Gilt Hollow (11 page)

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Willow read the paragraph for the fourth time before setting her book down and flopping back on the pillows. She stared up at the shadowed ceiling and willed a hole to open. Was Ashton up there? After their argument, she didn't know if he'd come into the house or not.

The old grandfather clock in the foyer struck the hour, and she counted eleven chimes. Did he have a decent bed up there? Blankets and pillows? She didn't even know. When they'd played in the attic as kids, she remembered a huge storage space, a few small bedrooms with sparse furnishings, and an old-fashioned bathroom. But that had been years ago.

She rolled over and stared out the window at the moonlit night. When she'd told her mom she'd had to leave St. Vincent's to email an assignment that was due by eight, Mom had totally bought the lie, but Willow felt horrible. And that wasn't even the worst of it. Her mom had no idea Ashton was sleeping in their attic—maybe this very moment.

Prickles raced across her skin. The way Ashton had looked at her today, like a mystery he wanted to solve. Or a mythical creature he'd longed to discover. No one had ever looked at her like that. Did he see Penelope the same way? Willow sat up and grabbed her history book, determined to kill her romanticized thoughts with a little Revolutionary War blood and guts. Ashton hadn't been around girls since he was fourteen years old; his hormones were likely ruling his brain.

Settling the book on her crossed legs, she reread the passage about Nathan Hale's last words before he was hanged by
the British for spying: “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.” That was some serious loyalty. Willow got halfway through the next section before her phone pinged on the nightstand. She tensed. It wasn't the custom bird chirp she had programmed for Lisa or the melodic bells that indicated her mom. The last time she'd heard the generic sound, it had been an anonymous warning.

She stared at her pink OtterBox case for several seconds before grabbing it and swiping in her code. The screen showed she had a text, not a SnapMail message. Letting out a sharp breath, she tapped the icon. A number she didn't recognize popped up with the text:

R u asleep?

Willow stared at the number, racking her brain for who it could be. Brayden? No, she'd programmed his name in her contacts. Wondering if it was a wrong number, she typed:

Who is this?

SRY. It's Ash.

Ashton? How did he get her number? And he wasn't “Ash” any longer. That was the name of a boy she trusted. One that didn't confuse her with every word out of his mouth. The one she knew with all her heart was innocent.

Before she could ask, he typed:

Lisa gave me your #.

Willow would have to have a little chat with Ms. Lisa. Her phone pinged again.

So ur awake?

No, I'm sleep-texting.

In that case . . . what r u wearing???

Willow laughed out loud despite herself. Glancing down at her yoga pants and ratty tank, she turned the tables on him:

Haha. What r U wearing?

Um . . . hold on a sec . . . let me take off my shirt.

Willow's face flamed as she speed typed.

WAIT!

Stop blushing. I was joking.

I wasn't blushing.

Willow cupped her feverish cheeks with cool palms, but before she could regulate her temperature, another message popped up.

If you want to see what I'm wearing . . . come up.

Temptation tugged at Willow's gut like a string pulling her forward. She took her history book off her lap and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her toes touched the icy hardwood. She could sneak up the back stairs. Just see where he was sleeping, set her mind at ease.

Her phone pinged. She snatched it off the coverlet.

On second thought, don't come up here.

Willow sat perched on the edge of the mattress, filing through all the reasons he didn't want her to come up to the attic, and landed on the most obvious: He didn't trust himself to be alone with her. Goose bumps rose on her skin, but his next message annihilated her fantasies with a kill shot of reality.

Penelope admitted to trashing Colin's jersey out of anger. But don't think she threatened u.

Willow sighed at her own gullibility. He didn't want her up there because he just wanted to tell her about
Penneeelope.

When did she tell u this?

Just talked to her.

Great. So he'd spent the evening talking with Penelope before deciding to text-flirt with her. A slightly gross and somewhat vindictive thought occurred to her, and she typed the question before she could think better of it.

She peed on it?

Soaked it in the urinal.

Was that better? Willow shuddered. She didn't think so. She typed:

Barf.

I know, right?

There was a pause, then he said:

U can't tell anyone. Her parents would freak.

Really? He was worried about Penelope's parents? The lies Willow had told on his account were adding up by the minute. If Mom found out what she'd done, she'd ground her until she graduated. And Ashton would be out on the street.

Wil?

