We had no money to hire a lawyer when I was arrested, so I’d been assigned an eager but ineffective public defender. I click the link for staff profiles at the top of the website, but there are only four people at the firm, two lawyers, one paralegal, and a secretary, and I don’t recognize any of them.
My phone beeps and I jump in alarm, irrationally paranoid that they might somehow know I’m visiting their site, but it’s just Aidan texting to say he’s downstairs. I close the laptop and step out, locking the door behind me. I’m hoping to keep this recent development a secret until I figure out what to do about it, but Aidan takes one look at my face when I get in the car and says, “What happened?”
“I got another phone call.”
“Did he leave a message?” He pulls away from the curb, probably expecting the same “No” I’ve given him every other time he’s asked.
“Yes.”
He twists in his seat. “What?”
“Yes. Watch the road.”
He turns back. “What’d he say?”
“It wasn’t my dad. It was a law firm. They just asked me to call them. Didn’t say why.”
“Did you call?”
“No. I got the message five minutes ago.”
He drums his fingers on the wheel. “Do you think you’re in trouble? Something about your parole?”
“No. I’ve been a model citizen. It has to be about my dad. It’s too much of a coincidence not to be.”
We drive in silence for a moment, then Aidan asks “Did you bring it?”
I sigh. “Yes.”
He’s talking about the unread letter from my father. Until today, I still hadn’t moved it from its position beneath the radiator, but with the redoubled efforts of the mysterious caller and the matching increase in my stress levels, Aidan insisted I read it. When I balked, he told me to bring it on the trip and, if need be, he’d read it. He calls it the monster under the bed. If I shine a light on it, I’ll see there’s nothing to be afraid of.
But I know better.
Still, opening it far away from Holsom seems like a good idea. Like whatever bad karma the note brings with it will be contained to that cabin and won’t infect the life I’m building for myself. Our plan is basically the plot of a horror movie.
“Do you know anyone who’s been kicked out of PPP?” Aidan asks abruptly.
Now I twist in my seat, happy to ignore my own issues and dwell on his. “Why? Are you in trouble?”
“No. Wes.”
“I don’t personally know anyone who’s been kicked out,” I say, considering. “But I remember one time in my first year I was working in the mail room and I heard Jim and Becca talking about someone who’d been dismissed. What did Wes do?”
“Turns out, he hasn’t been doing much of anything,” Aidan replies. “His mom got sick and he’s been traveling back and forth to Portland to take care of her whenever he can. He’s failing a class, missing shifts at the daycare, skipping his extracurricular, and hasn’t even started his cooperation credit.”
“That’s terrible.”
“He’s in his third year,” he adds. “He can’t afford Holsom—he can’t afford anything—without the PPP. And until all this happened, he was on track to graduate. He has promise and potential, but there’s no wiggle room with the program.”
“What’s he going to do? Talk to Jim?”
“I don’t know. He’s afraid that if he comes clean about how behind he is, they’ll kick him out sooner. He’s trying to fix it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “That’s a lot worse than getting a few hang-ups and a letter from your dad.”
“Past, present, future,” Aidan says, eyes on the road. “I guess it’s all hard.”
* * *
It’s noon when we reach the cabin. I’d been expecting something dark and dreary, but the structure is quaint and cozy, with peeling gray paint and yellow shutters. Aidan told me he has a friend who camps out here as part of a volunteer activity, and the group must have been by recently because there are plants growing in window boxes and the small porch is clear of debris.
“Wow,” I say, climbing out of the car. “The cabin is real.”
“Yeah,” Aidan says, popping the trunk before getting out. “And you know the best part?”
“You brought stuff for s’mores?”
He throws me a rolled up sleeping bag. “No interruptions.”
“No s’mores?”
“C’mon, Aster,” he says, exasperated. “Of course there are s’mores.”
I smile and follow him to the cabin. Two stairs lead up to the porch, tiny herb gardens starting to grow on either side. Aidan crouches and lifts up a few rocks, shaking them next to his ear until he finds what he’s looking for.
“I thought people only hid things in rocks on television,” I say as he proudly holds up a tarnished brass key.
“Me too,” he admits. “Maybe volunteers are more trusting.”
He twists the key in the lock and the cabin door swings open easily. The hinges are shiny with fresh oil, and when we step inside it smells like lemon furniture polish and bleach. Even the fireplace is swept, logs arranged neatly behind the grate and stacked thigh-high in a box in the corner. A small couch sits beneath the front window, covered in a white sheet, and two chairs are tucked against the far wall. The center of the room has been cleared, as though making room for a dance floor.
“This is great,” I say, turning in a circle to take it all in. We never went on family vacations when I was growing up, and the one time I was supposed to go camping with a friend’s family I got chicken pox and was uninvited.
On the far side of a narrow counter is a tiny kitchen with a single sink stationed in front of a window that overlooks the woods behind the cabin. A bathroom sits off to one side, and next to that is the lone bedroom, the queen bed unmade, garbage bags of what I assume are linens stacked neatly on top.
“Home sweet home,” Aidan says, tossing his duffel on the bed and slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Want to break it in?”
