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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.
