Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I held my breath, knowing where the story was going.
“My mom pulled into the driveway with a trunk full of groceries. She waved and smiled at me, but I didn’t smile back. I was frustrated because I couldn’t land this trick. I tried over and over, with my headphones blasting in my ears. Each time, I got sloppier and hit the jump harder. On the last try, I don’t know what happened, but it sent me flying. I landed right in the middle of the street. I didn’t hear it coming, but I saw the car, a big, white Dodge Durango. I couldn’t move quickly enough. I hurt my leg so I couldn’t stand up. I saw the car try to swerve, and then I saw my mom rushing toward me. I remember her dark hair blowing behind her as she ran. For some reason, that’s what stood out the most. She was able to push me out of the way in time, but the car hit her instead.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, brushing a tear away. Because what else could you say to something like that? That’s a kid’s worst nightmare.
“My dad blamed me. I blamed me. And that’s when everything changed.”
“You were just a kid, Ash. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah,” he said noncommittally, and I knew he didn’t believe it.
“I think I would have liked her,” I said, referring to his mom. “She sounds like the opposite of mine.”
“She would’ve loved you.”
One green eye and one brown with flecks of gold met my blues, and something passed between us that I didn’t understand, but I felt it nonetheless. I licked my lips, and his gaze followed the movement. I thought, once again, that he might just kiss me. My phone buzzed violently against the metal hood, making me jump. Asher blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair.
“We need to go,” he said, jumping down and climbing back in the driver’s side.
“Yeah,” I said and cleared the lust from my voice. “I should get back.”
And the moment was gone.
“Sooo, are you in? Bry?” Nat asks, snapping me back to the present. That night was just weeks before the night he told me about his scholarship. The night he left for good.
“Who’s all going?” I interrupt her primping when I open one of the French doors to my closet that she’s sitting in front of and slip inside. Dropping my towel, I snag my H&M black cropped top off the hanger, a pair of frayed jean shorts, and my plain black combat boots. I quickly dress as I listen to Nat’s never-ending list of attendees.
“Jay for sure. I think Steven and his girlfriend with bad eyebrows… What’s her name? Melissa? Anyway, Thomas, Trey, Lexi… Oh, and Jackson will be there, too.”
“Seriously?” I ask, cutting my eyes to hers. Jackson Price is arguably the hottest guy in school. The only guy to pique my interest even moderately, other than Asher Kelley. And the only guy I’ve ever slept with. I’ve hooked up with plenty of guys, but as soon as it moved from anything more than heavy petting, it was like a record screeched, and it wasn’t fun anymore. I had a change of heart, mid-hookup, every single time.
Jackson happened a couple of months ago, and Nat dragged me to a party at his house. Part of me was still holding on to my childish delusions of being with Ash someday, when Whitley came bouncing in, blowing that to pieces.
She was standing there all tall and dark and edgy, the complete opposite of everything I am, bragging about sleeping with Asher over the weekend. Of course, she wasn’t telling me. She was talking to a girl named Marjorie—loudly, for my benefit, no doubt—with no shortage of crude gestures and the hickies to back it up.
I remember exactly how I felt in that moment. The way the beer turned sour in my stomach. The way my chest ached and the way my face heated with anger, embarrassment, and jealousy. I remember how I let Jackson, whom I barely knew, lead me upstairs and take my virginity. I remember how I wanted to give it to him, if only to spite Asher. I remember his practiced movements and the pain he caused, even as he tried to be gentle. I remember how even though I hated myself for it, I could almost pretend it was Asher if I kept my eyes squeezed tight. But mostly, I remember how I felt the next morning. Empty and completely alone, even with Jackson’s arm curled around me, and every bit the child that Asher always accused me of being.
I’m that girl, the one who got drunk at a party and gave it up to the first boy who came along. And I’ve avoided him ever since. What would Asher think of me now? Even thinking his name is enough to cause physical pain, but I bury it. It’s been three years. Three years since he walked out of my house and never came back. Three years since I’ve so much as heard his voice. Three years since I’ve been pining for a boy who was never even mine. This is bordering on pathetic.