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Asher
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 somewhere on his torso 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.”
