. “I don’t want to come like this.” My voice is a whispered plea, and I know he understands.

Asher stares up at me and brushes his thumb across my bottom lip.

“Yeah?” he asks, pushing his thumb into my mouth, eyes full of heat. I suck on it, nodding my head, and he groans.

“How do you want to come then?”

“The only way I’ve ever wanted to. With you inside me.”

Asher’s jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, and I know that I’m finally going to get my way.

“You play dirty, baby girl,” he says, moving up my body, bracing his palms on either side of my head. His lips hover above mine, and I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. I’m done talking. “Lucky for you, I do, too.”

Asher takes my face in his hands before licking at the seam of my lips, and I open for him, letting his tongue in to dance with mine. His movements are unhurried and forceful. Intense, just like him. He kisses me like it’s the main event instead of the opening act. I kiss him like he’s my oxygen, and I’m afraid it’s going to be taken away at any moment, leaving me deprived again.

Ash’s hand trails down my neck, and his fingers dip under my tank top, squeezing and kneading. He circles my nipple, and I feel myself growing slicker. Everything he does is magic. I arch into his touch, and he takes the opportunity to pull my top over my head.

I’m laid completely bare before him, and he’s still in his boxer briefs. I look at his tanned skin, the muscular dips and grooves of his stomach, the veins in his arms as he holds himself over me, his stormy eyes, and I can’t believe this is real. This is happening. He’s perfection, even bruised and bleeding. This beautifully damaged boy is about to give me the one part of him I’ve never had. And I’m about to give him what should’ve been his.

“Take me out,” Asher says in a strangled voice.

I slide my hands underneath the elastic and lower his boxers, smoothing my palms over his firm ass. His dick springs out, thick, and angry and ready. I can finally see his piercing clearly, and I realize that there is more than one. Two tiny, straight barbells underneath the head. For the first time, I wonder what that means for sex.

“It won’t hurt you,” Asher says, reading the thoughts that are written all over my face.

I give a shaky nod and reach between us to run the tip of my finger across the bars, and Asher shudders when I graze the thin skin. I bite my lip, tentatively wrapping my fingers around him.

“Harder,” he demands and wraps his much bigger hand around mine, roughly guiding my movements. Together, we work his length, and I notice a bead of moisture appear at the tip. Without thinking, I swirl my thumb, spreading it over his head, and Asher jerks in my hand.

“Fuck,” he swears, snatching my wrist and pinning it to the mattress next to my head. “If any part of you doesn’t want this, you have two seconds to tell me to leave.” His eyebrows pull together, and his eyes search mine for doubt that he won’t find before roughly nudging my thighs apart with his knees. Then I feel him there, warm and unyielding, against my sensitive skin.

“Condom?” Asher asks, dipping just the tip inside me. I wiggle closer, trying to get more. “Briar,” he snaps, forcing me to focus. “Condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” I say. “And I’m clean.” I’ve only been with Jackson, and we used protection. I know Asher has had many partners, but some part of me still trusts him and believes he’d never truly put me at risk. He may do a lot of questionable things, but never that.

“Me, too,” Ash says, still only giving me shallow thrusts that drive me crazy.

“I want to feel you,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around him and pulling him into me. I lock eyes with pools of whiskey and jade, conflicted and guilt-ridden. “Please.”

Asher’s control finally, finally, breaks, and his hips snap forward, filling me in one move. The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh, and I close my eyes, unprepared for how it would feel to have Asher inside me, both physically and emotionally.

This. This is what I’ve been waiting for, and I could kill him for making us both suffer without this for so long. I tense and Asher pauses, buried to the hilt. He drops his forehead to mine while I adjust to the fullness. Slowly, so slowly, with more tenderness than I knew he was capable of, Asher starts to move. One of his hands comes up to cradle the back of my head, his elbow resting on the pillow, and the other one grips my thigh as he pumps into me. He was right about his piercing. I can feel something, but it doesn’t hurt at all.

“Fuck, Bry,” he groans. “I need to move, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me. Please.” I love his tenderness, but I want his violence, his anger, his pain just as much.