Who did he think he was, throwing that name around like it meant nothing? Maybe to him, it didn't. She took off her glasses and rubbed her suddenly gritty eyes. Ready to end their emotionally draining conversation, she replied:

I won't tell. Good night.

Wait. R u really seeing someone?

Yes.

And for the first time, Willow considered what Ashton's reaction might be to her dating Brayden—one of the boys who had helped put him in jail. Not good.

Who?

Brayden

She typed his name and then deleted it. They hadn't even gone on their first date yet. It could turn out to be nothing.
Besides, she didn't own Ashton any explanations. So she repeated:

Good night.

Night. And thx.

Thanks for protecting Penelope? Thanks for saving his butt tonight? Thanks for keeping all of his secrets?

Willow silenced her phone and plugged it in to charge. Grabbing a blanket off the bed, she slung it around her shoulders and padded to the window. The wind bent the trees, thrashing the leaves into chaos. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but the air felt heavy with tension. Poised. Waiting. A storm was rolling in. She could feel it.

T
he small coffee shop overflowed with students celebrating Gilt Hollow's victory. Removed from the excitement, Willow used her thumbnail to trace the cursive
G
on her paper cup, watching as the wax peeled off in a tight curl against her fingers. She'd come straight to Gino's from the football game and nabbed the back corner table, per Brayden's instructions. But he'd yet to show up. She checked her phone again. No messages, and it had been almost an hour.

Willow took a sip of her now
cold
hot cocoa and scanned the room, noticing a few of the guys on the team had trickled in. She decided to give Brayden twenty more minutes before she gave up and went home.

The day had passed in a blur. After school she'd gone straight to Lisa's, where her friend had given her a head-to-toe makeover. Willow had insisted on cute and comfortable. What she'd gotten had far exceeded her expectations. Lisa had insisted she bring the charcoal leggings and sapphire sweater she'd purchased, and then Lisa added a heather gray scarf, ankle boots, and a short leather jacket. Willow still felt like herself, but it was different enough that it gave her confidence. And what Lisa had done with her hair was magic—it hung down Willow's back in loose, shiny curls like something out of a shampoo ad. The makeup had been the most painful part. Mascara and lip gloss were about all she ever used. But by the time Lisa was done, Willow couldn't stop looking at herself in the mirror. She didn't recognize the girl with the glowing skin and mysterious eyes.

She'd felt stares on her throughout the game, and several boys she'd never talked to had smiled at her. Yoko Ono had even taken notice. As Yolanda walked past her on the bleachers, she'd snapped a snide, “Nice biker jacket, Weepy.” Before Willow had been able to contrive a suitable comeback, Yolanda had hiked up to the back row. Willow had let it go, but the name calling had to stop.

“Hey.”

Willow glanced up from her cup to find Isaiah Kagawa with his hands shoved in his back pockets, shoulder hitched up.

“I heard you were looking for me. Can I sit?” He indicated the chair opposite her.

She nodded, and he took a seat. He hadn't been in class that afternoon, but he appeared his usual healthy self.

“Were you sick today?” Willow asked, deciding it was a safe question to break the ice.

“No . . . I . . . um . . . had something in town I had . . . I mean something I had to do . . .” A screech followed by cheers pulled his attention to the other end of the room where a junior girl had jumped up on a table and began a rap/poem. Isaiah turned back around. “Did I miss anything in Music Appreciation?” He lifted his hands and made air quotes.

Willow sat back and chuckled. “Um . . . other than Mr. Rush making out with his baton? No.” She wasn't even sure if that was true. The class had been torture. Something had changed between her and Ashton. They'd sat next to each other as usual, but a new awareness buzzed through her with every move he made—her pulse jumped as he tapped his pencil against his thigh, the hair on her arms rose when he leaned in to take the eraser off her desk. And when he'd braced a hand on the back of her chair as he returned it, his
thumb brushed her spine and she thought she might fly out of her seat.

She hadn't seen him or Penelope at the game. Willow could only assume they were together, since they'd been joined at the hip all day at school. Willow felt a soft pop as her thumbnail sliced through the paper cup.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Isaiah pulled off his beanie, and she noticed his dreads were knotted up in an intricate design on the back of his head.

Pushing the mutilated cup away from her, she commented, “Your hair looks cool. But how do you do that? Can you reach it yourself?”

He smiled and reached back to pat the loops of hair. “My sister did it.”

