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Tessa frowns. “That’s odd.”
“Is it?” I belt myself in, stretch my throbbing leg. “We barely know each other.”
“But you used to.”
“That was too long ago. Besides, I think he heard you say I hate him. I can understand if he doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“I don’t think he’d believe that.” Her frown deepens as she sets off toward the campus. “Would he?”
“You know him better than I do,” I say, my chest tight, because the admission hurts.
“Not sure about that. In any case, the Ash I know, as much as I do, wouldn’t avoid your phone calls.”
“Well, he has.”
Now she looks worried, as if she was hoping I’d say I was lying and now she realizes I’m not. “That’s really weird.” She sighs. “You picked a guy with quite a lot of baggage.”
“Picked? I didn’t pick him.” She doesn’t know about the kiss, or my feelings. And with Ash avoiding me, it’s better that way.
“But you’ve wanted him for so long. I often wished you’d fallen in love with a normal, happy boy.”
“I’m not in love with Ash.”
My words sound hollow in my ears. Because I know I am. Have been all along.
And now I’ve been rejected once again. I’m not sure I can take it.
The nightmare still haunts me, though, and Tessa seems so concerned about Ash... It’s all so confusing. He appeared like a knight in shining armor, saved me, kissed me—then he’s gone once more, without a word of explanation about the past, about the fact he tossed me aside and ignored me those years in high school.
I often wondered how he turned from being my best friend into a violent, aggressive boy I wasn’t sure I knew.
And now things certainly aren’t any clearer in my mind.
Christ. I really should distance myself from Ash, and this time for good. The Devlin family has only brought me heartache, and I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime.
Chapter Six
Asher
Again I find myself on the streets. Only this time it’s real bad. And it’s fucking cold. Thank god I thought to grab my jacket as I left the house, at least.
The world spins in circles. My head’s fucked up, my balance shot. As I stagger around, I have to stop from time to time to puke my guts out. I’ve no idea where I’m going.
Concussion, a tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers. I know the symptoms. I’ve had one before. I dimly know it can be dangerous. But I can’t force myself to think about it or decide which direction to take—and go where? To Zane’s?
Yeah, sure.
Even in my half-conscious state I know I won’t. Erin will have a fit, and Zane—what can he do for me anyway? What can anyone do?
It’s all my fault. For being a loser, for being so worthless my dad has turned to drinking again.
I’m not worth anyone’s concern.
I find myself outside a building, leaning against the wall, staring at people going in and out. The Bulldog. An underground fight club—run by the Chicago mafia. I fought there once. Down in the basement, in the huge cages. Marty works there, and I ask for him.
He lets me in and frowns at me. “Why’re you here, Asher? You can’t fight like this.”
What does he know about it?
