Gilt Hollow (12 page)

“Oooh, put a little makeup on her and she gets mouthy.”

Willow tried to step around him again, but he refused to move.

“You look good, Willow.” Colin reached out and fingered the fringe of her scarf. “Maybe I'll call you sometime and we can hang out.”

Really? Did he know she'd just walked out on a date with his cousin? Likely, the “king” of Gilt Hollow High didn't care. She arched a brow and jerked her scarf out of his hand. “Don't bother.”

He threw his head back and laughed like it was all a big joke. Willow walked past him and searched the faces in the room, but none of them was Ashton's.

■ ■ ■

Willow plodded down Main, avoiding eye contact with everyone she passed. She'd never been good at hiding her
feelings, and right then they were boiling over. What was wrong with Ashton that he thought violence was a valid way to communicate? And who was that kid? Ashton had said he needed to talk about something important. If she'd taken the few minutes to see what he wanted, maybe the whole incident could have been avoided.

No.
He was
not
her responsibility.

Unclenching her fists, she took a right onto Elm and forced her legs to slow. No sense getting back earlier than necessary just to sit in her room fuming. Besides, the blisters forming on her heels made it painful to move too quickly. She and Lisa wore the same size in just about everything, even though Willow had a few inches on her in height, but the boots had formed to Lisa's slightly wider feet, causing them to slip and chafe with every step.

Turning onto Beckett Street, trees arched and knit into a canopy that blocked the moon, their branches creaking like dry bones. A chilled breeze chased down Willow's neck. She tightened her scarf and shoved her hands into her pockets, but the unlined jacket felt icy against her knuckles. Clearly the thin bit of leather had been designed for fashion, not warmth. The mournful whistle of a train wailed in the distance, and Willow suddenly noticed how far the houses sat off the sidewalk, their yards full of mature trees. And hiding places.

She pulled out her phone, deciding to text Lisa to see if she was still awake. But the screen cast an eerie glow, making her feel exposed. She tucked it away. It was only a few more blocks. She'd call her from the safety of her bedroom. A coyote howled in the distance, and chills rose on Willow's arms. But it wasn't the animal's cry that gave her the willies. A sudden awareness crept over her like eyes drilling into her
back. She glanced over her shoulder. The sidewalk was clear. She picked up her pace, ignoring the pain in her feet.

Leaves skittered and danced across her path, the noises of the night closing in around her. Was that footsteps she heard or just branches tapping in time with the wind? A sharp crack, like a stick breaking, made her spin around. As she pushed the hair from her eyes, a lean shadow melded in with the trees across the street. Her heart hurtled into her throat. Someone was following her.

W
illow spun around and tripped over the edge of the sidewalk. As she stumbled forward, her momentum propelled her into a jog. Should she knock on someone's door? Tell them she'd seen a shadow in the trees? Her steps slowed to a fast walk as she took her phone out and dialed 911. Her finger hovered over the dial icon as she squinted back to where she'd seen the shadow. Nothing.

Had her mind been playing tricks on her? Could it have been a low swaying branch or a deer? Her mouth dry, she scanned the street, searching dense clusters of shrubbery, parked cars, and shadowed porches. A person could follow her for blocks, rushing from one hiding place to the next. Her chest tightened, her breath coming faster as her feet sped down the sidewalk. But why? Why hide? If someone wanted to hurt her, they would have had plenty of opportunities since she left Main Street.

Then again, maybe they were waiting for the right moment to yank her into the mouth of a deserted alley or their dark van idling near the sidewalk. The words of the threatening message loomed large in her mind.
Rein in your boyfriend before somebody gets hurt.
Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs as she lengthened her strides. That
somebody
could be her. She turned around, walking backward as she scanned the trees, her hair flying into her eyes, a horrifying thought occurring to her—if anything happened to her, the police would blame Ashton. Then her stomach dropped. After witnessing the rage inside of him, maybe they'd be right.

She spun around, her throat tightening with panic. Had she made a mistake by allowing him back into her life? Had Brayden and her mom been right? Her finger hovered over the call button again as she strained to hear anything suspicious above the groan of the wind, and flinched when a low roar reverberated behind her, growing louder by the second.

She glanced back just as the jet black motorcycle pulled up beside her.

Ashton.

“Need a ride?”

“No!” She stared straight ahead and kept walking. Visions of Ashton's face contorting as he'd slammed that young kid against the wall caused her pace to quicken. Maybe she'd been wrong about Ashton all along and their friendship had blinded her from the truth of his guilt.

