Dash, Adrian, and Nat have been taking turns handling me with kid gloves. I’ve told them repeatedly that I’m fine, and I am. I think. Nat had to do inventory for her mom’s shop today, and I talked my brother and Adrian into going to letting me breathe for five minutes, so I’m alone for the first time since the incident. That’s what I’m calling it now. It easier than saying, “That night when everyone’s secrets came to light, I got a concussion, Asher’s dad died, and then he left me without a word. Again.”
I walk outside, and the heat chokes me, even though it’s gloomy and overcast. The sky mimics my somber mood as I make my way to my car. I pause, halfway down the walkway when I see them. Mom’s succulents. I bend over, plucking two of them from their place in the garden. The excess dirt crumbles to the pavers at my feet. I’m reminded of the pigeon once again and how Asher risked crossing my mother by picking one of her precious succulents to give it a proper burial.
I’m on autopilot as I turn the ignition and drive to the All Souls Cemetery. I carefully place the plants into the bag in my passenger seat, thinking about how everything has changed in just a couple of short months. It’s been messy and emotional and awful and wonderful. People say it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, but those people have never been in love with Asher Kelley. He doesn’t dole out his love freely. He’s stingy with it, and when you’re on the receiving end, it feels like you’ve been awarded this extremely rare gift. Being loved by him is magic, but being left by him is tragic.
It’s surreal. I’ve driven past this cemetery more times than I can count. But it was never anything more than scenery, until now. I never thought about what was actually behind those gates. Inching past them, I find myself looking for Asher, without making a conscious decision to do so. I give myself a mental slap to the face. He’s not coming. He’s doing what he does best. Running.
The parking lot is crowded, so it takes me a few minutes before I find an open space. I follow the signs for tier nine, and plot forty-two, stopping to let a mob of grieving men, women, and children make their way to their loved one’s gravesite. Funny how people die every day, but the world keeps spinning, blissfully unaware. It makes me feel small and insignificant in this big world.
When I finally find plot forty-two, there’s one, single man standing with his head bowed, hands crossed in front of him with a Bible clasped in his fingers.
“Excuse me,” I say, pulling out my phone to double-check the information I was given. “Am I late?” The elderly bald man looks up, shock written all over his face.
“No,” he says, clearing his throat. “You’re the first one.”
I nod as I check the time—five after noon. He stands near the double headstone that reads Kelley in all capitals, with Isabel’s name on the left and John’s on the right. The dates aren’t carved in on his side yet, and I think of how incredibly bizarre and depressing it must be to plan your own funeral.
We wait in silence for another ten minutes before it’s clear that no one else is coming.
“Shall we proceed?”
I’m tempted to tell him not to bother. That it’s just me, and he doesn’t need to go through the trouble. But that doesn’t feel right, so I bow my head politely, while he makes his speech and says his prayers. When he asks if I want to say a few words, I’m caught off guard. But, I’m the only person here, after all. I approach the oak casket with hesitant steps.
I don’t know what to say. I feel like it’s a betrayal to say anything good about him, but I also feel that it would be a disservice to send him off without a kind word.
“I once read that true redemption is when guilt leads to good,” I whisper, scooping up a handful of dirt from the bucket in the officiant’s outstretched hands. “And you’ve done good, John. You healed a piece of Asher’s soul.” I sprinkle the dirt onto the casket before thanking the man. I start to walk away, but then I stop short and pivot back around.
“Almost forgot,” I say, kneeling next to the headstone. I fish the succulents out of my bag and place them both in the middle—one for each.
I stand, dusting off my stockings, take a deep breath, and walk away.
Chapter 18
Asher
My father didn’t want a service. Maybe he didn’t want to be a burden, or maybe he was afraid no one would show—which wouldn’t be off-base. Even I struggled with the decision. I wasn’t going to come. In my mind, attending his burial meant excusing every single shitty thing he’s ever done. Every mistake. Every bad decision. I was too full of rage and resentment to have any room for reason or rationale.
