Gilt Hollow (16 page)

Shame washed over Ashton like a cold wind. Her parents were divorced and had both remarried, starting new families. She'd told him she often felt like an afterthought. He rubbed the back of her hand and leaned forward with a smile. “What's on your mind, Pen?”

She lit up in a way that only someone who was starved for respect and attention would understand. A need intimately familiar to Ashton.

“Well, I decided today to run for class president. My grades aren't the best, but student body government will look good on college applications, don't you think?”

Ashton agreed and let her talk for another thirty minutes, responding in all the right places. By the time they were ready to go, Penelope's excited chatter had soothed Ashton's stress and he found himself laughing as they made their way back to his bike.

But before he pulled away from the curb, a young couple strolling arm in arm caught his eye. The girl, in a killer red dress with shiny waves of dark hair down her back, had attracted more than just his attention. Every male in the vicinity watched as Brayden took Willow's hand and spun her out, then twirled her in a circle, her hair and dress rotating around her, the sweater falling off of her creamy shoulders.

Ashton's breath seized as Willow fell against Brayden in a fit of giggles. He needed to talk to her, but not here. Not like this. Not when his chest ached with the need to smash his fist into Brayden Martin's grinning face. Instead, he clamped on the accelerator and roared away, repeating over and over in his head that she deserved happiness, whatever the cost to him.

Willow swam through her dreams, kicking and pushing against resistance as she tried to break through the surface. A nebulous presence chased her, so close she could feel his hot breath on her neck. Icy fingers grasped her arm. She jerked away with a shriek. But she couldn't escape.

Something was there with her, just out of view. Emerging into consciousness, her eyes fluttered, working to focus in
the dark. Prickles raced across her skin, her mouth going dry. She was definitely not alone.

As she blinked, a shadow separated from the wall. She started and shrank back, choking on a scream.

“Shh! Willow, it's me.”

“Ashton?” She levered up on one arm as his form solidified.

“Yeah, I need to talk to you.”

She sat up and smoothed her hair out of her face, then cleared her throat and rubbed her eyes before she asked, “Is everything okay?”

“Can I sit?”

“Sure.” Willow scooted over to make room on the edge of the bed, her pulse accelerating as his large body sank the side of the mattress. He smelled like the night—open air and freedom. Her eyes adjusting, she watched him run a hand over his tousled hair, the leather of his jacket crinkling as he moved.

Willow had to swallow before she could ask, “Did you just leave the police station?”

“No, they let me go around six.”

“They dropped the charges then?”

“There weren't any official charges.” He raised one hand in an air quote. “They were just holding me for questioning. Not sure that's legal, but since Kagawa is king in this town, he can do what he wants.”

“That man is a serious egotist.”

“I was going to say something else, but that works too.”

Ashton readjusted his perch on the edge of the bed and then slipped off his jacket, laying it across the coverlet. Willow suddenly found it hard to breathe. What was he doing in her room—on her bed—in the middle of the night?

“Ash—”

“Wil—”

He smiled, a flash of white teeth against dark skin, and Willow's belly effervesced, her head spinning like the time her mom let her drink champagne.

His voice a rough whisper, he asked, “Willow, what did you tell the chief?” He leaned in, a stripe of moonlight illuminating the turbulent sea blue of his eyes.

Their gazes locked and the intention she read on his face melted her bones like butter. They eased toward one another, the sound of her heartbeat pulsing in her ears. If she looked into his eyes another second, she would drown in them. Gladly.

“Wil, what did you tell him?”

Thankful to have something to focus on, other than the way Ashton had encased her hands in one of his, or his thumb as it moved in lazy circles across the backs of her fingers, she blurted, “I told him you were here with me all night.”

His thumb stopped its rotation. “
With
you, with you?”

Willow shrugged. “I let him draw his own conclusions.”

He withdrew his hand, his brows crouching over his eyes. “Don't ever do that again.”

Stiffening her spine, Willow lifted her chin. “You mean claim we slept together, or save your behind from going to prison?”

“Both!” He pushed off the bed and began to pace. “I grew up in jail. On my own. With not one word of encouragement from anybody. I don't need anyone's protection.” He stopped and stared down at her. “And most certainly not yours.”

Willow scrabbled up on her knees to face him. “What do you mean, with not a word from anybody? I wrote to you
every day
for months! Did you throw my letters in the trash without reading them?”

He stilled. “I never got any letters.”

