All It Takes (3 page)

I’ve seen pornos that start like this,
my mind supplies helpfully, and all I want is to turn around and slam my head against the brick wall behind me.
Dumbass.

“It’s no problem,” I say. “I mean, your engine’s kind of fucked—
kind of broken
—” What is wrong with me? “So you might want to take it in for a tune-up when you get a chance. But that should keep you going for a bit.”
Walk away,
I tell myself.
Just nod and walk the fuck away.

“Seriously,” she says, and I can tell that she’s trying not to laugh at me. Which I would appreciate, if I didn’t want to go bury my head in the sand for the rest of my life. “Thank you.”

I just give her a nod and turn to walk back to my car. I love that damn car, but after living in it for a week, it’s starting to lose a lot of its appeal. But I’m only a couple steps away when her voice rings out.

“Hey,” she says, and I turn back. She jerks her cute little chin in my direction. “What’s your name?”

“Ash,” I tell her, reaching into my pockets for my pack of smokes. “Ash Winthrope.” I need something to do with my hands. But as I pull one out and stick it in my mouth, she’s leaning out her car window, reaching a hand out to me to shake. “I’m Star,” she says, and I can’t help the startled laugh before it escapes.

“Of course you are,” I say, and watch as her brow furrows adorably. I shake my head, a rush of heat traveling up my neck. “I mean . . . I don’t know what I meant,” I say, going for honesty when quick-thinking fails me once again. Story of my life. I reach out and shake her hand. It’s warm and smooth and kind of tiny in mine, but it’s stronger than I thought it would be. “I guess I meant it suits you,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you, Star.”

The handshake goes on a little too long to be comfortable, and we both kind of laugh and drop our hands at once as soon as it gets a little too awkward. I’m left standing by her driver’s-side door, shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to figure out an escape route. Whatever game I once had has been completely erased in the past five years. Now I’m a spaz.

“Well,” I say. “I guess I’ll see you around, Star.” And then I start making for my car again.

“Hey, Ash,” she calls out, and I stifle a groan. I’m trying to make a fucking graceful exit here. Can’t this girl see that?

“Look,” she says, “I get this is kinda awkward, but I heard you talking to the waitress inside.” She nods toward the diner. My most recent failure. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Yeah,” I say, and reach into my pocket for my lighter. I light my cigarette and take a drag, and try to resist the urge to fiddle with the lighter. Playing with a flame in a public place probably isn’t going to endear me to the hot chick who clearly knows enough of my history to be wary of me. No wonder she’d looked so freaked out when I knocked on her window. Must have scared the life out of her. Shit.

“Listen, your history is your business. Not mine. I’m just wondering if you’d be willing to help me out with something.”

Ah, shit. She’s one of those girls. The ones that want to walk on the wild side without ever getting their own hands dirty. Crap.

“I’m not into that shit anymore,” I tell her. “I’m clean now. Five years.”

Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open a little. A beat passes, and I wonder if I should just sprint to my car. It couldn’t be any more uncomfortable than what I’m dealing with right now. I glance over my shoulder and . . . yep. The blonde waitress I asked about a job is watching us from the front window of the diner. She’s probably getting ready to call the cops if I hang around Star much longer. I need to get out of here.

“That’s not what I meant!” Star yells, and I shuffle to a stop before I even realize I’ve moved. I’m halfway to my car. Well, it looks like the old fight-or-flight instincts are still intact. That’s something. “Look,” she says. “My mother just died and I’m cleaning out her house. But I can’t do it by myself. I need help, and I can’t afford to hire professionals. I can’t pay much, but I just thought . . . ”

I look back at her, and I’m surprised to see that she looks just as freaked out as I feel. But for once, her nerves don’t seem to be caused by me. Something else is bothering the crap out of her, and I kind of want to throw my arms up in victory that it isn’t me. I’m a bastard.

“Not to sound ungrateful . . . ” I say, turning and taking a step back toward her car. I take another drag from my cigarette. I’m going to have to start rationing the damn things soon. Maybe quit altogether. Mom would like that, if she bothered to give a shit. She’d been after me to quit since I was a teenager. “But why me?”