After I sobered up for the first time since that fucked-up night, I realized I didn’t want to become my father. I didn’t want to be on my deathbed, wishing I could go back and change it all. Dare insisted on driving me, and we hauled ass to get back into town at the crack of dawn. I was late, but I made it before I was forced to add yet another regret to my list. Two men were in the process of lowering him into the earth. Once they saw me approach, they stopped turning the handle to the device that lowered the casket. Silently, they walked away, one of them dipping his head as if to say take your time.
So, here I am, peering down at the box that holds what’s left of my father. The man who raised me. He never took me fishing or camping. He wasn’t the type. But he never missed a swim meet, and I knew he loved me underneath that tough exterior. It’s also the man who later neglected me, abused me, and blamed me for my mom’s death. I didn’t fault him for the last one back then. I blamed me, too. But, fuck. I was just a kid. A kid who needed his fucking dad.
I look over to the left, seeing my mother’s grave, and my throat gets tight. Every year, it gets harder to hold on to the memories, but I can still recall the way she smelled, like vanilla and coffee. And how she’d stay up until all hours of the night to help me beat Donkey Kong or Zelda—or whatever video game I was into at the time—but in reality, she was just as hooked as I was.
Even then, people had something to say about our family. We never fit in. My parents weren’t perfect. I remember being in third grade when I heard one of the other moms talking about my parents. She said she was too young, dressed too provocatively, and wanted too much attention. My dad didn’t make enough money, drank too much, and didn’t care to rub elbows with the right people. We were branded as being white trash, but back then, we were happy.
I think about how I would’ve reacted if I were in my dad’s shoes. How would I cope if the love of my life died in such a sudden, tragic way? Briar pops into my head, unbidden, with her long, blonde hair and the face of a fucking angel. I know without a doubt, if anything ever happened to her, I’d burn the fucking world down. I’m not excusing him or the things he’s done. It simply means I can understand him.
I’m truly alone now, I think to myself. I don’t have any family left, except my piece of shit uncle who’s either lying low or sitting in jail, judging by the fact that I haven’t seen or heard from him since he tried to act tough at my dad’s house. And I’ve managed to fuck up my relationships with the only two other people I considered family—three if you count Adrian. I’m sure I’m on his shit list by default.
A hand claps down on my shoulder, reminding me of Dare’s presence. He doesn’t say anything, just offers his silent support. His way of reassuring me that maybe I’m not completely alone. He knows better than anyone how scary a place your own head can be. Everyone has regrets, but some people are consumed by the mistakes of their past. Dare is one of those people.
“I’ll wait in the truck,” Dare says before walking away.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, unsure of what to say, what to do. I feel like I should have some epic last words. Something deep and life-changing. But I don’t. So, I say the only thing that feels right. The only thing that’s true.
“I forgive you.”
And I do. Not for him, but for me. Because I don’t want this shit to define me or control me. I look up to their shared headston
e, and something catches my eye that I didn’t see before.
Succulents. Purple fucking succulents.
Everyone deserves to be buried by something pretty.
I step forward and squat down to inspect them closer, turning one with my fingertips. Fresh dirt still clings to the roots as if they’ve just been plucked. She came, even though she hates me—even though I abandoned her. She was most likely the one person to show up for my dad’s burial.
God, that girl. Could she be any more perfect? Could I be any more undeserving? Through it all, it’s always been Briar. Even when she was just a shy, yet curious kid, she cared for me. Defended me. Cried for me. Me, the asshole who took advantage of her childish crush and left her without a word, only to come back and fuck with her head some more. Me, who never gave her the benefit of the doubt, and just assumed she’d be quick to betray me, though she’d never given me any reason to believe she would.
