Audrey is here. Right here, in front of me, more gorgeous than ever, curvier, her red hair loose, her green eyes bright. Seeing her is a punch to my gut, like every single time—an ache sharper than that of any physical wound.

But there’s pain in her gaze, and fear, and anger. She’s changed in many subtle ways. Like the scar on her cheek. I notice because I expect it, and it only makes her more beautiful in my eyes.

Truth be told, I expected more damage. In my nightmares, she’s bloody and crippled, blaming me for her pain.

She has every right. My dad destroyed her family and her life, and then she was gone, leaving me to dread the moment I saw her again as much as I longed for it.

How ironic that she’s here now and I’m frozen to the spot, unable to move or speak.

Her pale lashes lower for a second, and I shift, breaking through my self-hate, finally freed from her angry stare. I have to say something. Anything.

But what can I tell her? Sorry my dad did this? Sorry he’s still alive, making so many lives miserable, while yours is dead? Sorry he drinks because he hates me, because he says I’m a fuck-up?

Sorry I screwed up with you, even though you’re the only one I ever wanted?

Before I’ve even spoken her name, she flees through the crowd as if she can’t put distance between us fast enough.

Of course. What the hell did I expect? She doesn’t want to talk to me, or look at me.

I’ve known for a long time I don’t deserve to be her friend, much less anything more. Dad made sure of that. With every stinging lash of his belt on my back, he told me I don’t deserve her, or anyone else for that matter. That if he saw me with her, he’d tell her what a loser I was.

The thought of him anywhere near her is terrifying. And after the accident, I knew I’d never get a chance to explain, anyway.

But now she’s back.

Shit, I need air.

I push off the wall, the still fresh welts and bruises in my back smarting. The balcony door beckons and I shove my way out.

The nights are still relatively warm. I stand at the rail, looking out into the dark, fighting the crushing weight on my chest—anger, disappointment. Bitter disillusionment.

I shouldn’t feel this way. Seeing Audrey fucked with my head, reminded me of everything that’s wrong with my life, everything I’m trying to escape from. And that pisses me off even more.

Because I came here, to Zane’s place, to catch my breath, gather my wits until Dad sobers up again. I’m safe here, away from home for a few days.

Dammit, I’ll find a way to fix my life. I’ve been telling myself that for years, though, and I still haven’t made it out. On days like this, the dream seems as distant as the fucking stars.

“Ash.” A guy steps out to stand beside me.

Dylan. My least favorite of the Inked Brotherhood. Zane insisted on including him, so I know he also sports a dragon tat on his arm and a dark stain on his past.

I never bothered to find out what it is, since he seems to carry a chip on his shoulder bigger than the state of Wisconsin. We used to be best friends once upon a time, but not anymore.

Not since I kissed Audrey, back in high school, and then did my best to keep away from her.

“Warm night,” he says, his jaw clenched.

I nod and take a fortifying sip from my lukewarm beer. Dylan rarely talks to me, and never alone. This can’t be a good sign. “What’s up?”

“You talk to Audrey?”

I shake my head, not in the mood.

But Dylan obviously is. “She just came back, after all this time. I can hardly believe it.”

I frown. He makes it sound as if... “She moved back here?”

“Yeah. She’s starting school this semester.”

A jab? I wouldn’t put it past Dylan. I never even finished high school.

I wince, both for that and the fact Audrey will be in the same town as me once more. “Good for her.”

“Yes, it is.”

If Dylan’s trying to make a point, I’m totally missing it. I turn my back to him and take a long draught of my beer, trying not to think, not to imagine.

How my life would be if the circumstances were different. How I could be attending college with Audrey, going to parties with her, sharing courses.

Not kissing her, or hugging her, though that’s the best memory I have, the one burning in my brain, the one getting me through the really tough times. Her kiss, her smell, her arms around me. She’s the only girl who can make me hard just by looking at me.

Damn.

I can never have her that way, but that’s okay. I’d settle for being her friend, a person she can look at without flinching, without turning around and leaving.

Even that seems impossible.