Star’s teeth worry at her lower lip, which only makes it look plumper and
fuck
. Not the time. Then she sighed and let her head flop back against the headrest. “My mother was a hoarder,” she says, her voice so quiet I can barely hear her over the road noise and the jangling of the bells over the diner door as an old man and his grandson exit. The old man shoots me a bitter look when they walk by, and he keeps the kid on the other side of him, shielding him with his body. Yeah, like I’m going to attack a kid and an old man. In broad daylight. Jesus, people in this town are even more fucked up than they were five years ago.

Then Star’s words niggle at something in the back of my mind. “A hoarder,” I say. “Like those crazy people on that sho—”

“Yes,” she snaps before I can get into all the weird crap I’m imagining, like layers upon layers of dead animals crushed under broken lamps and half-full bags of cat food. Then she sighs again, and lets go of the steering wheel she’d been holding in a death grip to press the heels of her hands into her eyes. When her hands drop back down, I can see that
this
is what’s bothering her. And it’s bothering her enough to ask me for help, a guy she knows just got out of prison.

Fuck. And
I
thought I had problems.

I’m still weighing it in my mind—the desire to eat and maybe one day having an actual roof over my head versus digging through a garbage dump—but my mouth is already moving and words are escaping without my permission. “How much?”

“Like I said, I can’t pay much,” she says. “Not even minimum wage. I could manage maybe five–six hundred a month.”

A
month?
How long is this gonna take? How big of a mess can one person create? I’m still thinking about it, rolling the idea over and over in my head when she turns around in her seat and starts digging in the purse on the passenger seat. I lean forward, arm braced against the car, curious. Then she’s turning back and shoving a crumpled piece of paper through the open window. I grab it. “That’s my number,” she says. “You can think about it if you want, but I’m going to be getting started right away. I need to get this done by the end of the summer, and I’d really appreciate the help. That is, if you’re willing.”

I stare down at the phone number scrawled across the slip of paper, at the little scribble underneath that could only be an address, and then I look up at her. Her eyes are all big and brown and earnest as fuck. What the hell is this girl thinking?

“You
do
know about me, don’t you?” I ask, and try to pass her the piece of paper back through the car window. “Like, you’re not under any delusions or anything, right? I just got out of prison. Aren’t you worried I’ll get in there and start stealing shit?”

Star stares at me for a moment, completely still. Then she throws her head back and laughs, and goddamn if it isn’t the hottest fucking thing I’ve seen in five years. She just shoves the phone number back at me. “If you steal anything, I’ll be eternally fucking grateful, you have no idea” she says, and my gut jerks again at the sound of her cursing at me. She’s already a gorgeous chick with kick-ass tattoos and the cutest fucking smile I’ve seen in years. How she just got hotter, I have no idea. “Just keep the number, okay?” she asks. “And give me a call when you make up your mind.”

“What if I can’t help you out?” I ask.

She just shakes her head and smiles at me. “Either way,” she says. “Just let me know.” Then she reaches out and wraps her right arm around the back of the passenger seat to watch behind her, and pulls out of the parking spot.

She’s down the road before I can think of anything to say to that. I take another puff of my smoke and stare down at the phone number in my hand. It’s a little crumpled, so I grip the cigarette between my lips and use both hands to smooth out the paper against the leg of my jeans. I fold it up and stick it in my pocket, and look up to see the blonde waitress still watching me through the window. I give her a smirk and a little wave—one I’m dying to turn into a one-finger salute, but somehow manage to restrain myself—and head back to my car.

I have some shit to think about.

Chapter 4

Star

I
wasn’t really expecting Ash to call me. Not really. And when I hadn’t heard from him by the time I left my mother’s house and got back to the B&B that night, I just kind of let go of the idea altogether and powered off my phone and went to bed.

When I turn my phone back on in the morning, there’s still no word from him. The only new messages are from my roommate, Autumn. She’d gone out with our friend Roth last night and had kept up a running commentary of the experience via text that I had missed while I’d been asleep.

