“You okay, man?” he asks, keeping it vague since Whitley is here.
“I’m good,” is all he says, and the two share a look that even I can’t decode.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Whit?” His tone is harsh, but hearing him call her by her nickname reminds me of the fact that they were close once.
“We need to talk,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“The fuck we do,” Asher snaps. “Go home.”
“I can’t!” she protests, and I fight the urge to cover my ears. She’s always so loud. “I didn’t drive.”
“Jesus Christ,” Asher says, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Go wait for me in my truck. I’ll take you home.” Whitley wastes no time, probably knowing that he’d rescind the offer if she pushed her luck.
“Which is it this time? You pick a fight with some random asshole, or is your dad drunk again?” Dash asks once we hear the car door slam shut.
“The latter.”
“Does he look like you?” He gestures to his bloody appearance.
A devious smirk lifts the corner of his lips. “Worse.”
“Good,” Dash says solemnly. He hates this just as much as I do. It’s the most helpless feeling in the world, standing by and watching something so awful happen to someone you care deeply for, and not being able to do a damn thing about it. As much as I hate the thought of him leaving, I feel so much relief in knowing that there’s now an end in sight. “Call me tomorrow. I gotta take a piss.”
The moment my brother is out the door, Asher’s guilt-ridden eyes dart over to mine. “This was a mistake.”
“Bullshit,” I argue, moving toward him.
“Don’t,” he says, backing away, and I die inside, just a little.
And before I can pick my stupid, naïve heart up off the floor and form a response, he’s gone.
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Charleigh Rose lives in Narnia with her husband and two young children. She’s hopelessly devoted to unconventional love and pizza. When she isn’t reading or mom-ing, she’s writing moody, broody, swoony romance.
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Bad Habit
Bad Intentions
Bad Influence
Yard Sale
Misbehaved
Rewrite the Stars
Tell Me Pretty Lies Page 28