The bike's engine growled as he pulled up beside her. “I got my motorcycle license today, and insurance. So I'm totally legit.”

“Go away.”

“I'll drop you off down the street so your mom doesn't see.” The amusement in his voice sparked a memory of a long-ago night when they'd snuck out to watch a local punk band perform at the street fair. Riding home on the handlebars of Ashton's bike, her ears burning from Origami's scalding lyrics and deafening bass, she'd kind of understood why her parents had told her she couldn't attend the concert. But the exhilaration of the night, of tasting the forbidden, had stayed with her long after Ashton had dropped her off at the corner of her block.

Proving they were on the same wavelength, Ashton's voice projected over the rumble of his bike as he sang the chorus of Origami's only hit, “Night falls on your heart, and my world explodes with wonders untold—”

“Ashton, please, just go.” Willow cut him off before he sang the racy part, but she realized her steps had slowed to the point that when she glanced at him, the engine idled and he walked the bike forward with his feet on either side.

“Sorry I screwed up your date.” His tone said the opposite.

“No, you're not.”

After a few seconds of silence, he admitted, “You're right. I'm not.” The engine revved, and he sped off down the street.

Willow's breath caught. She hadn't expected him to leave her. But then he looped back, did a U-turn, and parked his bike half a block ahead. After putting down the kickstand, he turned off the engine, dismounted, and shoved the key into his pocket.

As Willow approached, he said, “I can't let you walk home alone this late. There's too much creepiness going on.”

“I doubt there's anything scarier than you out here.”

Without responding, he fell into step beside her. Had she hurt him? Part of her hoped so.

They walked in silence, and an odd tension stretched between them like two polarized magnets, attracting and repelling at the same time. After a few minutes, the strain became too much and Willow caved. “I noticed the posters were gone downtown.”

Ashton made an inarticulate sound of agreement.

She looked over and noticed the tight set of his jaw. Fists shoved in his jacket pockets, his shoulders were fixed in a hard line. He was still angry, yet he'd come back to make sure she was safe. And she knew in that moment that her fears of him were unfounded. The edge of her own frustration softened, and she asked, “Did you take the flyers down?”

“No.”

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, she asked, “Who was that boy at Gino's?”

“You saw that?” He scanned her face, his expression guarded.

“Yeah, I saw that. What the heck, Ashton? He looked like he was twelve.”

“First of all, he's a sophomore.” His eyes flashed as he pulled a hand out of his pocket and lifted two fingers. “Second, he took my picture in the bathroom my first day back at Gilt High.”

That was odd, but if Ashton was going to smash the kid against a wall, why didn't he do it right after it happened?

Answering her unspoken question, he continued, “I glared at him as he snapped the photo, but didn't think much of it . . . until the flyers appeared.”

The pieces clicked into place in Willow's brain. “That's what you wanted to tell me tonight, right?”

“Yeah, I'd found his name by looking at your old yearbook.”

“But who is he? Why would he do something like that?”

“That's what I wanted to find out. When I saw him at Gino's right after . . .” He scraped a hand down the back of his hair. “Well, I kinda lost it.”

It was no excuse, but she couldn't help asking, “What did he say?”

“He denied it at first. Said I was as crazy as everyone claimed.” Ashton's eyes closed for a second and he shook his head. “Something just snapped inside me, Wil. I . . . I grabbed him out of his chair and told him if he didn't tell me why he put up the flyers, I would show him how crazy I could get.”

Willow didn't speak, hoping her silence would coax him into continuing. But what he said next took her by surprise.

“It's different in juvie. If you don't go on the offense, you'll be the next victim.”

Willow scanned the hard lines of his profile and remembered the boyish fourteen-year-old whose face had been plastered all over the news, all freckles and big blue eyes. Her throat closed. It was almost impossible to imagine that boy growing up in a prison.

Ashton stared down at her, his gaze wary. “Do you know why I got out early?”

“Why?” She could barely push the word past her lips.

“My friend Stanley.” He released a dry chuckle. “The kid was skin and bones, but he was an amazing basketball player. Would whip guys twice his size on the court.” He swallowed, his tone sobering. “Anyway, he was jumped by a group of guys who didn't like losing, and I stepped in. I don't remember half of it. Just that one of them had a blade and I was fighting for both our lives. When it was all over, Stanley and I were the only ones standing.”

“That's why they let you out early?” Willow couldn't disguise her shock. “Because you got in a fight?”

“I spent a week in the void.” He glanced over at her, hair falling into his eyes. “That's what we called solitary.”

Willow nodded.