She searched his face. Was he telling the truth? If she'd had the wrong address, the letters would've been returned. After several weeks of no response, her mother had called the facility and assured her they were going to the right place.
Her mom.
Willow sunk back on her heels. Mom had said it over and over:
“Maybe you're better off without him.”
She'd never trusted Ashton—never believed in his innocence. Saw him as a bad influence on her only daughter.

“What?”

Willow stared at him, his reaction to her that first day finally making sense. The look of hatred on his face had been cultivated over years of assuming she'd abandoned him . . . along with everyone else. But she couldn't tell him about her mom's betrayal until she spoke to her and confirmed her horrid theory. Grasping for a change of subject, she confessed, “I received another anonymous SnapMail message.”

Instantly alert, he stepped toward the bed. “What did it say?”

With a useless gesture, she pointed toward her phone resting on the nightstand. “It was a message that warned me not to defend you to the police, and then . . .” She glanced past him to the trees lashing outside the window. Why was she telling him this? He would feel responsible.

“And?”

Goose bumps rose on her skin, reminding her she wore only a tank top and sleep shorts. Reaching behind her, she grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “And . . . then they sent a picture of Rainn. He was alone, with his backpack over his shoulder, probably walking home from school.”

Ashton shoved the hair off his forehead, clutching the
strands as he spun away toward the windows. “Are you kidding me?” He dropped his hand and turned back, his face a mask of shock. “Then why would you do it?”

There was a tap on the door. Willow met Ashton's eyes, and he dropped to the floor like a cat, just as the door swung open. Rainn's blond head peeked in. “Sis, I heard something. Like voices.”

“Sorry buddy, I couldn't sleep and I was listening to music.” She smiled at his too-long hair sticking up on one side, his sleep-red cheeks, his wide green eyes, and a sudden terror gripped her. What if she'd really put her little brother in danger? He was defenseless, small for eight years old. His little arms stuck out of his TMNT pajama shirt like twigs. She crawled out of bed, rushed to the door, and squeezed him tight against her chest.

He returned her hug, and she leaned down to kiss his soft head. He smelled like watermelon—his “big kid” shampoo. “Want me to walk you back to your room and tuck you in?”

Pulling out of her arms, he propped a hand on his narrow waist. “I'm not a baby.”

Willow smiled and ruffled his crazy hair. “I know. I'll keep my music down.”

“ ‘Kay.”

She watched him pad down the hall and around the corner, then shut her door and turned the lock. Leaning back against the wall, she squeezed her eyes closed against tears. What had she done?

There was a shuffling noise and a muffled “Ow” before Ashton rose up from the other side of the bed, rubbing his head. “That was much easier when we were twelve.”

Willow gave him a tight smile, but her vision swam with regret.

“Hey, don't cry.” He came around the end of the bed and hesitated by the second post, indecision clear on his face. Then she watched his expression harden with resolve. “I won't let anything happen to him, Wil. To any of you.”

She swiped at her leaky eyes. “I think I know who's sending the messages.”

He crossed the space between them. “Tell me.”

So she did. They moved to the plush chairs in the sitting area of her room, and she told him her theory about Isaiah Kagawa and his connection to the kid who'd taken his picture for the flyers.

Ashton leaned back and crossed one ankle over his knee. “But if Isaiah put up the flyers, who would stuff them in his locker?”

Willow arched a brow. “So, you didn't do that?”

His Adam's apple bobbed and his lips pressed together as both of his fists clenched, but he didn't speak.

“Okay, just checking.” Willow put her hands up in a defensive gesture. “Whoever did do it looked a heck of a lot like you.”

He uncrossed his legs and leaned his elbows on his knees. “How do you know that?”

She told him about the trip to the principal's office and what they'd seen on the security footage.

“And this was Brayden's idea?”

Willow nodded.

“Brayden Martin? The boy who almost punched me because I wanted to talk to you at Gino's?”

“Yes, he's trying hard to make that up to me.”

Ashton muttered a curse under his breath that brought heat seeping into Willow's cheeks.

But then a detail from the security footage clicked into
place. “Wait.” She leaned forward. “At one point the guy filling Isaiah's locker faced the camera, and it looked as if he was speaking to someone.”

“So he wasn't alone. I guess that makes sense. With everything happening it would take more than one person to pull off the posters and frame me for the robbery.” Ashton shook his head. “But I still find it hard to believe Isaiah would threaten you or your family.”

“Me too. That's why I decided to defend you anyway. Because if it is Isaiah trying to scare me, I don't believe he would hurt a fly.”