Autumn: Drinking with R. I miss you!!!! He’s the slowest.

Autumn: Worst dirnking buddy EVER!

Autumn: *drinking

Autumn: Oooooh. Cute boy. Glasses. Geeky t-shirt.

Autumn: I’m in love.

Autumn: OK I’m gonna go talk to him. Liquid courage is a beautiful thing.

Autumn: OK. Gonna do it. Wish me luck.

Autumn: Damnnn. Cute boy turned me down. Heartbroken.

Autumn: I’m gonna be single forever.

Autumn: I’m gonna have to get so many cats. I don’t even like cats.

Autumn: Will you be a spoinster wit me?

Autumn: *spinster. *with.

Autumn: OMG!!!! Cute boy is gay! He’s eyeing up Roth! It’s like the movies!!!!

Autumn: I must watch this FOREVER. *chinhands*

Autumn: Awwwwww. He’s so bumbling. Ther’e’s blushing. It’s SO CUTE!

Autumn: ROTH HAS NO IDEA!!!

Autumn: He’s all like WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?!!

Autumn: Favorite things everrrr!

Autumn: If cute boy is successful, I will carry their babies.

Autumn: Cute boy bought Roth a drink and he STILL HASN’T FIGURED IT OUT!

Autumn: WHY AREN’T YOU HEREEE? WE NEED TO DISCUSS THIS!!!

Autumn: Fucckkkk. Cute boy has given up. Roth is uselessss!

Roth: I have discovered that Autumn has been updating you with the travesty that is my attempts at socialization.

Roth: Please disregard everything she has told you. She’s intoxicated.

Autumn: Roth’s a lying liar that lies.

Autumn: I’m finsa;sdfhina;

I laugh and started typing out a reply to Autumn.

Star: I’m sorry I missed it, darling.

Star: You’ll have to save your womb for a more worthy opponent.

Then I send one to Roth.

Star: You need to be more aware of your surroundings.

Star: Please make sure Autumn has lots of water and tell her to call me later.

I really am sorry I’d missed it. I love going out with Autumn, but Roth was another animal all together. He’d been our RA last year, when I was a freshman at Climbfield College. So while we saw him all the time and eventually we became friends, we weren’t able to actually hang out with him all that much. There were rules he had to follow as an RA. The first and foremost of which was
No Touching Your Charges.
It’s hard to hang out with someone when you’re expressly forbidden from touching them. So getting to go out with him is new and is actually a lot more fun than I’d expected. He’s like the lovechild of a confused puppy and emotionless robot, so seeing him in any kind of social situation is nothing short of fabulous. It sucks that I slept through it.

I’ve been going to sleep a lot earlier since I’ve gotten into town. Surprisingly early, really. I’m a college student. I’m used to late nights. But I’d been under a lot of stress lately, what with school and all. And that had been
before
I’d seen the state of my mother’s house.

I let out a groan and flop back against the pillows, shifting around on the mattress, trying to get comfortable. Which is an impossible task, apparently. This isn’t the Ritz Carlton. This is a shitty B + B in the middle of nowhere, but it had been my only choice. I hadn’t had the car when I arrived. The car was my mother’s. I’d taken the bus into town.

It is so strange. When I got into town, all I had was my duffel bag, and except for a few things I left with Autumn for the summer, that is pretty much everything I own, which is a pretty big departure from what my mother had built for herself.

From what she’d buried herself under,
my brain supplies, but I shake the thought off before it can fully take root.

I don’t know if whatever causes people to start hoarding is genetic or learned or ingrained or what. All I know is that ever since I was nine and I was taken away from my mother, I’ve been doing everything I can to make sure I never
ever
end up like her.

I sigh and press the palms of my hands against my face, blocking out the light that’s streaming through the dusty floral curtains.

God, I don’t want to go back to the house. It is too much. I’ve been working on it for days, and I haven’t even made a dent.