Ash’s jaw turns to stone, and his eyes fill with heat as he rises onto his knees and grips my middle, impaling me. I’m so full of him that it’s painful, but I’ll gladly take the pain because it means this is real.

“So fucking good. I knew you’d be perfect,” Asher mumbles, looking down to where we’re connected. His hands that are almost completely wrapped around my waist control the tempo, making my boobs bounce, and then he lowers his head to suck on my tightened nipple. His bruised, swollen lips against me only gets me hotter, and I feel myself clench around him.

“I’m not going to last if you keep doing that,” he warns before pulling me upright to straddle his lap. My hands fly to the back of his neck while he guides my movements with his fingers digging into my hips. My clit rubs against the base of him in this position, and I start to ride him, shamelessly, desperately.

Ash mutters a curse and leans back on his palms. He sucks his lip in between his perfect, square teeth, watching me move on top of him. I rock my hips faster, about to shatter into a million tiny pieces, when I hear it.

A knock on the door, followed by a familiar voice.

“You awake in there, pretty girl?”

Fuck. Adrian.

My eyes shoot to the doorknob. Locked, thank God.

Asher pushes me backward, and I yelp, causing him to cover my mouth with his hand. He settles in between my legs and immediately starts fucking me. Really fucking me.

“Ignore him. You’re going to come on my cock,” he whispers darkly.

My pleading eyes search his, and I shake my head.

“I can’t anymore,” I mumble from beneath his fingers. Now that I know Adrian’s listening.

“You can and you will.”

“Your brother and I are going to get breakfast. Wanna come?” Adrian questions from the other side of the door.

I look back to Asher, unsure of what to do.

“Answer him.” He removes his hand from my lips, and my eyes widen, but Asher only moves faster.

“N-no,” I say, a little more high-pitched and breathless than intended. “I’m really…tired.”

Asher smirks and leans down to bite my nipple. I moan—loudly—and I hear a chuckle outside the room.

“Tired, huh? Okay, well, do you want us to bring you anything back?”

“God, yes,” I breathe, as I climb higher and higher.

“Yes?” Adrian asks.

“I mean no!”

The asshole on top of me brings his hand down to rub his thumb in just the right spot, and that’s it. I can’t take it anymore.

“Well, which is it?” an amused Adrian questions.

I’m going to come. I can’t hold back. I finally break apart, practically convulsing. Asher crushes his mouth to mine to muffle my screams, kissing me deep and hard. Then he’s pulling out, spilling on my thigh with a groan.

“Goddamn,” he mutters into my ear. “You’re beautiful when you come.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper, feeling myself flush with equal parts embarrassment and ecstasy. Ash collapses on top of me, face pressed into my sweaty neck, and a few moments later, we hear a vehicle starting.

“Do you think he knows?” I ask dumbly.

“He’d be a fucking idiot not to.”

My heart hammers in my chest even harder now, and my panicked eyes meet his. Except now he looks…angry.

“My brother!” It hits me that if Adrian knows, my brother is going to in about five seconds.

“Don’t trip, Bry. I’ll handle it,” he says, rolling off me.

The moment is gone.

The feeling is gone.

And why wouldn’t it be? Because the boy I knew is gone, too.

“Okay,” is all I say, feeling more vulnerable than ever as I pull the sheet up to cover my naked self. I’m done trying. Done hoping. I just slept with the ghost of the boy I used to love, and now I’m left feeling emptier than before.

“Okay,” he repeats, swinging his legs over the bed and pulling on his boxers. He hastily snatches up the rest of his clothes and storms away. Once he’s to my bedroom door, he pauses.

“Fuck!” he shouts, and I jump as his fist hits the wall next to the doorframe, cracking the drywall. Tears spring to my eyes, and before my vision clears, he’s gone.

And then I’m alone. With the evidence of our transgressions drying on my thigh and tears drying to my cheek.

* * *

Two weeks. Two weeks since I’ve laid eyes on Asher. I don’t know if he’s not staying here anymore, or if he’s only coming around when I’m not here. It’s safe to say we’re avoiding each other. Or at least, I was for the first week. I stayed with Nat, not wanting to run into any of the boys who occupy my house at any given moment.