Willow had forgotten he had a younger sister in middle school and that his mom wasn't around. No wonder he was so jumpy all the time. Living in a single-parent home with the staunch chief of police for a dad would make anyone a nervous wreck.

“You're looking nice. Are you waiting for someone in particular?”

Willow glanced at her phone. Still no messages. “I thought so, but maybe not.” She shrugged, trying not to think about why Brayden would stand her up. “So I wanted to ask you something kind of weird.”

“Um . . . okay.” He took a swig of his coffee.

“Did you happen to share my SnapMail address with anyone after our group project last year?”

He lowered his cup slowly. “I don't think so.” His lips compressed and his brows lowered as he thought, then he shook his head. “No, I'm sure I didn't. Why?”

“I got a strange message the other night but didn't recognize the address it was from.”

“A threatening message?”

Why would he go there? Because his dad was a cop? Or because he knew something? Willow leaned forward and lowered her voice. “How did you know it was threatening?”

Isaiah blanched. “I didn't! I mean, it just . . .”

A rumble sounded outside, so low it vibrated the glass in the window next to them, drawing both their eyes to the source. A black motorcycle with the words
Indian Scout
scrawled on the side stopped at the curb. The rider hit the kickstand and drew off his helmet. Ashton ran a hand through his tousled hair before dismounting.

“Um . . . I gotta go.” Isaiah's chair screeched against the floor as he pushed away from the table.

“Hey, pretty girl!” Brayden appeared at the table, freshly showered and grinning. “Sorry I'm late. Coach held a few of us back after the game. And my phone died.” He lifted his black screen as proof.

Isaiah stood and met Brayden's gaze. For a fraction of a second, neither of them said anything. Then Isaiah clapped Brayden on the shoulder. “Nice moves out there tonight.”

“Thanks, man.” Brayden's words lacked his usual enthusiasm, but then he smiled and said, “And thanks for keeping my girl company.”

“Not a chore, believe me.” Isaiah turned to Willow. “Catch ya later.”

As Brayden took Isaiah's vacated seat, Willow searched outside. Ashton was nowhere in sight. She scanned the other patrons, but the room was shaped like an L and she was sitting at the bottom of it, so she couldn't see everyone in the shop.

“Looking for someone?” Brayden shucked off his letter-man jacket and hooked it on the back of the chair.

Willow focused on Brayden, her lips curling up. “Just you.”

“Ouch.” He winced. “Sorry again, but Coach wanted to go over the game footage with us.”

Deciding to let it go, she widened her smile. “Well, I'm glad you made it out alive.”

He laughed and reached across the table, taking her fingers in his. “I'm glad you waited.” His warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners and he asked, “Can I get you something to drink, eat? Run down to Gale's and bring you a lemon tart?”

Gale's was Gilt Hollow's only gourmet restaurant. People traveled from miles around to sample their creative, organic cuisine, but it was not cheap. Willow usually only went there once a year on her birthday. She squeezed Brayden's fingers. “How did you know Gale's was my favorite?”

He tapped his temple. “Because I can read your mind.”

“Oh yeah, then what drink do I want?”

Brayden clenched his eyes shut, his nose and forehead crinkling like a pug puppy. “I'm sensing something . . . warm.” He opened one eye. “Am I right so far?”

Willow nodded, biting her lip against a grin.

He laid his left arm on the table, palm up. “I'm going to need your other hand for this—it's a little hazy.” Willow grasped his fingers, and he closed his eyes again. “It's coming to me now . . . chocolate . . . no . . .” He scrunched up his nose and a damp lock of red hair fell across his forehead. “I know! A chai tea latte!”

“Hot cinnamon cider.” The deep voice cut through the air, making both of them start.

Ashton sat sideways at the table next to them, legs spread wide, elbows resting on his thighs as if he were engrossed in a good play. Willow's gaze traveled over his dark hair, disheveled and chaotic, his skin glowing from the sun and
wind, and her heart did a funny blip. She tugged her hands out of Brayden's.

“What do you want, Keller?” Brayden clipped.

Ashton's gaze flicked from Willow to Brayden. “I need to talk to her.”

“It's gonna have to wait. We're kinda busy.” Brayden turned back to Willow, dismissing Ashton.

Out of the corner of her eye, Willow saw Ashton stand. “It can't wait.”

Annoyance washed cold over Willow's shoulders. She just wanted
normal
. An ordinary first date without all the drama. Was that too much to ask?