***

It takes me ages to get out of bed. Part of me wants to stop at the diner for a big breakfast, but I don’t want to risk seeing Lacey again. Not so soon. I know she saw me talking to Ash yesterday, and after the things she said about him, I can only imagine what she’d have to say about me talking to him, let alone trying to hire him. So instead of the diner, I just fill the biggest disposable cup I can find with coffee, and grab as many bagels as I can out of the basket that has been set out on the breakfast bar downstairs. I wrap them in napkins, shove them deep into my bag and hightail it out of there before the owner, the creepy Miss Josephine, catches me. I have no doubt that if she caught me in the act that she’d order me to put them back.

Thoughts of Miss Josephine scolding me dance through my head as I drive across town to the house. She’d set her poodle on me. For sure. I smile as I turn down the tree-lined street and pull into the driveway. But as I do, something catches my eye, and my smile falls away.

There’s a red car sitting at the curb.

It’s Ash’s car.

And he’s standing outside, leaning back against it, smoking a cigarette.

I’m a little freaked out, but despite what my gut is telling me—to just shift the car into Reverse and pull back out and drive away—I let out a deep breath and turn off the car. I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief moment, shake off the discomfort and grab my bag from the passenger seat. I slide out of the car.

“I didn’t think you were going to show,” I call out to Ash as I slam the car door behind me. I clutch the keys in my fingers, letting the metal bite into my palm as I make my way across the grass to where he’s standing. “You didn’t call.” He nods and takes a last puff of his cigarette before dropping it and putting it out with his shoe.

“Yeah,” he says as I get close. “Sorry about that. My phone crapped out on me.” His pale eyes dart up to meet mine before dropping back to the ground. “Is the job still available?”

I chew on my lip and glance over my shoulder at the house. From the outside, it looks almost normal. It’s run down, that’s for sure. It’s by far the most run down house on the block. But it doesn’t look
bad
from the outside. Just like it’s fallen into disrepair.

He has no idea what he’s getting into.

I turn back to him, and my heart stutters a bit. He’s looking up at me through his lashes. He looks so hopeful. So sad.

Shit. Something inside me lurches. This is such a bad idea. “Look,” I say. “Here’s the thing. The house . . . it’s a mess. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m going to lay it out for you.”

I let out a breath, and I want to kick myself. I’m shaking like a leaf. This is so stupid. It’s not my mess. Not really. I didn’t make it. It’s been thrust upon me to deal with. But still, I feel guilty somehow. Ashamed. Responsible. Like I’m going to be judged and that people are going to think badly of me for it.

Is this what my mother felt, when she thought about her house? Her mess?

Why is this so hard?

“It can’t be that bad . . . ” Ash says, and it’s clear that he’s about to continue, so I cut him off before he can get another word out, because he has to know what he’s up against before he agrees to anything.

“My mother was a hoarder.” The words spill out of me in a rush. “So picture the worst-case scenario that you can possibly think of waiting for you behind that front door, and then multiply it by a thousand, and you’ll start getting close to reality.” I pull in a deep breath and continue before he can say anything. “So if you don’t want to do this, that’s fine. Just tell me. No hard feelings. But I asked you because I need help, and if what happened at the diner is anything to go by, your job hunt isn’t going so well.”

He looks at me for a moment, without saying anything, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he processes what I’ve just told him. Then he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, even though it’s already about a million degrees outside, and takes a step forward.

“I’m in.” He says. I raise my eyebrows at him, surprised.

“Just like that?” I ask, because nothing in my life has been that easy. But he gives me a nod.

“Just like that.”

I regard him for a second, taking in his slumped posture and his ratty clothes. He’s doing about as well as I am, which isn’t good. Maybe together we can get a little bit better. Maybe.

“Okay,” I say, and hold up the keys for him to see them. “Let me show you the house.”

I make it all the way to the front door before my bravado fails me. The knowledge of what’s lurking behind that door weighs on my stomach like a ball of lead. I can’t believe I’m showing this to another human being. But what I said to him was as true as anything I’ve ever told anyone in my entire life. I need the help.

I turn to him. “Are you
sure
you want to do this?” I ask.