I’ll admit it. I wallowed. Nat listened to the whole story, only interjecting to offer to kill him and throw out the occasional expletive, like any self-respecting best friend should. Then, she threw me the best pity party, full of Netflix and wine and pizza. The second day was full of manicures, pedicures, massages, followed by shopping at her mother’s boutique. It stung knowing Asher regretted sleeping with me before our breathing even returned to normal, but buying pretty lingerie and being pampered helps even the most broken of hearts. Mine was just a little bruised.

Now, though, I’m not sad. I’m angry. No, I’m fucking pissed. I’ve done nothing wrong. So, I decided to go home. It’s my home, after all. When I saw Dash later that night, he asked what I was doing staying with Nat for so long, and I blamed it on her, saying that she was going through something. He gave me a look that screamed bullshit, but he didn’t push. And surprisingly, he didn’t allude to knowing about Ash and me.

Now, I sit on the couch in the living room with my laptop on my crossed legs, attempting to decide on where I want to go to college and what I want to study. I startle when Adrian comes waltzing through my front door. He’s wearing a plain, loose, white tank top, dark jeans, and black, designer sunglasses. Even when he’s in casual attire, he looks like a million bucks.

Adrian smiles, his deep dimples on display, and plops down next to me on the couch like he owns the place.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he says, taking off his sunglasses and giving me an expectant look.

“What?” I ask defensively.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he says with a wink.

“Don’t you have a job?” I say, avoiding that statement altogether.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Ughhhh,” I huff dramatically and close my laptop. “What do you think you know?” I cut my eyes at him, giving him my best death glare.

“I know that I thought I caught you in the middle of your, you know, me time,” he says the words with air quotes, wagging his brows. “Until we walked outside and saw Kelley’s truck. Weird, though, since we didn’t see him come in.”

I roll my eyes, dropping my head to the back of the couch.

“Don’t worry. I told Dash that he was asleep in the media room and that he wouldn’t wake up to come with us.”

What? My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I wasn’t expecting that.

“Why would you cover for me?” I ask, genuinely confused. They’re best friends. More like brothers.

“It’s not for you. I was hungry and didn’t want to get held up.” He shrugs. “Besides, that asshole Kelley is just as much my friend as Dash is, whether he wants to admit it or not.”

I think back to the day on the lake and how Adrian wanted to help me get Asher’s attention.

“Why are you pushing this?” I ask him, suddenly wary of his motives.

“Dude deserves some good in his life. Besides, we’ll never get rid of Whitley if she thinks she has a chance with one of us.”

One of us?

“Oh my God, did you hook up with her, too?!” I slap his chest.

“You don’t even want to know.” He grins, squeezing my knee. “Trust me on this one.”

“Gross.”

“Downright filthy.”

If the rumors are true, this means she’s hooked up with all three of the boys in my life. Ash, my brother—yeah, found that out last summer—and now Adrian. My nails cut into my palms as I clench my fists. Why won’t she just go away?

“Calm down, little killer.” Adrian laughs, reaching over to uncurl my fingers, and then leans back, propping his feet up on the edge of the coffee table. He pulls on my hand, and I lie back with my head on his shoulder, kicking my own feet up. “You don’t have anything to worry about with her.”

I’m not so sure, I think, but instead, I say, “I’m not worried. Thoroughly disgusted,” I add, “but not worried. Where’s my brother, by the way?”

“Should be pulling up any minute. He had to drop his truck off at the shop, so he called Kelley to pick him up.”

Fuck. My first instinct is to dread seeing him, but some pathetic part of me still feels a thrill run through me at the thought of it.

“We’re gonna hit up the club later tonight,” Adrian explains.

“The club?” I snort. Imagining Asher at a club is straight-up laughable. I can just see him there, hating life, arms crossed in the corner. But my amused smile melts away when I imagine what would inevitably happen next. Gorgeous girls. Short skirts. High heels. Wanting one night with the bad boy with sad eyes.

“Yes, the club,” he says, mimicking me in a high-pitched, Valley Girl voice. “I need some pussy tonight, and I’m sick of the same old places and faces. I need fresh meat.”

