Nineteen
Sunlight bleeds through the curtains, rousing me from sleep.
My eyes flutter open. My body’s aching, all my muscles stiff, but I feel more well-rested than I have in a long time. And somehow, I don’t think it’s because of the high thread-count sheets and memory-foam mattress. No. It’s from the warm body curled around mine, the soft breaths puffing against my neck. Asher.
He’s still sound-asleep, his bare chest rising and falling steadily. He looks so young right now, so vulnerable. His hair’s a wild mess, sticking up at all kinds of angles, his soft lips are parted and his long, golden eyelashes fan his cheekbones.
My heart gives an almighty kick inside my chest.
I think it’s safe to say that my feelings for him go a little ways past just thinking of him as some casual hookup. I’ve been afraid to admit the truth, even to myself. Asher means something to me, what that is I’m still unsure, though I do have a pretty good idea.
I still can’t trust him, though. Not fully. I’m opening myself up to him, baring myself a little more every time, but there’ll always be a part of me that’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to fuck me over.
And although I regret what I said to him last night, after the dinner… some of it rang true. Whatever this is, it can’t go anywhere. Not really. Asher’s got a future ahead of him that’s been set in stone since he first picked up a football. He’s going to the NFL. He’s gonna be a star. And me? I don’t fit into those plans.
I’ve got April to think about, an escape plan to execute. I can’t be running off to whichever college he goes to with him, then following him around the country when he inevitably lands a spot on a team.
And besides, what the hell would he tell people about us? That we’re friends from high school? Roommates? Being out and proud in the sports world isn’t unheard of nowadays, but it’s not exactly something that people shout from the rooftops about either. If Asher goes public about his sexuality, the fact that he’s in relationship with a man, will it affect his career? His success? It sucks, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I was the reason he didn’t go far.
I know I’m getting ahead of myself, thinking about things that haven’t even happened yet. That will most likely never happen. Things aren’t even serious. But, I can’t stop the gnawing feeling inside of me that reminds me our days together are numbered. That one day, we’ll be nothing but strangers. I can already imagine the ache in my chest when I turn on the television and see his face, probably winning an award or some shit, and remember our stolen moments together. That we almost had something.
Fuck, I don’t even know how Asher feels about me. This might just all be completely casual to him, one of those high school experiences that he’ll laugh about years from now. The thought of him returning my feelings, it seems impossible.
All of that should be enough to send me running for the hills. But then I remember… I almost died last night. I’ve got to start living for the now and stop worrying about the future, a future I might not even get to have.
“You’re thinking pretty loud over there,” he murmurs, voice raspy with sleep.
I snap out of my trance, jerking my head around to find him now fully-awake, his moss-green eyes fixed intently on mine. Jesus. My breath catches at the sight of him and I know right then, it doesn’t matter about all the other stuff, the reasons why this is a bad idea, because I don’t have the strength to walk away from Asher Brooks and I’ll take whatever scraps he can give me, even if I know I’ll inevitably end up hurt in the long run.
“Just trying to remember what time I need to pick my sister up,” I say, blurting out the first excuse to come to mind.
Of course, it’s the wrong one.
He frowns. “She’s not at home?”
I pause, mouth opening and closing two or three times. “No. She’s, uh… she’s at a friend’s house.”
Luckily, he believes me. He rolls, lifting up onto his elbow so he’s looking down at me. The movement sends a waft of his scent over to me. Woodsy cologne with a hint of sweat and the unmistakable smell of sex. I try to suppress my shudder. The crooked grin he flashes my way makes it impossible.
“You think you could pick her up a little later?”
“Why do you ask?”
The corner of his mouth ticks higher, making that damn dimple pop out. Right then, I know I’m a goner. I’ll agree to anything he asks me. “I wanna take you somewhere.”
My eyes narrow. “Where?”
“You’ll see. Are you in or not?”
It’s pointless trying to deny him. Giving in is inevitable. But I still hesitate for a few beats, trying to pretend I, at least, have a shred of willpower.
“Come on, Farrow,” he urges, nudging me. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Rolling my eyes, I heave a sigh that’s not at all over dramatic. “Fine.”
His smile ratchets up to near-blinding levels and I realize with such terrifying clarity that I am in so much fucking trouble when it comes to Asher Brooks. Unable to resist, I grip the back of his neck and drag him in for a kiss. Our tongues meet and he moans into my mouth, shuffling closer until our bodies are pressed together. My heart rate spikes, blood pooling in my groin. I’m seconds away from throwing back the sheets and straddling his hips when the sound of the front door slamming shut has us jumping apart.
We freeze, neither of us breathing, ears straining for any other signs of movement. And then we hear it - footsteps stomping up the stairs, quickly followed by Mr Brooks’ terse voice.
“Time to get up, Asher. We have work to do.”
Asher’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, his wide-eyed gaze jerking from me to the door then to me again. As the sound of his steps travels closer, we both launch to our feet, frantically pulling on clothes.
“What do we do?” I hiss.
“Go out the window. There’s a drainpipe you can climb down.”
Fully clothed, I cross the room and unlatch the window, assessing my escape route. The pipe looks sturdy enough to hold me, but it’s a pretty decent drop to the ground below. If I fall, I’ll be in a hell of a lot worse shape than I already am. I look back at Asher, silently asking him if he’s seriously gonna make me do this. He just shrugs, helpless, letting me know there’s no other choice.
