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But he’s still recovering from the beating from hell. Add to that his dizzy spells and I think I’m perfectly justified in wanting to check on him.
Yeah, okay, so I can admit to myself I have a protective streak when it comes to Ash. That boy needs someone to look after him. Whenever he smiles, he brings me to my knees and melts my heart. He needs to smile more.
I climb up the stairs and unlock the apartment door. I close it behind me quietly, in case he’s asleep, and creep inside.
And stop in my tracks.
Voices. They drift over from the living room. I lean back against the wall to listen.
A woman’s voice. I frown. Mom? I peer around the wall and there she is, sitting on the couch—next to Ash? What’s going on here?
“Please listen to me,” Mom is saying, her voice quiet yet vibrating with emotion. “I’m afraid I did something very stupid, something I told myself I’d never do: I judged without knowing. I judged you. It wasn’t my place to do so.”
Mom is apologizing to Ash? That’s so great, I can’t help but grin.
Ash is hunched over, though—hands on his thighs, dark hair falling in his face, hiding his eyes. What’s going on in his mind?
“I should have trusted Audrey’s opinion of you,” Mom tells him. “I never actually thought about your dad beyond the accident. Didn’t realize he made us both suffer.”
“He...” Ash doesn’t lift his head. “He was my dad. He’s still my dad.”
“Yes. Of course.” Mom gets up. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll talk to Audrey about the programs I mentioned. As for staying here... This is Audrey’s apartment, and she should do with it as she pleases. My life is in Chicago now. And I have the impression she cares about you very much, Asher D
evlin. Take good care of my daughter.” When he doesn’t answer, she hesitates. “Asher...”
Then she sighs and turns to go.
I step back into the bedroom as quietly as I can, hiding. I don’t want to talk to Mom right now, no matter how glad I am she’ll help Ash and that she’s sorry for how she treated him before.
But I don’t want to spend time on small talk and coffee, not now. Something in Ash’s posture, his bowed head, twists that odd feeling in my chest into something heavier.
I wait until Mom leaves and I hear the click of the door closing before I step into the living room.
It’s only then I see how he’s shaking. Now I think about it, I’ve never seen Ash cry. Not when his dad beat the crap out of him and he ran away, not when my mom sent him off, not even after he learned his dad died and when he was beaten to a pulp and knifed. He’s strong and tough, and I often forget he’s my age—barely eighteen, barely an adult.
“Ash.” I hurry around the sofa and sit, drawing him close. He wraps his arms around me and holds on like a man drowning. I wonder if Mom told him anything nasty before I arrived, but what I heard was positive. “Mom’s right, you know. I do care about you a lot.”
He clutches me harder, crushing my ribs. His head is heavy on my shoulder. “Too much,” he whispers. “It can’t last. This can’t last.”
He’s afraid. And I think I understand why. Good times, in Ash’s life, seem few and fleeting compared to the bad ones.
“We’ll make it last,” I say, inhaling his familiar scent. “You and me, together.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Asher
Dad’s funeral is a quiet affair. Tyler is there, as he said he’d be, but I avoid him afterward and he doesn’t force the issue. He sends me a few sad looks but drives away and I don’t hear from him again.
He came through, though, keeping his word about the bank account. So now I have some money to my name, which is another of those weird new things in my life.
Like having a home again.
Clearing my stuff from Dad’s house, going through his things and deciding what to keep and what to give away is tough. Audrey helped me with that. I don’t think I could have done it alone. Awful as Dad was most of the time, he left a goddamn hole in my life. I’m angry at him, for beating me, for dying, for losing the house. And I’m grieving, too.
Time passes. After the first awkward week when I didn’t know whether I should sleep on the couch or Audrey’s bed, if I was supposed to cook or only wash and help clean and who had the bathroom first in the morning, we settle into a sort of routine.
We sleep in Audrey’s bed. She’s even cleared drawers and shelves for me in her bedroom. Going to sleep with her in my arms is one of the best perks of my new life. It keeps the nightmares at bay—the ones of me running in the streets looking for her. Her sweet smell seems to reach into my subconscious, reassuring me she’s fine.