“What you need, sir, is a damn filter. And condoms. Lots of condoms.” I roll my eyes and cross one ankle over the other.

“And what you need is my d—” Before he’s able to finish what’s sure to be an inappropriate remark, the door opens and Dash and Asher walk in.

Holy. Shit.

He’s wearing black jeans—not skinny jeans, but more form-fitting than I’ve ever seen on him—with holes in the knees, a dark green V-neck that hugs his biceps, and his trusty black combat boots. His signature unruly hair is styled and pushed back off his forehead. He’s going out looking like that—meanwhile, I’m not old enough to get in even if I was invited.

That pang of anxiety about him going out morphs into pure, ugly jealousy. The kind that turns your stomach to lead and makes your ears hot. The thought of Asher hooking up with anyone, ever turns my stomach, but hooking up with someone three seconds after we slept together? That thought makes it hard to breathe, especially since he clearly wasn’t happy with what I had to offer.

Dash and Adrian jump into making plans for the night, but I don’t hear a word they say. I’m still stuck in my head when I finally look Asher in the eye, only to realize he’s staring at Adrian and me with narrowed eyes, looking more than a little suspicious. Lifting my head off Adrian’s shoulder, I stand, and he reflexively extends his hand to help me step over his outstretched legs while still in conversation with Dash.

“Briar,” Dash says my name, just as I’m about to turn down the hall toward my room. I pause, looking over my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yep. I was a little disappointed over a boy.” I turn and aim a pointed look at Ash. “But he turned out to be kind of a douche, anyway.” Asher’s jaw ticks once, then he looks away.

“Jackson? The fuck did he do?” my brother says, instantly riled up.

“Not Jackson,” I’m quick to assure. He’s texted me here and there, but I haven’t responded. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m over it.”

Lie, lie, lie.

Not wanting to stick around for their inevitable pre-gaming, I stalk off to my room and text Nat.

Me: I need you.

Nat: Is this you finally coming out of the closet?

Me: Not today. When are you getting here?

Nat: Pulling up in 2.5.

Me: Tell me you brought alcohol.

Nat: Among other things…

Me: Low-key suspicious of your “other things,” but I love you anyway. Come straight to my room when you get here.

Five minutes later, Nat arrives, arms full of bags, looking frazzled.

“Damn, your brother looks good tonight,” she says, unloading different bottles and jars of things onto my long, white dresser. “I almost got pregnant just from walking past him.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” I laugh, picking up a jar of maraschino cherries. “What’s all this?”

“I jacked a bottle of vodka from my mom, then I decided to get fancy and googled different cocktails…” She digs her phone out of her shorts pocket and taps a few times before turning the screen for me to see. “I present to you…the Cherry Blossom.”

“God, yes. You are my favorite. Let’s take this party to the pool.”

I dig through my drawer full of bathing suits and pull out one in a peachy color for me, and toss a mint one in Nat’s direction. Some girls collect shoes or purses or jewelry. Arizona girls collect swimming suits for every occasion.

After getting changed, we grab the vodka, grenadine, cherries, and pink lemonade before heading to the kitchen to get cups and ice. As I’m filling our glasses, Dash and Adrian appear.

“We’re leaving,” Dash says, eying our little setup. “Lock the door behind us and do not get drunk if you’re going to be swimming alone.” He points a stern finger in my direction and then Nat’s, making sure we’re both clear.

“Yes, Dad,” I say, barely containing my eye roll. The hypocrite’s favorite pastime is drinking and swimming.

“Hey, Natalia,” Adrian says, looking her up and down. “Do you have any Mexican in you?”

“No. I’m fucking Italian,” she scoffs.

“Do you want some?” He wiggles his brows, and I bust out laughing. Nat rolls her eyes, but she’s unable to smother her grin.

I look back to Adrian, expecting to see his perpetually amused smile, but instead, he looks uncomfortable and maybe even a little pissed off. And he’s staring directly over my shoulder.

