“’Scuse us,” I say to Preston or Clay or whoever the hell this guy thinks he is, and tug Ash out of the way. For a terrifying instant, Ash doesn’t budge under my grip, and I have visions of him shaking me off and him getting right back into this guy’s face. But I give one last tug and mercifully he relents and follows after me.

We’re halfway to the car when the jerk behind us kind of sputters and I turn back to see him looking between us and his brother in confusion. The other twin doesn’t seem to be quite as angry as the first one. He’s actually smothering the beginnings of a grin. I hold up my blue monster of a slushie and give them a little salute. “You guys have a good day!” I call out, making my voice as fake and sweet as I can manage.

My favorite foster father used to laugh and tell me I was going to grow up to be a smart ass. I’d been indignant back then, convinced he just wasn’t taking me seriously. But I’m starting to think that maybe he was right.

When I look back again, the twins have disappeared inside the mini-mart, and I drop Ash’s hand, grinning. But when I look over at Ash, his face is pale despite the summer heat, and his eyes kind of flicker up to meet mine, hesitant.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is soft and I can hear just how much effort it’s taking him to get his throat to work. It makes my chest hurt. He clears his throat and tries again. “Thanks . . . thanks for that,” he says. “It’s just, the fucking people in this town . . . ”

“It’s no problem,” I say, and grin at him while I take a sip of my slushie. He opens his mouth and tries again to get words out, but I stop him before he can. “Seriously, Ash. It wasn’t a problem. Save it for the big stuff,” I say, throwing his earlier words back at him. He kind of blinks at me for a second, then a smile starts to tug at the corner of his mouth and I know he got it. He snorts at me and takes a long suck of his disgusting drink and after a minute, he’s got some color back in his face.

“All right, smarty-pants,” he says, and reaches his hand out, palm up. “Give me the keys.”

I dig them out of my pocket and hand them over without hesitation, but I have to ask, “Why?”

“Because it’s fucking boiling out here, and I’m going to take us someplace cool.” He heads to the driver’s side of the car, and I follow after him, ready to go wherever he takes me, because right now? Cool sounds like the best idea ever.

***

“You’re a genius,” I tell him, kicking off my shoes and scrambling down onto one of the rocks on the shore. I sit down, the remainder of my slushie in hand, and stick my feet down into the water. It’s gloriously cool, and I sigh with relief. Behind me, Ash chuckles and hops down from rock to rock until he’s sitting on the one next to mine.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the first time in my life anyone has actually referred to me like that,” he says, reaching down to yank off his own shoes. “I think I could get used to it.”

“Keep coming up with good ideas, and you’ll have to,” I say, and lean back to press my back up against the bigger rock behind me. I take another long sip of my drink, and even though it’s more liquid than ice now, it’s still cool and refreshing. Between it and the lake and the shade from the trees above us, I’m actually starting to cool down. Off in the distance, I can see the beach on the other side of the lake. There are people splashing and swimming, little motorboats zipping back and forth across the water. But it all seems a million miles away. Where we are, it’s quiet.

“How’d you even find this place?” I ask, because it’s not like you’d just stumble upon it. We had to park the car on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, and follow a dirt path nearly hidden in the underbrush through the forest before we got here.

Ash smirks and dunks both his feet in the water at once, hard enough that the water splashes back and mists us with cool droplets. “Came down to the lake with my parents when I was a little kid,” he said. “They wanted to go to the beach—their friends were having some kind of fancy barbecue or something, I don’t know. They told me to go off and play with the other kids, but their friends’ kids never wanted to play with me, so I wandered off instead. Ended up here.” He looks out at the water, and he’s still smiling, but it’s not as bright as before. It’s almost sad. “I must have come out here a million times growing up. Whenever I just wanted to get away. The path was already there when I found it, but I’ve never seen anyone else here, so I figure it has to be pretty damn old. I probably wore it even deeper, coming out here so much.” He sighs and shifts until he’s lying flat on his back, his feet dangling over the side of the rock, staring up at the canopy of leaves above us.

“Have you been back?” I ask. “You know, since you got out?” I shove the straw back in my mouth and force myself to take another long brain-freezing slurp. I can’t believe that I’m reminding him of his time in prison. What the hell is wrong with me? But Ash just shakes his head and stays quiet.

Some time later, after I’ve finished my drink and we’ve been sitting there long enough to become lazy and sluggish, Ash groans and tugs himself back into a sitting position. “You know what?” he says to me. “Fuck it. I’m going for a swim.”

I can feel my brow furrow. “Seriously?” I ask him. What brought this on?

He nods and pulls himself to his feet. “I haven’t gone for a swim in five years. Longer, probably. I’m finally back here. I’m not going to let it go to waste.”

Then he reaches down and pulls his T-shirt over his head and my mouth goes dry.

Holy shit.

Ash is gorgeous. He’s all smooth muscle and wide shoulders and he’s got this big solid black tattoo on his left shoulder that snakes down like smoke. My eyes follow it, desperate to figure out what it is, and that’s when I see them.

The scars.

Holy shit.

Chapter 7

Ash

For a brief, glorious moment, I feel Star’s eyes on me, and I think she’s checking me out. And I want to throw my arms up in victory. Hot girl checking me out. Awesome.

Then I remember the scars, and I come crashing back down to reality. Shit. That’s why I hadn’t wanted to take my shirt off in the first place. I glance down at them. She hasn’t said anything yet, but I know how bad they look. My entire side is criss-crossed, and there’s one jagged one that looks like something tried to tear me in half. The funny thing is, my wounds from the crash look a hell of a lot worse than they ever were. I was messed up, yeah, but nothing vital was hit. I was never in any real danger.

The guy I hit, on the other hand, all he got was a bump on the head, and that was it for him. Lights out. It fucking sucks.

I hate the scars, but they’re important to me like almost nothing else ever has been. They’re my reminder. Every time I see them, I have to remember what I did, how I fucked up and caused the death of another human being. And I have to live with that.

Shoving down the urge to scoop my shirt back up off the rock and pull it back on, I look over at Star. Our eyes meet, and she looks a little sad.

Fuck.