“Look,” he says, pulling his hands out of his pockets and scrubbing them over his face. He looks tired. Even more tired than I feel. That’s saying something. “You saw what happened at the diner. That’s just the tip of it. I don’t know if you know the story, but everyone around here does, so there’s no point in me trying to keep it a secret. I fucked up. I went to a party one night a couple towns over. I got high as fuck and I drove home. I killed a guy.” He stops there for a moment, like he’s waiting for me to respond, but I’ve already heard it from Lacey, so I stay silent and just nod, and he lets his breath out in a huff and continues. “Like I said, I fucked up. A guy died and I went to prison. I just got out, and no one will touch me with a fucking hundred-foot pole.

“So yeah,” he says. “I’m sure. Right now five hundred a month and maybe someone to vouch for me at the end? That sounds pretty damn good.”

“Are you
sure?”
The words are out of my mouth again before I can stop them, and I want to kick myself, I’m so embarrassed. I can already feel the heat flooding my face, but luckily a tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m extremely fucking sure. What do you want from me? A fucking pinkie swear or something?” He actually swipes his hand against his jeans and lifts it to me, pinkie held out in my direction.

I laugh, I can’t help it. It’s the wrong hand, the left one, so it’s a song and dance for me to juggle the keys and my bag, but I hold out my own left pinkie to him in response. We link them together and waggle them back and forth a bit before it gets awkward. Then we laugh and let go, our hands dropping back down to our sides.

“Well, okay then,” I say, and slide the key into the lock. “I guess we have a deal. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, okay?”

Ash just smiles, and this time it’s a real one, teeth and everything. It’s a good look on him.

“Got it.”

Ash

S
tar . . . was not kidding about the mess. This place is fucking ridiculous. Who the hell lives like this?

I mean, yeah, my room was a pigsty growing up, but compared to
this?
Holy shit. No wonder this girl wants help. She needs help. Hell, she needs a freaking army to get this done.

And all she has is me.

That sucks.

I think I actually feel worse for her than I do for myself right now, and that’s saying something.

“So . . . ” I say, looking past her as she holds open the door to the house so I can see what I’m up against. “Where…where do we start?” Please let this girl have some kind of plan, because I’ve got nothing. I don’t even know where to start. There’s barely even enough of a path for me to get into the house. And the path that’s there seems to taper off into piles of stuff after less than a dozen feet. The piles inside are taller than I am.

Star just kind of sighs and reaches inside the door. I’m half hoping that she’s reaching for a can of gasoline and a lighter, that her plan is just to burn the place to the ground. As much as it would violate my parole, I’m kind of tempted. Not
really
, but shit. This place is insane. How the hell did this end up on Star’s shoulders? Other than having a shitty car—which I’m starting to think isn’t actually her fault, and that it has something to do with this whole house situation—she seems like a pretty normal girl. She was nice enough to take a chance on me, and I am more than grateful for that, so whatever her plan is, I am
in.
But instead of pulling out a jerry can, she straightens back up with a couple boxes of garbage bags in her arms. They must have been tucked just inside the front door. They’d have to be, any farther in and they’d be lost forever in the hoard.

Before she can ask, I reach out and gently take the boxes out of her arms.

“Thanks,” she says, and reaches up to run her hands through her hair, shoving it back from her face. Then she sighs again. I’m getting the feeling she’s been kind of emotional lately, that she’s been bottling everything up inside and it just keeps escaping bit by bit in sighs and nervous laughter. “Look,” she says. “I don’t even think we’ll get to the house today. I think we need to start in the backyard.”

The backyard? Ah fuck, is there
more?

“The backyard?” I ask, hoping I’m wrong. But she just kind of smiles at me, and the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Crap. There’s more.

***

The backyard is nearly as packed as the house is. It’s not stacked as high, but the entire lot is
covered.
And as far as I can tell, unlike inside the house, where every here and there I’d been able to pick something out visually that might actually be
worth
something, the backyard is just garbage. Garbage upon garbage upon garbage, as far as the eye can see. Somewhere, my neat freak of a mother is having a mental breakdown and she has no idea why.