I hear Asher’s boots slapping against the tile floor, but what I don’t expect to hear is a pair of decidedly feminine footsteps click-clacking behind his. I turn, moving in slow motion like something out of a horror movie. Except this is real life and so much worse. Whitley is, once again, in my fucking house. Dark hair, sleek and parted down the middle, flat ironed to perfection. Pale breasts pushed up to her chin. My smile melts away.

“You have got to be fucking shitting me, right?” This comes from Nat. “If I’m ever too dense to realize that I’m not wanted somewhere, please tell me.” She looks Whitley up and down before adding, “Better yet, just shoot me.”

I’m afraid to say a word, to even make a move, in fear of everyone seeing right through me. Dash, luckily, is thrown off enough by Nat’s reaction that he doesn’t pay me any attention. Adrian angles himself in front of me in a defensive stance, under the guise of making himself a drink. Whitley looks victorious, and Asher looks…the same. His face is completely devoid of any emotion. He doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed or contrite, and that right there is what hurts the most.

I’m stuck, fighting to keep my emotions in check. I want to tell Dash that I don’t want her here, but that would lead to unwanted questions. But, this is my house, and I shouldn’t have to be blindsided on my own turf.

“Welp, you assholes have fun tonight!” Nat says in a cheery voice, no doubt sensing me flounder. She grabs our drinks, handing me one before trying to usher me out back.

“We will!” Whitley pipes up, leaning forward to pluck a rogue piece of ice that fell to the counter and sucks on it in an embarrassingly transparent attempt at being seductive. “Too bad you guys can’t tag along, but you know, it’s twenty-one and up and all. Grown-ups only.” She fake pouts, careful not to say anything that can be seen as outright offensive in front of my brother, and I stop in my tracks.

Fuck it.

I pivot back around on my bare toes. “That’s okay. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your fun,” I say with a pointed look and gesture to the white residue coating her left nostril. “Clean it up, coke whore.” Whitley’s hand flies to hide her nose, her shocked expression quickly morphing into one of contempt.

“I don’t want to see her in our house again,” I say, focusing my attention on Dash.

I try to catch Ash’s eye to gauge his reaction. If he’s surprised or disappointed, it doesn’t show. I don’t know what would be worse. Doing drugs with Whitley in my bathroom, or doing her in my bathroom.

“Agreed,” Dash says, crossing his arms. “What the fuck are you thinking, bringing that shit around my baby sister?”

Or, you know, at all.

“Annnnd, that’s our cue to leave,” Nat drawls out, and this time, I listen. Adrian gives me an awkward head pat as I walk past, like he wants to comfort me but doesn’t quite know how, and Dash casts me a suspicious look—seeing through my shitty façade—that says we’ll talk about this later. I give him a short, reluctant nod before walking out to the pool without sparing a backward glance.

* * *

“Fuck him,” I announce for what is probably the eighteenth time in the past two hours.

“I concur. Fuck him with something hard and sandpaper-y,” Nat agrees, blowing out a cloud of smoke from the blunt between her fingertips. Turns out, this is the “other things” she mentioned earlier. Nat is pretty much the female Snoop in that sense. It’s not usually my thing. Not that I have anything against it, I just always end up eating everything in a ten-mile radius, then passing out—in that order. Tonight seemed like a good night for it, though.

“Without lube,” I add, and we both erupt into a fit of laughter. The pool deck is cool against my skin, but the pool that I’m swishing my feet through feels more like bath water. I look up at the stars as our giggles fade into the night, feeling content to stay in this spot until morning. Until forever. We lie in comfortable silence for a few minutes, side by side, before I break the quiet.

“I think something bad happened to Asher…and I think it’s my fault,” I whisper, voicing my fear aloud for the first time.

“What?” Nat coughs, turning on her side to face me. I stay on my back, eyes on the stars. “Why would you even think that?”

“I don’t know,” I say, dragging my fingers through my hair. “He keeps insinuating that I’ve betrayed him somehow, and there’s only one thing I can think of.” I’ve never told anyone this before. Not Natalia. Not Dash. And definitely not Asher.

“Okaaay,” she says warily.

