I’m almost asleep when I feel it, a dip in the mattress, a gentle hand on my shoulder, resting there for a second and then trailing down my head, smoothing down my hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ash whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I smile into my pillow.

The mattress shifts again just as I’m on the edge of sleep, and I feel it as Ash gets up. He whispers “goodnight,” and his shadow crosses over to block the tiny bit of light through the doorway, and I wake up enough to turn and look at him.

“Where’re you going?” I mumble.

“Just heading home,” Ash says. “It’s late. Or early, now, I guess. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I reach out and sort of flap my hand in his direction. “Stay,” I say, and then I realize what I’ve just said. I just invited him to stay the night. Oh god. I can feel my face heat, and I want to smother myself with my own pillow. This is mortifying. Ash must agree, because he’s completely frozen in the doorway, and even in the dark I can tell he’s staring at me like I’ve grown another head.

This is what happens when the entirety of your romantic involvement can be summed up with a handful of drunken make-outs and a single boyfriend who disappeared off the face of the earth the second he turned eighteen. Minimal experience; total embarrassment.

“Um . . . what?”

I pull in a deep breath and blow it out slowly. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Stay,” I say, turning over completely so I can look him in the eye. “It’s late.” His silence is killing me, so I hastily add, “You can take the shed or the sofa or whatever. But don’t drive. It’s too late and you must be exhausted.”

“I . . . ” Ash starts, then stops for a moment. I watch as he shifts from foot to foot in the darkness, waiting for him to let me down easy, but his rejection doesn’t come. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

“Good,” I say, and burrow back down into my pillow before I can do any more damage. Even though I’m turned away and can’t see him, I can still feel his presence. He hovers in the doorway for a moment, and slowly but surely, the tendrils of sleep begin to tangle around me once again.

I’m almost lost to them when I hear his quiet murmur of “thanks,” and the soft sound of his footsteps as he walks away, and I can’t help but smile.

Ash

I’m a fucking idiot.

Honestly, a punch to the gut probably would have been gentler. It’s just a job to her. It always has been.

I’m the one that keeps forgetting that. It’s not Star’s fault. She’s just being nice. I’m the one latching onto her like a fucking octopus.

And the really pathetic thing? I don’t see that stopping anytime soon. That’s why I’m up at the ass-crack of dawn, in line at the take-out counter at the diner to get her breakfast. Because even though she isn’t interested, she’s amazing and I’m a huge fucking pussy.

If my ex saw me right now, she’d be laughing her ass off.

But then again, Gina never did think very much of my efforts to be a good boyfriend. Not that I tried a lot back then, but still. Anything I did to try to be romantic had been shot down. The one time I brought her flowers, she’d laughed in my face and asked if that’s what I really thought she wanted from me.

I can’t believe I ever actually thought she loved me. I’m such a fucking idiot. Or was an idiot, I guess. I know a hell of a lot better now. I’m not going to be fooled by pretty red hair and a sweet smile, not when there was a fucking heartless shell underneath.

Star isn’t like that. I know it.

But it still sucks that she only sees me as an employee, and nothing more.

“What can I get you?” I look up, startled at the voice, and I realize with a start that I’ve reached the front of the line, and that the waitress—Maisie, her name tag reads—is standing in front of me, pad in hand, eyebrow raising millimeter by millimeter as I stand there, unresponsive. Fuck. I shake my head, trying to clear it of the bad memories, and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Shit, sorry,” I say. “Breakfast sandwiches. Two of them. And coffee, too. Please?”

She blinks at me for a second, then nods and turns away, which is about a million times better service than I got from the blonde waitress the other day. But it’s still nowhere close to welcoming. I sigh and scrub my hands over my face. Who the hell am I kidding? Star’s the only one in this town willing to take a chance on me, and she’s leaving soon. I’m going to be miserable without her.

There’s nothing in this town for me, not anymore. But I can’t leave. I’m stuck here until my parole is up.

Star’s going back to school. She’s going to make something of herself. And I’ll be just some distant memory of a loser she took pity on for a summer. She’ll move on.

And I’ll be here, in Avenue, missing her. I don’t know how I’m going to get over her, or if I ever will. It’s not like I have any better prospects coming along. Star’s one in a fucking million. Even if I manage to find another girl around here who’s willing to give me a shot, chances are she’ll be just like my ex, who fucking ripped my heart out. And then stomped on it for good measure.

Bitch. Way to kick a guy when he’s down.

“Here you go,” Maisie says, handing me a packed-full paper bag. “Ten eighty-nine.”

I take the bag from her and hand over the money. Maybe I should have taken up Star’s offer of paying me last night. I’m almost out of cash.

Maisie turns to the cash register beside her, ringing me through as I tilt my head down and start digging through the pocket of my jeans, trying to take stock of what’s left of my money by feel alone. Considering all I can feel is coins, I’m going to go with not fucking much.

“Um,” she says, her voice so soft I nearly miss it. “Um, I think you need to go outside. Like, right now.”

Fanfuckingtastic, I think. Another one. I can’t believe I thought she’d be any different than the rest.

“What is it?” I sigh. “Suddenly realize who you’re talking to?” I’ve had enough of this shit.

“No,” she says, and her head’s shaking so fast it looks like it’s going to fly right off her shoulders. Her eyes are huge behind her black-framed glasses. She lifts up a hand and points over my shoulder. “It’s your car.”

There’s a crash behind me and I whirl around and look.

Jesus.

I drop the doggie bag on the counter and sprint out the front door.

It’s the asshole who called me a killer that day in the diner, the day Star and I met. And he’s got a fucking bat.

And he’s using it on my goddamn car!

***

“Hey,” I say, afterward, keeping my voice low as I speak into the pay phone’s receiver. “It’s me.”

“Ash?” And there must be something in my voice that gives me away, because Star’s voice goes from sleepy-rumpled-sheets-come-back-to-bed-baby one second to danger-danger-high-alert the next. “What’s going on?” she asks, and I can hear the sounds of her getting out of bed and moving around the room. “Why are you calling? How are you calling? I thought you didn’t have a phone.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t. Look . . . ” I let out a long sigh and squeeze my eyes shut. This fucking sucks. “I’m gonna need you to pick me up.”