With a deep breath, I put one foot out on the ledge, just as three sharp knocks sound on the bedroom door. I slip, just managing to catch myself at the last second.
“Did you hear me, son?” Mr Brooks calls. “Don’t make me come in there.”
“I’ll be right out,” Asher yells back.
He grabs my hand, steadying me enough to climb out and reach onto the pipe. It takes two attempts before I’ve found a strong enough grip. As soon as I do, I give Asher a nod and he lets out a relieved breath.
“I’ll pick you up in the town square in three hours,” he whispers. “Don’t be late.”
Then, he plants a hard kiss on my lips and disappears out of sight.
* * *
Mrs Sanderson takes one look at my face when I arrive on her doorstep and breaks down in tears. She puts her hand over her mouth, trying to muffle her sobs, but they’re still audible enough that she has to close the door behind her so April doesn’t hear.
After a solid two minutes of watching her cry, she finally calms down enough to speak. “Oh, Oakley. What happened?”
I shrug, defeated. “I guess I pissed him off really good this time.”
Another tear escapes, rolling down her cheek, and she swipes it away. “Why? What set him off?”
“Does he ever need a reason?”
She slumps, her body folding in on itself as the truth of my words set in. While I technically threw the first punch last night, I know it was about to head that way anyway. My uncle could be pissed about anything - even if it’s completely unrelated to me - and he’ll feel the need to resort to violence, to find someone to take it out on.
Exhaling a shaky breath, Mrs Sanderson steps closer, jerking her head left to right as she does, no doubt checking to make sure my uncle’s not lurking nearby. With the coast clear, she tips my head back with gentle fingers and examines my injuries.
“Did you clean these cuts yourself?” she asks.
“No, I uh…” I swallow hard, wracking my brain for an appropriate word to describe Asher. “A friend helped me out.”
Friend. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. He’s never been my friend. Never will be, either. He’s so much more than that.
“Well, whoever they are, they did a good job. There’s no sign of infection and I don’t think you’ll need stitches. You’re lucky, Oakley.” She moves away, turning toward the door. “Come on. April will be happy to see you.”
“Wait,” I blurt. She stops, looks back at me over her shoulder. “Would you mind keeping her here for a couple more hours? I have something I need to do. It won’t take long.”
She smiles. “Of course I don’t mind. And it won’t be a problem because you’ll both be staying here tonight, anyway. For as long as possible, if I have my way.”
“Mrs Sanderson, I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. But, we can’t. My uncle, he’ll—”
“Your uncle can do whatever he likes to try and intimidate me. But, over my dead body am I letting either of you back in that house. If anything happened to you, worse than what he’s already done, I’d—” Her words cut off, another sob tearing out of her throat. “You’ll stay here, where it’s safe. Understand?”
I want to argue, to remind her that her safety is on the line here too. But I can tell from her no-nonsense tone that it’ll be pointless. She’s already made up her mind. She wants to help us.
“We’ll stay,” I concede. “For a few days, at least. But, if anything happens then we’ll have to—”
She holds her hand up, stopping me. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. Right now though, I’m just glad to know he can’t get to you.”
With that, she pats my arm and leads me inside. The aroma of freshly-baked pastries hits me, knocking me into a distant memory of my mom baking in the kitchen when I was younger. Pink apron tied around her waist, a dusting of flour across her cheek. It feels so real that my steps falter and tears spring to my eyes. I’m so lost in it that I don’t notice April running toward me until she collides into me, arms wrapped around my middle and squeezing me tight.
“You’re back,” she cries, her happiness unmistakable. “I missed you.”
I trail my hand through her hair, a wobbly smile curving my lips as I stare down at her. “I missed you too, kiddo.”
She launches into a detailed account of our time apart, telling me about their trip to the park and what movies she’s watched. She’s halfway through the story of how she helped make breakfast this morning when she pulls away from our embrace and stops mid-sentence. Her eyes go wide, bottom lip trembling. My stomach drops to the floor.
“I’m okay, April,” I rush out, dropping to my haunches to cup her face in my palms. “I’m okay, I promise.”
She doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with watery blue eyes, her tiny body trembling in my hold. Not for the first time, a rush of anger spreads through me, a burning need to make my uncle pay for what he’s done to us. To make him feel the fear that’s vibrating through my baby sister right now. I push it down, focusing my attention back on April. I pull her into my arms and she buries her face in my chest, choked sobs wracking through her as she soaks my shirt with her tears. I let her cry, whispering assurances and words of comfort every now and then, all the while rubbing her back in slow circles.
Eventually, her breathing returns to normal and her sobs turn to quiet sniffles. “I don’t wanna go back there,” she whispers.
“We don’t have to. We can stay here as long as we like. Mrs S already offered.”
I was hoping those words would provide her with some relief, but all they seem to do is make her panic spike again. “What if he finds us? He’ll be angry.”
I squeeze her tighter to me, dropping a kiss in her hair. “I’ll figure something out. You’ll be safe, April. I swear.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about.”
My throat spasms mid-swallow, catching on the sudden lump that’s formed there. I’ve always been afraid that my uncle will go too far one day. Hell, last night I was convinced I was about to meet my end. But, I didn’t know April was scared about that, too. Worried that one day he’d kill me.
Mustering every ounce of faux confidence I can manage, I say, “You never have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”
I hope like hell that’s true.