Dylan steps closer to me, right into my personal space. He’s a big guy, wider than me in the shoulders, though I’m taller. He’s intense, but he’s always been a quiet, calm kind of person, so when he grabs the front of my T-shirt, I’m so startled I let my bottle fall. It crashes to the floor.

“Stay away from her,” he says. “Do you hear me? Steer as far away from her as you can. You’re not good for her, Ash.”

My T-shirt is still bunched up in his fist and I’m too shocked to speak. I pull away, and the cotton fabric tightens around my damaged back and bruised ribs, making me hiss in pain.

Dammit. I’m safe here. Safe. I repeat the word to myself and try to calm the hell down.

Dylan is staring at me, his eyes fierce. He means what he said. He really believes I’d hurt Audrey.

“I didn’t talk to her,” I manage, my jaw tight. “Take your hands off me, fucker.”

And when he does, it’s all I can do not to punch him. I was caught by surprise, but I’m stronger than him. Trained in ways he can’t even begin to guess. I’ve been fighting all my life.

Violent, my school record says. Angry. A kid with issues.

Yeah, that’s me. Nobody ever asked why. Not that I’d tell them.

Maybe I should just grab my bag and go. But where? Going back right now might kill me.

And staying is killing my pride. Yet here I am, trapped in Zane’s apartment, trapped in my shitty life, with no damn way out.

* * *

Someone is shaking me.

I roll over, burying my face in the crook of my arm. I don’t wanna wake up. I’m dreaming, and it’s a good dream. My mom is smiling at me. She looks like she did before she got sick—back when I was a kid. Her hair is long and curling, dark like mine.

‘Do what you do best,’ she says, still smiling. ‘Do your best. You’re the best.’ And her face somehow morphs into Audrey’s, smaller and freckled, with those huge green eyes that burn all the way to my soul.

Her words make my chest tight, so tight I think my fucking heart might burst.

“Ash. Wake up.” Another shake, and the dream shatters.

Sunlight hits my eyes like a laser beam, forcing me to squint. I’m not hung over but I feel like it. I only had one beer at the party because I never let myself get drunk. But my back aches so badly I wish I was left to mope in bed all day.

Zane has other ideas, though. “Come on, fucker, get your ass out of bed.”

“Sofa,” I mutter, uncurling carefully. Not even Zane knows how bad the bruising is, how deep the welts. “Off the sofa.”

“Technicalities.” Zane waves a hand back and forth. “Up.”

I sit up, keeping a groan between my teeth. Painkillers. I need to get some more. “I’m up.” I glance at the ugly golden clock Zane must have filched from someone’s grandma. It’s barely seven in the morning and I’ve slept four hours, max. “What’s the hurry? Are you throwing me out?”

Zane blinks, then rubs a hand over his mouth. “What are you talking about, Ash?”

“Forget it.” I swing my legs off the sofa and debate waiting for Zane to go away so I can get up like a hundred-year-old, groaning and moaning, or suck it up and grit my teeth, hiding the pain.

He saves me from making the decision by sitting down next to me. “Why the fuck would you say something like that? Have I ever thrown you out?”

Damn, now I feel like a bastard. “No. Sorry.”

He doesn’t deserve that. Without Zane, I don’t even want to think where I’d be now. He’s been my anchor all these years. He’s made me part of his group, marked me as his brother with the dragon tattoo on my shoulder—like the one on his chest, and the ones he’s inked on Rafe and Dylan.

“Did someone get in your face last night? Because of Audrey?”

I don’t want to tell him, but if I don’t, he’ll really think I’m an ungrateful bastard despite all his help. “Dylan. He warned me to stay away from her.”

“Well, that’s doable, right?” Zane reaches out to clap me on the shoulder and I twist away, lifting my hand before that can happen.

“Yes, it’s doable,” I say, swallowing bitterness. “So why did you feel the urge to wake me up so early if you’re not throwing me out?”

“I’m driving to my sister’s today. I told you, right? It’s a long drive, so I’m getting an early start. Make yourself at home, use anything you need. There’s food in the fridge.”

I nod. “Great. Thanks, Z-man.”

“No problem.” He mock-punches me in the shoulder and this time I let him, so he won’t suspect how much my body hurts right now.