“Interview first,” I remind him, though I do want to break it in, quite badly.
“We can talk outside. Let’s go for a walk. My legs are cramped after sitting in the car so long.”
“It only took so long because you got lost.”
“The directions were vague!”
We exit and round the side of the cabin, passing a fire pit, neatly rimmed with stones, a dark pile of ashes at its center. Aidan locates a narrow trail in the woods and soon we’re surrounded by looming old growth trees, the smell of moss and earth and clean air filling my lungs. We walk for a bit, then I remember my task.
“Okay,” I call. Aidan’s about six feet in front of me, tromping through the woods like a little kid on an adventure. The usual tense set of his shoulders has relaxed, and in his white T-shirt and cargo pants he looks natural and happy. “Question one. What would you suggest new PPP students do to ease the transition from their home life into Holsom life?”
He glances over his shoulder. “Really?”
“Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t think there’s anything we can do to ‘ease the transition.’ It just takes time. You adapt. Evolve.” He gives me a pointed look. “You pretend.”
“I’m not going to tell new students to fake it.”
“Fine. Tell them to make friends. Whether it’s other kids in the program or just other kids at school, it’s important to have a support system. You get lonely, you get bored, and trouble finds you. Tell them to keep up with their extracurricular, even if Jim makes them play Frisbee baseball. It helps to have structure.”
“Okay. Good answer.”
“I aim to please.”
“Next question. Most PPP students come from a troubled background. Issues at home, run-ins with the law. Their previous coping mechanisms won’t work at Holsom. How would you recommend they approach the challenges they face at school?”
He glances back at me again. �
��Seriously? How do they solve all their problems?”
“Not solve. Approach.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Solve is a big picture issue. It’s huge and overwhelming. Approaching an issue can make it seem more manageable, like approaching a mountain. You don’t start climbing from the top. You find a handhold and work your way up.” At least, that’s what Jim said.
“Seems like you have all the answers already.”
“Aidan.”
“Let’s take a break,” he suggests. “I’ll ponder your question as we enjoy the scenery.”
“What? We just started...” The words trail off when we come to a break in the woods, the trees parting to reveal a crystal clear lake, the water so smooth it reflects the cloudless sky above. And even though I know he’s just avoiding the interview—again—I can’t help but fall for it as I take in the pristine view. “Whoa,” I whisper. It’s so crisp and quiet that speaking any louder would feel like sacrilege.
The lake abuts a tiny shore, the beach maybe six feet wide, a couple of large logs lying across the rocky sand. A few cabins dot the perimeter of the lake, but none close enough to spoil the isolated effect.
“I found this online,” Aidan says, stepping in behind me and linking his hands over my stomach, resting his chin on my shoulder. “I thought about you trying to drown me in the pool and figured you might like it.”
“I love it.” I crouch to dip my fingers into the freezing water. “Perfect drowning depth.”
“You’re so sweet.”
I look over my shoulder and smile, and when he smiles back, I know that no matter how many coping mechanisms I’ve developed, I’m in trouble.
When I first arrived at Holsom, I was terrified. It was new and strange and even among thousands of students, I felt hopelessly alone. Meeting Jerry helped, but I never truly relaxed. Never felt like I belonged. I thought I might, one day, but even after a year of dating I knew that deep down, he never really knew me because I never really let him.
Aidan knows me. I only let him know me because I thought I’d never see him again, but here we are, out in the middle of nowhere, and I don’t feel alone at all. I feel like he sees me and he’s totally okay with what he sees. Scars and all.
I stand and close the short distance between us, lifting my hands to cup his jaw, then pressing onto my tiptoes to kiss him. He’s startled but pleased, lips curling as our mouths meet. I kiss him the way I wanted to kiss him even when I knew he’d been lying to me. I kiss him without any of the walls up, nothing separating the kiss from the truth.
He wraps his arms around the small of my back and just holds me, letting me touch him, feel him. His broad shoulders and strong back, his biceps, the dip of his waist, the curve of his spine. He stiffens when I squeeze his ass, so I do it again, grinning when I feel his growing hardness against my stomach.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warns, his voice laced with arousal and banked intentions.
“Who said I can’t finish it?”
“I didn’t bring anything.”
“You’re a terrible boy scout. Luckily one of us came prepared.” I retrieve a condom from my back pocket and hold it up.
“Were you a girl scout?”
“No. But I wanted to be.”
I kiss him again and he kisses me harder, without restraint now that he knows there’s no need for it. We fumble our way to the ground, knees in the damp sand, and Aidan sits with his legs extended, pants unzipped, back resting against one of the fallen birch logs.
He strokes his cock as I work my jeans and panties over my thighs, stepping out with one foot and straddling him. I watch the way his cock thickens and hardens in his hand, the way he rolls his thumb over the head, a muscle in his jaw twitching from the pleasure. I make mental notes for later.
“Get down here,” he orders, eyes dark. He reaches for me as I lower myself, positioning my body over his cock, kissing him as I inch my way on, the process eased by the lube on the condom.