“But what if it isn't Isaiah? Or what if Isaiah isn't who we think he is?”

Willow tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“What if I have a chat with Cory? He and Isaiah used to be tight.”

“Cory Martin?” she asked. Cory was Colin Martin's little brother. A year younger but worlds apart. Cory had been studious, introverted, and played the saxophone like nobody's business. He was also dead. But Ashton wouldn't know that. “Um, Ash, Cory's gone. He was killed over two years ago.”

His blue eyes flared wide. “What? How?”

She swallowed before launching into the story that, unfortunately, everyone in Gilt Hollow knew by heart. “It was a horrible accident. Colin, Cory, Brayden, Isaiah, Mr. Martin, and Chief Kagawa were preparing for a hunting trip to West Virginia. The night before they were supposed to leave, the guys were sleeping over at the Martins', and Cory went out to the garage to clean his gun . . . and it went off.” Willow's breath caught, and she took a deep breath before continuing. “He shot himself. Isaiah found him and called 911, but it was too late.”

Ashton pressed a fist to his mouth and squeezed his eyes closed. Several moments passed, but she stayed quiet and let him mourn. They'd both known Cory almost their whole lives. But then she realized it was more than grief on his face. She could almost hear the wheels churning in his brain as he processed this news, fitting the piece into the puzzle of what they already knew. When he opened his eyes, the force of his gaze pinned her to the chair.

He stared at her for several long seconds before he sprang to his feet, grabbed his jacket off the bed, and stalked toward the door. He reached out for the handle and then paused. Without turning, he said, “What if it wasn't an accident?”

A tremor raced across Willow's shoulders and down her arms. The thought had never occurred to her, but now that he'd said it, she couldn't deny the possibility.

His back still turned, Ashton whispered, “I can't involve you in this any longer. Don't be upset if I don't talk to you at school.”

Before she could figure out what to say, he slipped out the door and shut it behind him.

T
he morning following her midnight chat with Ashton, Willow suggested to her mom that Rainn
might
have issues with a bully, who could
possibly
take his show-and-tell items and/or push him around. As a result, it was determined that Willow would walk him to school and Mom would take the afternoon shift—even if Rainn wouldn't admit what was happening.

As she and her brother made their way down Walnut Street, the leaves fell like snow, laying a colorful carpet at their feet. Rainn crunched through the dead foliage, stomping his boots and making roaring noises like a baby T. rex. Willow fell back and let him clomp his way down the street, sucking in a deep breath of wood-smoke-scented air. She'd lain awake half the night thinking about Cory and Ashton and what he'd said before he left her room. Willow had never believed Ashton killed Daniel Turano, accidentally or otherwise. He was a protector. She'd known it from the day she met him when he'd stopped her from jumping her bike over a creek by convincing her that the angle of the ramp wasn't steep enough and she'd end up crashing into the opposite bank. Over the years, she'd watched him go out of his way to help old women carry groceries down the street, stop a kid from taking another kid's lunch money, rescue a pet hamster from a drain pipe—you name it. The kid had been born with a hero complex.

But there had been times she'd doubted what she knew about him. Brief flashes of uncertainty, like when he'd stared
laser beams of hate at her when he'd first returned to town. Or when she read that he'd pled guilty to the charges, or when Isaiah, Brayden, and Colin spread their version of the story around school. But Ashton had been locked up when Cory died, and suddenly it seemed like too much of a coincidence that the same three boys were involved.

If Ashton was right and Cory's death hadn't been an accident, how did the police overlook it? Why? It all circled back to the Kagawas. Was mild-mannered Isaiah really a psychopathic rage monster?

As they reached the elementary school gates, her own little monster raced to join his friends without so much as a wave good-bye. After making sure he was safely inside the building, Willow crossed the parking lot and spied Ashton speeding away on his bike. She'd been so entrenched in her own thoughts, she hadn't noticed him following them. She smiled to herself as she headed downtown to meet Lisa at Gino's. It was definitely a pumpkin spice latte kind of day.

But later she wasn't smiling anymore. Ashton had ignored her, as promised. And even though she knew he was distancing himself because he believed it would keep her and her family safe, what she didn't understand was why he'd attached himself to Penelope like a tattoo. He even went so far as to eat lunch with her and the Yoko Ono twins. Forced to stay inside the cafeteria because of rain, Willow watched as Yolanda and Ona laughed at Ashton's jokes and smiled at him as if they hadn't been bashing him the day before. Then to put the cherry on top, in Music Appreciation Ashton asked to switch seats and moved to the opposite side of the room.