“I was so upset when he left, Nat. You have no idea. I felt abandoned and hurt and so stupid for ever thinking he could return my feelings. After he left, I rode my bike over to his house. I guess I couldn’t believe that he was really gone. But then, I saw his dad in the window, stumbling through the living room, and it all shifted. I just wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him for hurting Asher.

“I hated him in that moment. Every bad thing that ever happened to Ash was because of him, or at least that’s what I thought back then. So, I picked up a rock and threw it right through his window.”

“You what?!” Nat sputters out a laugh.

“I totally did.” Despite my mood, I feel my lips tugging into a grin at the memory. “And it felt good for a whole two seconds.”

“What happened then? And why did you say that’s what you thought back then?”

I exhale loudly, feeling particularly ashamed about this part.

“Instead of running, I just stared him down through his open window like a creep. I wanted him to know that I wasn’t afraid of him. But, he ended up telling me that I needed to fix his window or else he’d tell my parents what I’d done.”

“You didn’t.” Nat cackles. “Only you, Briar Vale, would bust someone’s window and then put it back together.”

“Shut up.” I roll my eyes. “I didn’t want them finding out. You know how my mom is about keeping up appearances, and my dad and Dash were constantly at each other’s throats then.” Nat nods, because she knows better than anyone. “I did the shittiest job in the history of ever. I had no idea what I was doing. I thought I’d show up and he’d at least give me some kind of direction, but nope.” The word pops from my lips. “He just sat in that recliner, waiting for me to figure it out.”

“Anyway, it took a while, and in that time, he told me stories that made me see things…differently. Things that I’m not even sure Ash knows. I still hated him for how he treated Ash, but for the first time, I realized that nothing was black and white. People are flawed, and sometimes, good intentions aren’t enough.”

“I realized fairly quickly that he wasn’t doing well. So, I checked on him a couple of times a month, brought him food, made sure he had clean laundry, and he’d tell me stories about Asher as a kid. It made me feel closer to Ash.”

Dash told me about John having liver cancer, and I wondered if that’s what had been wrong with him. If I would have said something, insisted he go to the doctor, maybe, would he still be dying right now?

“But how does that make what happened your fault?”

“I don’t know.”

And I don’t. I don’t even know what happened, but it’s the only thing I have to go on that makes even a little sense.

Suddenly, there’s a splash at the opposite end of the pool, and we both scream and sit up, not having heard anyone come out here. I squint my eyes, trying to make out the details in the dim patio lighting. All I can see is a mop of dark hair, and broad, powerful shoulders gliding through the water. Asher.

Sure enough, it’s Asher that comes up, stopping directly before us. His shirt is molded to his chest, showing off the muscles in his arms and stomach, and his hair hangs in his eyes. Water drips down the bridge of his nose, onto those full lips. He stares directly at me, not breaking eye contact when he reaches for the towel bunched up next to me and rubs it across his face and hair before tossing it back to the deck.

Ash reaches over, plucking the blunt from Nat’s hand, and takes a big hit.

“You can leave now,” he says, eyes still focused on me.

Nat looks to me, silently questioning whether I want her to go or not. I give her a nod, and she stands, pointing a finger in Ash’s direction. “Break her heart again, and I’ll break your dick.” She knows better than to wait for a response, so she walks off.

Ash takes another couple of hits before flicking it behind him to land in the pool.

“How did you get here?” His truck has a very loud, distinct sound that I’ve memorized over the past few weeks. I didn’t hear a thing…until he dove into my pool, anyway.

“Cab. Rode with your brother and Adrian. They weren’t ready to come home yet. I was.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to make of that. I wonder what Whitley thought about that, but I don’t care enough to ask.

“Funny,” he says, in a way that lets me know what he’s about to say isn’t going to be funny at all, “you made such a big deal about Whitley doing blow— meanwhile, you’re out here getting high.”

“Please. Weed isn’t a drug. Not really.”

“The point is, you’re not only a liar, but now you can add hypocrite to the list. That’s a far cry from the perfect little Briar that I used to know.” Asher stalks toward me, and I put my foot out to keep him from getting too close. His words cause something to snap, and I’m suddenly so sick of his vague put-downs.