He doesn’t rush me, just strokes my back and my ass, the rough pads of his fingers scraping my skin in hot contrast to the softness of his lips. His tongue finds mine and we battle for dominance, laughing at the futility of the fight since we want the same thing.
At long last I’m seated, his cock buried inside, taking a moment to adjust to the aching fullness. I grind my forehead into his shoulder, feeling him, feeling everything, and he lets me take my time, no pressure, no hurry.
I shift so my lips find his neck, his racing pulse betraying his laidback demeanor. I flex my thighs and lift up slightly, then slide back down, finding an easy, unhurried rhythm that makes everything inside me go soft and molten.
I’ve never felt like this before, not even the last time we did it. Not even all the times we did it that night. Sex with Jerry was good, but nothing like this. Jerry called it lovemaking, and though the term was supposed to imply some sort of wondrous closeness, I always found it off-putting. I never complained, though, figuring it was my issue, not his. And while I loved Jerry and I know he loved me, there was a distance between us that was wholly my issue. It was the gap between who I was and who I hoped to be, and it wasn’t closing nearly fast enough.
There’s no gap at all now. There’s not a single inch of space between our slowly grinding bodies, my hips moving instinctively, up and down, taking him in deeper and deeper, the only sounds our rough breathing and the quiet slap of skin. Aidan drops his hands from my hair and I see him digging his fingers into the sand at his sides, trying to hold on. Trying to wait for me.
That’s what sends me over. The sight of this man, weak but still so strong. Hard, solid, tough, sweet. A study in contradictions.
I come with a soft cry, stifling the sound in the curve of his neck, tasting his sweat on my tongue. My body spasms in long, slow waves for what feels like an eternity, and when the orgasm ebbs away Aidan jerks beneath me, hips pushing into mine as he anchors me with his hands on my waist, holding me in place while he takes what he needs.
My limbs feel like jelly, like there’s no earthly way I can stand, no possible way I’ll be able to hike back. I lift my head and absorb the quiet forest, the pristine lake, the boundless sky. This is the farthest from civilization I’ve ever been, but out here, with just me and Aidan, I’ve never felt closer to home.
36
Aidan
We stumble out of the trees some time later, sex-tired and happy. The knees of our jeans are stained with lake water and dirt, and my ass bears two chilly damp patches that chafe my cheeks but are totally worth it. We don’t talk much on the way back, but there isn’t anything that needs saying. Aster just blew my fucking mind.
I was joking when I told her I’d have to exhaust her sexually in order to get any reading done, but now I think the joke’s on me. As soon as we get inside, I’m going to pass out on that unmade bed and she’ll get some quality study time after all.
We circle around the front of the cabin, our fingers linked, our tousled hair and flushed cheeks signs of more than just a great hike. And that’s what Jerry and Missy see when we stumble to a halt, six feet away from the steps where they sit, waiting for us.
Well, waiting for somebody.
Because the shock on Jerry’s face confirms he was not expecting anybody he knew.
He was not expecting me.
He was not expecting Aster.
Shock isn’t even the right word to describe him. He’s...gobsmacked. Completely and totally blindsided.
Because of our schedules, Jerry and I often go several days without seeing each other, so I never thought to tell him I was leaving town for a couple of nights. As a result, I had no idea he was planning a trip of his own.
Missy’s doing her damnedest not to burst into hysterical laughter. She shares Jerry’s surprise, but unlike his horror, hers is pure delight.
Jerry is the first to speak. “Aster?” he utters, the word breaking in the middle. “You... You’re...here?”<
br />
Beside me, Aster is frozen, stuck in panicked deer mode, not quite sure how to react. Three years of good behavior have dulled her deceiving instincts to the point that she’s not doing anything at all.
I scuff my boot on the ground. “Hey, Jerry.”
Slowly, he turns his attention to me. If this were a fifties movie, Jerry would be the golden boy prom king, stepping up to fight the kid from the wrong side of the tracks who dared steal his girl.
But this isn’t a movie, this is real life, and Jerry just looks...crushed.
I shouldn’t feel bad. He cheated on her, after all. Their relationship was more than over before we got together. But because I live with Jerry and I saw how he’d beaten himself up, because I know he punished himself for what he’d done, this feels like overkill. Like kicking someone when he’s down...then fucking his girlfriend.
Now I don’t know what to say either.
Missy stands. “How’d you two know about this place?” She doesn’t seem disappointed that Aster got what she’s been after for three years; she still looks hilariously entertained.
“I told him,” Jerry says quietly. Then to me he says, “I told you.”
“I know.”
“And now you two are...are...” He takes in our disheveled clothing, no way to pretend we weren’t doing what he thinks we were doing.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Is it serious?” Missy inquires.
Jerry makes a pained sound, like that answer will only add to his suffering.
And maybe it will, but I don’t get to answer because Aster finds her voice.
“We broke up,” she reminds Jerry reasonably, but not unsympathetically. “And we moved on.”
His tone is incredulous. “To this place?”
“Well...” She shoots me a peevish look. “I didn’t know you were the friend he was talking about.”
His expression darkens. “We’re not friends, obviously.”
I sigh. That’s probably the best Jerry can do. The meanest thing he can think of to say.
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