With deliberation, Brayden rose from his seat. Ashton crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet. They were nearly the same height, but Ashton appeared broader, more solid.

Brayden stared him down, his hands fisted at his sides. “Nobody wants you here, Keller.”

Ashton's eyes narrowed as a corner of his mouth curled in a deceptively benign expression. But Willow saw it for what it was: danger.

Sensing the same thing, Brayden swallowed, and his Adam's apple bobbed. Ashton leaned in, his arms unfolding, fists clenching.

Willow catapulted out of her chair. This wasn't a game of capture the flag. And she
was not
the prize. “Stop it! Both of you!”

Neither of them looked at her. If Ashton got into a fight, it would only prove what people were saying about him. And if somebody called the cops . . .

Steeling herself, Willow shoved Ashton with both hands. He barely moved. “Ashton!” His gaze shifted to her, his eyes
blue flame. She didn't give a fig. The jerk needed to listen for once. “If you want to talk to me, ask
me
!” she fumed, pointing to her chest.

He blinked, and life flooded back into his face as if he were waking up from some testosterone-fueled hypnosis. “Willow, I—”

“Willow, you don't—” Brayden talked over Ashton, and Willow cut him off with a glare. He didn't own her either.

She turned back to Ashton. “Brayden and I are here together. I'll call you later.”

Ashton's jaw flexed. “It's kind of important.”

Two intense stares drilled into her. Waiting. Willow glanced between them and wondered how she'd gone from invisible to two good-looking guys battling for her attention—virtually overnight. With a sigh, she turned to Ashton. “We'll talk later.” She'd been looking forward to this date with Brayden. She wanted to try to make it work.

With a curt nod, Ashton pivoted on his heel and stalked off. But he wasn't really gone. As she and Brayden sat back down, her ex–best friend's presence lingered between them. In an attempt to break the tension, Willow smiled and said, “I'll take that drink now.”

Brayden glanced over his shoulder, then back at her. “Keller is a freaking lunatic. You better steer clear of him before it's too late.”

“Too late for what?” Willow's already frayed nerves felt ready to snap.

Brayden leaned forward. “If you don't stop hanging out with him, he's going to drag you down with him.”

“Really?” His words were so like her mother's that she immediately went on the defensive. “Are you saying that because you care about me or because you don't want to see me with him?”

“Both—” Brayden said, but Willow cut him off. “In the tree house that day, you said he'd been your friend too. But I don't think that was ever true. You're just like everyone else in this town who thinks they're the ultimate judge and jury.” Willow grabbed her jacket off the chair and jammed her arms into the sleeves.

“Hey, wait.” Brayden scooted his chair back. “Are you leaving?”

Willow stood and looped her purse over her shoulder. “Ashton and I have a long history. And if you and I are going to see each other, you're going to have to accept that.”

Brayden stood up, his eyes pleading. “He's a criminal, Willow.”

“And he's served his time, as I'm sure you're well aware.” Willow breezed past him.

“Let me walk you home!” Brayden called.

“I'll be fine.”

As she made her way through the crowded room, a sharp movement caught her eye. In the far corner, Ashton held a boy she didn't recognize against the wall. She moved closer, drawn like a pedestrian to a five-alarm fire. What was he doing
now
?

Ashton leaned into the kid's bug-eyed face and spoke words she couldn't hear. She skirted a table full of cheerleaders and moved around a guy carrying a cardboard tray of coffee cups. When Ashton came back into view, his face contorted with rage as he jerked the kid forward and then slammed him against the wall, snapping his head back. Willow's gut twisted and she rushed forward. She hadn't witnessed this side of Ashton since the first day she'd seen him in Gilt Hollow—when the intense fury radiating from his every molecule had caused her to believe he was capable of murder.

But before she could reach him, Colin Martin grabbed Ashton's arm and yanked him back. As the two argued, Willow approached the boy. He swiped at the tears in his eyes and shoved through the small crowd of people who'd gathered around the action. Willow followed him. “Hey, are you all right?”

Without answering, he pushed past her and out the door. Willow spun around to give Ashton a piece of her mind but collided with Colin instead. She attempted to edge around him, but he side-stepped and blocked her. Her frustration level already off the charts, she glared at him and barked, “Move!”

“Everything okay, Weepy?”

Willow lifted her chin and stared into Colin's cool-blue gaze. “Call me that again, and you'll be the one weeping.”