“And then they called me in and said I'd only been in there for my own protection, and what I'd done to protect Stanley had shown strength of character.”

“Violence was rewarded,” Willow mused.

“Not only that, but it was a way of life. Survival of the fittest and all that.”

A gust of wind tunneled down the street, and Willow felt herself drift closer to Ashton's warmth. “What about the guards?”

“They could always be convinced to look the other way. I think they were half afraid of us.”

There was a brief pause before Willow asked, “So did that kid put up the flyers?”

“Naw. He said he received an anonymous text on SnapMail telling him that if he took my picture and texted it back, they'd pay him a hundred dollars.” Ashton pushed out a sigh. “He started babbling about needing money for a marching band trip to Florida.”

“So whoever put him up to it knew he was desperate for cash.”

“Good point. I'll start digging into who he hangs with at school.”

They reached the corner of Walnut and turned left, their steps in perfect sync. They'd walked this route together hundreds of times. But when his elbow brushed her upper arm, a charge shot across her skin, reversing their polarity. Ashton must have felt it too, because he pulled her to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Why Brayden?” His dark brows swooped down over his eyes.

Willow stared up into his face and suppressed her first reaction—to tell him it was none of his business. He'd lost the right to question her when he pushed her out of his life and refused to communicate with her the entire time he was away. But as his eyes searched her face, she caught a glimpse of something like pain. “I . . . I don't know . . . It just kind of happened.”

“Do you have any idea what it felt like to see you with him? Holding his hands, gazing into his eyes?” He scrubbed a hand over his hair. “Damn it, Willow. He. Put. Me. In. Jail.”

Willow sucked in her bottom lip to hold back the tears.
“I . . .” She looked down at their feet, his black boots dwarfing her size eights. When he'd left, their feet had been close to the same size. So much had changed, but he had no idea how much.

She raised her gaze. “I defended you the entire time you were gone, Ashton. I lost friends, jobs . . . I lost myself. When I didn't hear from you, I sat at home night after night, talking to the shadows. I threw myself into my schoolwork. Never went out. Never went to football games or parties or dances.” She sucked in a breath, ignoring the muscle that ticked in his jaw. “When Brayden asked me out, he made me realize people hadn't shut me out as much as I'd shut
myself
out. And I was tired of it.”

He glanced away and shook his head. “I never thought about . . .” His gaze darted back, his eyes fiery with emotion. “I never thought about what you went through.” He grabbed her and pulled her against his chest, wrapping her in his arms.

Taken by surprise, Willow's hands dangled at her sides for a beat before she lifted them and pressed her palms against the strong planes of his back. As she drew in his warm citrus scent, she relaxed, resting her face against his chest, her head fitting just beneath his chin. The fierce beat of his heart made her smile. Ashton was real and safe, and he was here.

His arms still looped around her waist, he leaned back. “Was I right?”

Willow cocked her head. “About what?”

“Your drink order.” His lips tilted in a mischievous grin, making her skin flush.

Clamping down her reaction, she retorted, “I like chai tea.”

Ashton lifted a hand and hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But you
love
fresh, hot cider.” His eyes were hooded,
only a slit of blue visible beneath his dark lashes as he traced her jawline, his thumb brushing against the corner of her mouth. “The sweet and tart tingling on your tongue.”

Willow's breath caught as he watched the path of his thumb sweep across her open mouth. Every one of her nerve endings caught fire and she rose on her toes, straining toward him. What would it feel like to have his lips replace his thumb?

Headlights swooped around the corner, bathing them with light. Willow pulled away as the car sped past. Reality splashed over her, dousing the heat in her veins. If someone saw them and told her mom, she didn't want to think about the consequences. She stepped back. “I . . . I need to get home. I can walk the rest of the way on my own.”

Her face flaming, she took off down the sidewalk without looking back.

Ashton banged on the door for the second time. Knowing Jeff, he'd probably gotten tanked and passed out in his apartment. Resisting the urge to knock a third time, he slumped against the wall. He couldn't stay at Keller House tonight. After what he'd almost done, he didn't trust himself. And renting a room was out. Between new clothes, school supplies, and repairs and gas for the Indian, he was down to his last hundred bucks. Jeff was his only hope, which didn't give him much confidence.

Finally, the door rattled and unlatched, opened by a sleep-mussed Jeff wearing striped boxers and a faded Stevie Ray Vaughan T-shirt. “Dude, it's after one in the morning.” He rubbed an eye with his fist like a sleepy kid.

“Can I crash here tonight? I promise I won't get in your way.”