Past ready for the day to be over, Willow closed her binder after History and had begun to gather her things when the teacher called her name.

“Willow, please see me after class.”

Clutching her book bag to her chest, Willow approached Mrs. Innes's desk. “Yes?”

Willow wasn't sure why she felt nervous; Mrs. Innes was one of her favorite teachers. Her enthusiasm for history made her class fun, and with her purple pixie hair and diamond-studded nose ring, she felt relatable.

Mrs. Innes finished typing before lifting concerned eyes. “Willow, I wanted to give you this test back personally because the grade is so uncharacteristic of you.” She took out a stapled packet of papers and slid them facedown across her desk. Not a good sign. With a whoosh of light-headedness, Willow reached for the packet and flipped it over, revealing a fat, red D. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the grade and her name written at the top of the page. It was her paper all right. Slumping into a nearby chair, she admitted to herself that she hadn't studied. But only because she thought she knew the material.

“Is everything all right at home?”

“Um . . .” Willow didn't know what to say. She'd just discovered a fellow student may have been murdered; she was being blackmailed via text message; she was hiding her ex-convict/ex–best friend in her attic while trying to keep him out of jail and not fall head over heels in love with him in the process. Her world had turned upside down. So, no, everything was most certainly
not
all right at home. But none of that would change the D glaring back at her like a flashing emergency beacon, so she shook her head and muttered, “Sure, everything's fine. I just forgot to study.”

“Well, if you need any help before the next test, let me know. I'd be happy to meet with you before or after school.”

Willow thanked her, rose from her seat, and walked to her
locker without remembering how she got there. Exchanging her history stuff for Spanish—thankfully her last class of the day—she slammed the door and almost ran into Isaiah. Her heart jumped into her throat and she glanced around, realizing the hallway was nearly deserted. The second bell buzzed, sending the stragglers scurrying into their classrooms. Leaving them alone.

Willow stepped around Isaiah. “I'm late.”

“Wait. I need to talk to you.”

Really? He wanted to talk instead of sending anonymous texts? She stopped cold. “What do you want, Isaiah?”

His eyes darted up and down the empty corridor before he whispered, “Meet me in the school library after the pep rally. Alone.”

Then he rushed off.

Willow did the same, slipping into class while Señora Jay's back was turned. But the Spanish words that normally came so easily to her bounced off her brain like gibberish. What did Isaiah need to say to her in private? The thought of meeting with him alone kind of terrified her, but this could be her chance to find out if he'd sent the threatening messages. And put a stop to it.

Sliding her phone from her pocket and into her lap, she texted Lisa and asked her to be her backup. Her friend agreed, and they planned for her to arrive before Isaiah to hide in the stacks.

By the time the bell rang for the pep rally, Willow was wound tighter than one of Lisa's infamous topknots. And as her fellow students rushed out of their eighth-period classes early, she was caught up in the stampede, unable to find Lisa or Brayden or anyone else she knew. So she let herself be pushed along with the flow until she reached the gym.
Hundreds of voices echoed off the walls, mixed with the squeak of tennis shoes on the waxed floor and the discordant shrills of the pep band warming up their instruments.

Willow despised crowds—the stink of too many bodies clustered in one place, people touching her she didn't know. Just as she thought it, someone pushed her and she rammed into the person in front of her, a large boy who turned and shoved her sideways into the bleachers. She muttered an insult and broke out of the herd, climbing until she found an open spot in the fifth row.

Who scheduled a pep rally in the middle of the week anyway? As the cheerleaders began their first routine, Willow glanced around trying to find Lisa's bright curls but instead saw Ashton two rows behind, his dark head melding with Penelope's platinum blonde as he whispered something in her ear. Willow whipped around, heat bursting into her cheeks, her rib cage squeezing her insides until she thought she might gag. It had to be at least a hundred degrees in there. Whatever Willow thought was between her and Ashton, the magnetic energy she felt when she was with him, must be one-sided. Obviously he preferred the beautiful, flighty type.

The band joined the cheerleaders in the school fight song, and people raised their fists to chant all around her. A buzz vibrated in Willow's pocket. Praying it was Lisa texting to rescue her, she whipped out her cell and swiped in the code. But it was another SnapMail notification. Unable to resist, she pressed the icon.

If you don't stop helping Keller, what happens to you will be worse than this . . .