Then I yawn and stretch my arms over my head, not returning the gesture. I never do. I don’t hit people for fun. I avoid violence of any form, trying to distance myself from everything my dad is. Violence can’t control me. I am the one in control.

Pain radiates up my back and I stop mid-stretch. Damn. Bad idea.

Zane frowns. “You okay? You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

And what good can it do? He has his own problems, just like everyone around me. His sister—not a biological sister, since Zane doesn’t know his real parents, but another member of his adopted family—has been sick, and he’s worried. And that’s just one of his worries.

Besides, I’m not a pussy. I can handle my own issues. I’ve done it before. I can do it again.

“Remember, Erin’s coming back on Monday.”

The surly girl he shares his apartment with. “Sure.” Today’s Saturday. Still have two days to recover.

“Just warning you so she won’t catch you dancing naked in the living room.”

I laugh. “As if. Relax, man. You worry like an old woman.” I make light of it, even though it’s no secret Erin dislikes me.

“Somebody’s gotta worry about you, fucker,” Zane says quietly. “Might as well be me.”

I swallow hard as I flip him off. Might as well be him because there isn’t anyone else who gives a damn, is there? “Have fun with your sis.”

He leaves the room and I watch him go, absently rubbing an old scar on my upper arm. Zane would never throw me out, but I can’t stay and cause him trouble. It’s about time I left and returned to hell.

* * *

Despite my bold resolution, I stay until Monday. I borrow Zane’s laptop—he gave me the green light some time ago—and I surf the net, looking for a job. My options are limited without a high school diploma. Waiting on tables. Cleaning offices. The usual.

I’ve done it plenty of times before. In fact, I’ve just lost one such job, because I had to lie low and lick my wounds for a few days. I didn’t come directly to Zane’s, but after two days on the streets, I called him and he immediately invited me over.

Zane has saved my ass too many times to count. I’ve been on the streets before, running away. Is that what I do best? Run?

The dream returns to torture me.

I rub my chest and call the numbers in the ads. Turns out the positions have already been filled. No big deal, at least that’s what I tell myself. I’ll try again tomorrow and the day after, again and again, until I find something. Another thing I’m good at: not giving up, no matter how lost the cause seems.

Except for Audrey. I gave up on her and now it’s too late to get her back.

Dammit.

Erin is a diminutive brunette, a pixie with large dark eyes and many silver hoops on her ears. My older brother, Tyler, used to hang out with her before he left never to return. Back then I thought she liked me, or at least didn’t mind me.

These days, though, hatred for me emanates from every pore of her being. Maybe it’s because she’s friends with Audrey and Dylan. Dylan certainly isn’t carrying a fucking banner for me.

Well, it’s that or she’s fed up with me hogging the sofa so often. I can understand that. I’m pretty much fed up with myself most of the time. For not fighting enough. For fighting too hard. For running away. For staying and taking it.

For not seeing the way out.

When she arrives and finds me in the apartment, she lifts her chin and frowns. “Hey, Ash,” she says in her most bored voice as she lugs her duffel bag to her room. “Didn’t know you’d still be here.”

Right. “I won’t be after today. I’m leaving in about an hour, in fact.”

A light flickers in her dark eyes. She’s pleased, is that it?

That makes me angry, but what right do I have to be? It’s her apartment. She pays for it. I’m a squatter, and she hasn’t agreed to an impromptu sofa hugger.

All of a sudden feeling tired, I gather my few things—my change of clothes, my toothbrush and toothpaste, my socks, and stuff them in my beaten rucksack.

I have to go back home. I don’t have money to rent a place. My temporary jigs don’t pay much and all I earn goes into Dad’s pockets for his drinking debts. I have to stick it out, get my shit together, find a better job.

Maybe Zane can help me. I should talk to him; open up, tell him the whole story, the whole problem—not just the bits and pieces he’s gathered. Maybe he’s got better ideas than I can come up with.

But I’m not sure I want to open up. Or that I can move out of Dad’s house. Who will take care of him when he passes out drinking? He’s the only family I have left. He’s still my dad when he’s sober.

Meanwhile, I take my leave from Zane’s apartment. I am, once more, on my own.