I know I said I’d let her go—that it was for her own good—but I’m too selfish to stay away. Family isn’t just about who shares your blood. It’s about who bleeds for you. Needs you. And I’m fucking done allowing anything else to matter. Not her parents or even Dash. Not our age difference. Not the fact that she’s the epitome of everything good in this world and that I’m constantly walking the line between right and wrong. This is right. We are right. Fuck everything else.
I place the succulent back down onto my parents’ headstone and stand, filled with purpose for the first time in, well, ever. I need to find Briar.
The minute I see Dash’s truck in the drive, I know I’m going to have to prove myself to two people, instead of one. Mentally preparing myself for the fight, I take a deep breath and raise my fist to knock on the door.
“Is this a fucking joke right now?” Dash says upon opening the door. He glances behind him briefly before slipping out the front door and closing it behind him. “The fuck do you want, man?”
“I need to see her.”
Dash huffs and turns his back on me.
“Wait,” I say as his hand grasps the lever. He pauses. “I know I fucked up, but give me the chance to make it right with her.”
It’s awkward, talking to him like this. About his sister, no less. But Briar has a way of kicking my pride to the back seat. Dash turns around, and the eyes that match Briar’s are filled with contempt.
“There is no making it right,” he says through gritted teeth. “You betrayed our friendship. You took advantage of her, and then you left her when she needed you. There’s nothing else to say.”
“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” I say, trying to rein in my temper. I’m doing my best to play nice. I know I’m in the wrong here, but he doesn’t know what Briar and I have. He doesn’t know how deep my feelings for her run. He doesn’t know that it’s always been her. I just need a chance to fix it.
“If you care about her, let her go. Stop dicking her around. She’s having a hard enough time as it is.”
“Is she okay?” I ask, immediately concerned.
“Just let her go,” he says, shaking his head and stepping inside.
And then I’m left staring at the closed door. But I can’t let her go. I don’t know how.
Chapter 19
Briar
I power off my phone and toss it into the drawer of my nightstand. Asher has texted and called more times than I can count. I can’t bring myself to read the messages. It’s hard enough to stay away. I’m afraid I’ll cave after a few carefully plucked words, and then I’ll be in the same position once more, a couple of months down the line. Empty. Lost. Broken.
It took every ounce of strength I had not to at least hear Asher out when he came to my door yesterday. Everything inside me was screaming to love him and nurture him and just be there for him. To see how he was coping after his loss. But it’s all so convoluted now, and some addictions can only be overcome by quitting cold turkey. The withdrawals won’t last forever; you just have to be strong enough to survive them.
When Dash came back inside, he tiptoed around me, like I was some fragile creature, waiting to see if I was aware of Asher’s presence. I didn’t say a word. I let him think I was oblivious. What difference does it make, anyway?
“You good?” Natalia asks, zipping my suitcase. Natalia’s mom offered me a job at her boutique, and Nat just signed a lease on a condo and extended me an open invitation to stay for a week or forever—her words, not mine. I decided to take her up on it and get out of Dodge for a while.
Standing up to my parents and informing them of my plans to take a year off seemed like nothing in comparison to recent revelations. Mom took the news pretty well. I still haven’t spoken to my father, but I know he’s unhappy with the news, if the voicemails he left on my phone are anything to go by. Dashiell’s at least working on a degree from somewhere, even if it’s not Dad’s school of choice. Not going straight to college at all is unacceptable in his eyes. The pressure and weight of indecision and uncertainty were lifted, only to be replaced by the crushing weight of Asher’s absence.
“Yep,” I say, forcing a smile, but she sees through it, giving me a sad one in return.
“You’re not curious about what he had to say?” Nat asks skeptically, with a nod of her chin toward the drawer.
“Of course, I am,” I say bluntly. “But that’s how you fall into old habits.” She chews on her bottom lip, and I can tell she’s trying desperately not to say something.
“Spit it out.” I sigh, stretching out on my stomach on the bed next to her. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“You didn’t see his face, Bry,” she starts. “He was climbing the fucking walls at the hospital, and he blamed himself for your fall. Dash didn’t help matters,” she mumbles the last part.