The next message was a picture of Cory Martin, lying flat, arms at his sides—dead in his casket.

The room spun in a hard circle, and Willow felt herself sway. Her heart pumped so fast it hurt. She gripped her chest, the room narrowing to a shadowy tunnel as the football players ran out onto the floor. It was too hot. Too close. Her lungs constricted until it felt like she was sucking every breath through a tube. She had to get out of there.

Turning, she pushed past the kids in her row, stepping on book bags and feet, stumbling into people as she swayed. But their protests were jumbled in her brain. If she didn't get air soon, she would suffocate.

Finally out of her row, she made it down two sets of stairs before a wave of dizziness turned the room on its side and she fell forward. Her arms flailed as she tried to catch herself. She smacked hard on her hands and knees, the angle of the stairs and the momentum of her bag knocking her flat on her face. Silence spread through the room like a wave.

Then someone yelled out, “Is she drunk?” Followed by laughter and “We've got a stoner here!”

“Wait! I think she's sick.”

“Somebody call 911!”

The lucid part of Willow's brain knew she was hyperventilating and would pass out any moment. She rose up on trembling arms, her vision darkening. She had to get out of there.

The floor vibrated beneath her, and she fell to her elbows, a wave of nausea rolling into her throat. Then a warm hand pressed into her back, another one taking her arm in a strong grip. “Willow, you've got to breathe.”

Ashton.

Gently, he turned her over and cradled her in his lap. She dug her fingers into his arm, her eyes darting as her chest heaved up and down in an effort to suck air into her
shrunken lungs. But it didn't work. Like a fish flopping on dry land, she arched back.

“Look at me, Wil.” Ashton cupped her face, leaned forward, and guided her head until all she could see was the midnight of his eyes. “Focus on my voice.”

A tiny opening cleared in her airway. Greedily, she sucked in a ragged breath.

“That's right.” Ashton's eyes smiled. “Just like that. You know how to do this. Inhale through your nose.”

His words, soft and deep, blocked out everything else. She did what he said, taking a drag of sweet oxygen as she fell into his endless blue gaze.

“Exhale through your lips.”

After three repetitions, the pain in her chest began to ease, but her throat still felt constricted and her vision hazy.

“What's the funny thing your shrink told you to say?”

Willow huffed out, “Panic . . . script.”

“Yeah.” His thumb brushed along her cheekbone, his hand supporting the back of her head. “Let's do that. How does it start?”

“I have . . . survived . . . this . . .”
Inhale.
“. . . before and . . . I can survive . . . this time too.”
Exhale.

Her airway opened and the darkness lifted. Limp with exhaustion, Willow let her eyelids flutter shut as she took several slow, reviving breaths.

“All right now?” Ashton's sweet sigh feathered across her face, and she opened her eyes with a smile and a nod.

“Good. Do you think you can stand?”

She pushed up against him, suddenly remembering they were in the middle of the bleachers at a pep rally. His arm tightened around her waist, and he helped her to her feet. A smattering of applause erupted into a few cheers.

Several teachers, including Mrs. Innes and Mr. Rush, waited at the bottom of the stairs. Mrs. Innes gave Willow a reassuring smile and Mr. Rush, his usual scowl in place, huffed up the stairs to Willow's side. “I'll take it from here, Mr. Keller.”

Seeming satisfied that she could stand on her own, Ashton withdrew his arm from her waist.

“Ms. Lamott, please come with me to the infirmary.” Mr. Rush reached out a hand. “I can carry your things.”

Willow handed the teacher her bag and said, “One second.” Then she turned to Ashton, and anchoring her hand on his arm, stood on her toes and planted a soft kiss on the scruff of his cheek. “Thank you, Ash.”

Penetrating eyes locked on hers, ruddy color tinting his skin.

“Ashton Keller, are you blushing?” Willow said under her breath, teasing a hint of a smile from him.

“Willow! Are you okay?” Brayden raced past Mr. Rush, drawing Willow's gaze.

She glanced back at Ash, then to Brayden. “I'm fine now.”

Brayden's gaze drilled into Ashton, his lips pressed tight before he turned back to her. “I'll take you to the nurse.”

Between Mr. Rush and Brayden, Willow made her way on shaky legs down the bleachers. Her knees and hands ached from where she'd fallen, and the image of Cory's face was still burned into her mind, but deep inside a tiny flicker of warmth glowed. Ashton had tried to show the world that he didn't care about her, but he had failed miserably.