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“How is Shawn?” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I regret saying them. Barb swallows, though she hasn’t yet eaten anything, and closes her eyes.
“He’s still in a medically-induced coma. He had brain swelling, and they are draining the fluid. They don’t know how much brain damage, if any, he may have.”
“So there’s a chance there won’t be any damage?”
“The Lord will heal him,” she smiles. “And my baby will be back home soon.”
I have nothing to say to that; words were never my specialty. A door in the hallway opens and Ash comes out wearing nothing but flannel pajama pants. He’s almost to the kitchen when he notices me. In the same micro-second it takes his face to register surprise, he covers it with a blank stare. Mrs. Carter makes a plate of food for him and he takes it, kisses her on the forehead, and goes back to his room.
So Shelby and Ash don’t want anything to do with me. I feel as though I’ve been punched in the stomach by a big platter of lasagna.
I stand. “I guess I’ll get home now.”
“Wait.” Mrs. Carter glances down the hallway, the lines on her forehead growing longer. “Could you go talk to Ash?”
I lift an eyebrow, wanting to ask if she’s out of her mind. Why would I talk to someone who so blatantly ignored me a minute ago? She pats my hand.
“He’s really upset about all of this – he won’t talk to anyone. I know he’s fond of you so maybe you can talk to him?”
“About what?” I plead with her. Please don’t make me talk to him. Please, please, please.
“About anything.” Her glossy eyes stare past me. “He’s not himself…make him be Ash again. I need my boy to be strong.”
I can’t tell anyone no. It must have been genetically programmed in me while still in the womb. I’ve never been able to say no to anyone but myself. So I palm my forehead to gather my thoughts, take a deep breath and head to his room.
The door is half-open as I knock and look inside at the same time. Ash sits on a futon, reading a tattered paperback book. His sandy-colored dreads are pulled back as usual. The dinner plate is already empty. “Hi Hana,” he says to the pages of his book. I look down the hallway and see Mrs. Carter watching me with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
“Can I come in?” Where is all of that confidence I had practiced just a minute ago? Right now I sound like a mouse asking to enter an alleyway packed with feral cats.
He lowers the book to his lap and looks at me for the first time tonight. He’s going to tell me no, I just know it. Or he’ll ignore me like Shelby and make this horribly awkward. I bite my lip.
“You are the reason my brother is still alive.” He rolls out his arm as if presenting the Queen. “Of course you can come in.”
I sit next to him on the futon that doubles as his bed. So, technically I’m in a boy’s bed right now. His room is small, probably no bigger than my walk-in closet at Dad’s house. Books line his walls, along with motocross plaques, and a few framed photos of him on a dirt bike throughout the years. One of them is a picture of teenage Ash before the dreads. He’s almost identical to Shelby, squinting into the sun, dirty-blond hair in his eyes.
A small desk and laptop are in the corner. His computer wallpaper is a picture of his dirt bike covered in mud with a six-foot-tall trophy next to it. I’ve been in a few guy’s bedrooms before, mostly by accident, and Ash’s room is lacking the one thing they all had in common – posters of bikini babes.
He puts down his book when he sees me checking out his room. “Like it?”
“It’s simple.”
“I’m simple.” He focuses on me now, the smirk of all smirks on his face. I can’t stand another second of looking into his eyes – the ones that are fond of me – so I divert my attention elsewhere.
And I see the sticker. It’s on his nightstand, right next to his cell phone. The small white sticker is taped over to make it stick to the wood. My name is written on it in Molly’s handwriting. It’s from the day Molly made the breakfast burritos extra spicy and I requested a normal one. She put my name on the sticker so I’d know it was mine. Before Ash’s race, I had stuck it on his helmet. I think I said it was for good luck. Truth is, I just didn’t feel like finding a trash can. I figured it fell off somewhere on the track. Guess I was wrong.
“Busted.” Ash says under his breath.
“You kept that?” I look at him, eyebrows raised while I wait for an explanation.
“It’s a good luck charm.” His face does something that resembles a smile. A smile! The first one since Shawn’s accident. His tough I’m-almost-an-adult-and-can-handle-anything exterior is in danger of breaking away. That sticker is the first piece.
One second passes where I feel insanely awkward. Then I can’t help myself. “Freaking A, dude.” I lunge toward him and wrap my arms around his bare chest. He stiffens at first, then gives in and hugs me back with one arm.
“What is this for?”
I’m eye level with his nipple, but whatever. “I don’t know.”
Our hug lasts a few seconds longer, and I let my head rest on his shoulder. He has a muscle there that I’ve never noticed on other guys. God, I’m such a pig. Here I am thinking about the gargantuan amount of sex appeal emanating from him and how I never noticed it until now, and Ash is mulling over something deeper than physical attraction.