“What do you mean? I told you guys—it was Whitley.” She’s the one who caused my fall, in more ways than one.
“Dash insists Asher pushed you, and honestly, I think it’s easier for him to blame Ash for everything.”
“He pushed me out of the way. It was my brother who almost hit me,” I argue.
“Either way,” she shrugs, “they both blame him. Then once he got the news about his dad, I think it was just too much for him.”
“Whose side are you on?” I try to joke, but it falls flat. “You guys don’t even like each other.”
“Yeah, well. Things change. And I wouldn’t be your best friend if I didn’t give it to you straight.”
“I just hope they can figure it out,” I admit sadly. Even though I know he’s no good for me, I don’t want him to be alone in this world.
“It’ll all work out,” she says reassuringly.
“Hey, whatever happened with Adrian?” I ask, suddenly remembering her mission to make him want her.
“Ugh.” She sighs, rolling her eyes, playing with the tips of her scarlet hair. “That was nothing. Just a game we were playing.”
She’s avoiding eye contact, and something in the sound of her voice makes me wonder if there’s more to it than she’s letting on. But, Nat doesn’t keep secrets. She tells me everything.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on my bedroom door, and we both turn in the direction.
“We’re dressed, Dash. You can come in.” Nat giggles, snapping out of whatever that was. She’s been staying with me a lot, and Dash walked in on her undressing the other day. He still hasn’t recovered. That, coupled with the fact that I now know way more about his sex life than any sister should, he’s been extra skittish lately.
But it’s not Dashiell that walks through my door. It’s Whitley. Her black hair that’s usually sleek and flat ironed to perfection is in a frizzy ponytail, and her face is devoid of makeup. She twists her hands in front of her nervously. Once the initial shock of her standing in my bedroom wears off, Nat springs into action and stands in front of me, blocking Whitley’s view of me.
“You have two seconds to walk your Emo-Barbie lookin’ ass out of this house.”
“Your brothe
r let me in,” she says over Nat’s shoulder in a meek voice that sounds completely foreign coming from her. I make a mental note to punch Dash. Why in the hell would he let her anywhere near us?
I want to throttle her. To cause her physical, bodily harm for causing Asher more pain than he already had to endure. For setting this whole fucked-up thing into motion. How can one person be the root of so many problems? But something in Whitley’s tired, defeated expression has me listening to what she has to say.
“What do you want?” I ask through my teeth, and Nat still doesn’t move.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? For having Asher sent away? For lying about sleeping with him? Or is it for sending me to the hospital with a concussion?”
“All of it,” she cries, swiping tears off her pale cheeks. “I know, I’m fucking awful. I don’t know why. I’ve always been this way. I’ve never had friends,” she says, and I roll my eyes, shaking my head.
“This is not the time to play the victim,” I inform her.
“I’m not,” she snaps, mindlessly scratching her forearm in a nervous gesture. “I’m just trying to explain. I see myself doing these horrible things—feeling this intense jealousy that consumes me—and I can’t stop. But when you wouldn’t wake up…” She leaves the sentence hanging in the air.
“You could have killed her,” Nat seethes. A little dramatic, maybe, but not technically false.
“I know. You just have everything. Asher, Dash, Adrian. People are drawn to you, want to protect you, take care of you. You have friends and people who love you. I had Asher for a minute, but then you took him from me. And then, I had nothing. It’s just so easy for you.”
“Easy?” I scoff. “Yeah, life has been a real treat these past few months.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just couldn’t understand why it couldn’t be like that for me. Is there something in me that makes me unlovable?” Whitley’s scratching intensifies, and she doesn’t even seem to be aware that she’s doing it. Her forearm is red and raw, and I’m realizing that Whitley’s issues are probably much more involved than I ever knew. “I just snapped. And I’m so sorry, Briar. For everything. I just needed to tell you.”
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