“What the hell did I do to you, Asher?! Just spit it out already or shut up about it!” He comes closer, my foot pressing against his chest.

“Maybe I want you to spit it out. To take responsibility for something for once in your privileged little life,” he grits out.

“I’m done playing these games.” My voice is quiet. Resigned. “We’ll keep going around and around on this merry-go-round forever if one of us doesn’t get off. I’m getting off, Ash.” I push off his chest and twist my body to stand up, but before I can do so, his hand grips my ankle and he yanks. Hard. My ass slides across the smooth stone deck, and then I’m in the water, wrapped around him.

“You’re getting off, all right,” he says menacingly, locking his arms around me to keep me in place. “But not in the way you think.”

I struggle against him, unlatching my legs and trying to slide down his body. My center rubs against his abs, and then I feel something harder prodding at me.

“You don’t make any sense,” I say, feeling more confused than ever. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that you despise me.”

“I don’t have to like you to fuck you, baby girl.”

“You fucked me and left me,” I remind him. My voice cracks, and I hope he doesn’t catch it. “You ignored me for weeks, then you bring her to my house.”

No longer struggling to get away, my legs float lifelessly on either side of him, and his hands start kneading my ass, making me rub against him again.

“I heard what you said about John,” he says, calling his father by his first name like always, and my body goes rigid, eyes go wide. I have no idea how he’s going to react to hearing that I not only saw his dad after he left, but inadvertently ended up with some sort of unlikely friendship. Although, friendship might be too strong a word for the relationship I had with John. It was complicated and unconventional, but we had both lost Asher, even if his actions were the catalyst.

“Seems you’re keeping more secrets than I thought.” He rubs my sides up and down before tugging the strings on my bottoms, causing them to fall off.

“That’s it, I swear,” I say on a gasp.

“You’re a liar, Briar.” He licks a tear that I didn’t know was there as his hand curves around my butt cheek and two fingers circle my entrance before hooking inside me. My head drops to the soaked shirt plastered to his shoulder, and I grind against his fingers. “But I want you, anyway.”

Before I can respond, he frees himself from his pants, and I’m sliding down his formidable length. A moan slips free as my arms wrap around his neck, holding his head to my chest, and my legs lock around his waist. I’m so full of Asher, physically, emotionally, mentally. This is pathetic. No matter how many times he burns me, I go back for more. I need him like a bad habit—one that I don’t want to kick. He cradles me—one hand wrapped around my waist, the other forearm spans the length of my spine, and his fingers curl around my shoulder—holding me close as he pumps into me. Using his teeth, he pulls the thin triangle of my top to reveal my nipple that hardens in response to the night air. Asher sucks it into his mouth, reaching to untie the strings around my back and neck.

My movements become a little more frantic—a little jerkier—as I grind against him, using my weightlessness in the water to my advantage.

“Fuck,” Ash groans after pulling away from my chest. Gripping me by the waist, he abruptly lifts me to sit on the edge of the pool again.

“What?” I ask breathlessly. He can’t stop now.

“Spread your knees and put your heels on the edge.” It’s an order, and I’m all too eager to comply, scooting close to the edge and leaning back on my palms. Ash peels his T-shirt off and flings it. Before I hear the wet plop of it landing, his hot mouth meets my slick center. I jerk forward, and he grips my ankles, chuckling darkly, holding me in place.

His tongue takes another long swipe, and my head falls back at the sensation. I’m completely naked, on display for anyone who might decide to walk out here as Asher eats me wildly, savagely. He laps at me, from top to bottom and everywhere in between. Releasing one of my ankles, he uses his free hand to fist his length. Asher pulls back to look at me as he strokes himself, the glistening head of his cock barely visible above the surface, but I can still make out the glint of his piercings.

“Sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he mutters before diving back in. The sight of him working himself, getting off to tasting me, has me gripping his head, holding him in place.

“Make me come, Asher,” I beg in a voice that I don’t even recognize.

“Gladly.”

His fist around his cock moves faster, and then he’s shoving two fingers inside me as he pulls my clit between his teeth and sucks.

I explode, unable to keep quiet and uncaring of the repercussions, as Asher groans, his own release spilling into the pool.