Gilt Hollow (28 page)

“Hold on, Wil!” Ashton called.

A steely clash sounded above her, but as Willow's vision became hazy, all she could focus on were her feet dangling three stories above the ground and the fire burning in her slipping fingers. If she passed out now, she would never wake up. Arms trembling, she wheezed in a breath and blocked out the sounds of fighting above her. She could talk herself through this. She had to.

With no hint of her focus color in site, she squeezed her eyes closed and pictured the sea-blue of Ashton's gaze. The image so clear in her mind, her pulse immediately slowed and she mouthed the first line of her panic script. “This is an opportunity for me to learn to cope with this problem.”

Willow sucked in air through her nose and ground her teeth as she strained to pull up with her arms. “I have survived this before . . . and I can survive . . . this time too.” She exhaled and opened her eyes. With her last reserves of strength, she swung her legs to the side, and her foot found
the sloped edge of the turret but slipped on loose shingles. She glanced over her shoulder, found the narrow gutter, and then lowered her toes to rest on the edge. Relief flooded her as the weight eased from her hands. Pushing up, she poked her head above the roofline just as Colin kicked Ashton and he stumbled back toward the opposite edge of the roof.

Ashton's legs hit the rail, and she screamed. Arms circling, he tilted backward before he caught his balance and then charged. Sirens approached. Colin blocked the slash of Ashton's sword, but the power of the blow jerked Colin's arm sideways. Taking advantage of his opponent's distraction, Ashton slammed his fist into Colin's jaw, snapping his head back. Ashton stepped in, his sword pointed at Colin's throat. Willow could see the flashing lights of patrol cars out of the corner of her eye as they pulled up to the front of the house.

Ashton's gaze shifted down to meet Willow's, and Colin thrust his knife up, hooked it on Ashton's sword, and pulled it out of his hand. The weapon clattered to the roof's edge, and Ashton backed away, raising his hands in surrender.

“Police! Put down your weapon!” barked a voice that sounded like the police chief. “Simms, find a way onto that roof!”

Willow glanced down. Chief Kagawa and two other officers held guns pointed at the roof. Willow whipped back around. Colin lowered his knife to his side but didn't drop it.

“I can't tell who's who, Chief!” one of the officers called.

“Hold your fire, everyone!” the chief shouted

Colin's fingers clenched and unclenched on the knife handle. Ashton circled, his eyes darting to Willow. “Colin, give it up. If you hurt either one of us, the cops will see it.”

“You think I care?” Colin yelled. “Why did you have to come back here? No one would've ever questioned my
innocence. Now Willow knows what I've done. I'm going to prison. I might as well take you down with me!”

With a strangled cry, Colin raised the knife over his head and leaped at Ashton. Willow shrieked and pulled up with all her strength. Ashton stood frozen. Colin's arm slashed down, and at the last possible second, Ashton dove and grabbed Colin's ankles.

Colin stumbled forward, the knife flying out of his hand, the blade clattering down the shingles. Ashton leaped forward and tackled Colin to the ground. They struggled for control, and Deputy Simms rushed onto the roof. “Freeze!” Ashton rolled off of Colin just as the deputy dropped down and rammed his knee into Colin's back.

Colin fought, but Simms secured his arms behind him and looped handcuffs around his wrists. “Colin Martin, you're under arrest . . .”

Ashton crawled toward Willow and leaned over the ledge. “Wil, take my hand.”

She latched onto his arms, and he pulled her up and over the rail. They sunk to their knees, and Ashton cupped both sides of her head, his eyes searching her face. “Are you okay?”

Willow nodded, and he brushed the tears from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

She touched his arm where he'd been cut. “You're bleeding.”

“So are you.” He reached toward the shallow wound on her throat, but she linked their fingers and tugged their joined hands to her chest.

“I don't care.”

The wind tore at their clothes and hair, men yelled, and lights flashed as Ashton's gaze locked on hers, speaking a thousand things he didn't have to say. The same boy with
the reckless grin and dancing eyes who'd stopped her from crashing her bike into a ditch the first time they'd met pulled her into his arms, and just as on that long-ago day, she knew she would never be the same.

A
shton linked his fingers with Willow's and tucked her arm beneath his as they set off down the forest path.

“Are you going to tell me what we're doing?” she begged him for the eighth time since they'd left the house. “Just a tiny hint.”

“Nope. Relax and soak up the nature.” Birds chattered all around them, and a soft wind rustled the few leaves left in the trees. It was warm for November, likely the last nice day they'd have for months—the kind of day that when he'd been locked up made him feel like he'd bust out of his skin if he didn't get out in it.

Following Colin's deposition, where they'd both had to give statements, Willow had withdrawn inside herself. In super study mode, not even Lisa could coax her out for shopping and pumpkin spice lattes. Then, after Brayden had called Willow to apologize, explaining that Colin had forced him to start their relationship as a way to get information out of her but he had ended up really liking her, she'd disappeared for hours. Ashton had found her in the attic, cloaked head to toe in dust and cobwebs, organizing his grandma's massive record collection. Even after he'd sold the most valuable albums, there were hundreds of LPs for her to sort alphabetically by title.

That's when Ashton knew he had to do something.

“We're going to the tree house, right?” Willow guessed.

He pulled them to a stop and hooked his arm around her waist before checking the blindfold. “Are you peeking?”

“No! Just tell me something!”

“Okay. Productive pursuits are on hold for the rest of the day. No studying, organizing, or even thinking too hard.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he put a finger against her lips. “This is about letting go. You know, spontaneity . . . Ever heard of it?”

“No, but I've heard of irresponsibility. I'm going to break an ankle walking out here!” A single dark brow arched above the fabric of the blindfold. “The least you could do is carry me.”

He grinned as he scooped her up against his chest. “As you wish.”

Willow looped her arms around his neck and leaned in, her soft breath tickling his ear as she whispered, “I love you too.” Then her lips moved to his neck and fluttered a trail of kisses to his collarbone.

Ashton shivered hard. “Keep that up, Buttercup, and we may not make it to your surprise.”

Her deep, throaty laugh vibrated against him, and he lengthened his stride. “Maybe we just need to get there faster.”

When they reached the rope bridge, he lowered Willow to her feet and looped his arm around her waist.

As they made their way across, she said, “Did you see the news? Deputy Simms is the new police chief.”

“Simms is okay. I'm just glad I never have to see Kagawa again.”

“Do you think he'll go to jail?”

“Not sure I care.” But with charges of perjury and obstruction, his days of law enforcement were over.

Ashton guided Willow over a missing board, and then she said, “Brayden told me that he and Isaiah recanted their statements that they saw you push Daniel. And they both
received immunity in exchange for promising to testify against Colin. Every time I think about what they did to you and that they got away with it, I . . . I want to hit something!”

Ashton exhaled a low breath. He was still working through his own anger. They stepped off the bridge onto solid ground, and Ashton pulled Willow into his arms. He buried his face in her hair and whispered, “I feel the same, but I don't want to talk about them right now. This night is just for us. Okay?”

Willow nodded against his chest.

“Good.” Ashton released her and instructed, “Wait here.”

“Yes, sir!” Willow gave him a quick salute.

The sun sank behind the horizon, painting the sky in fiery streaks as Ashton started the generator hidden behind the base of the tree. He jogged back to Willow and took her shoulders, directing her gaze. “Ready?”

She gave an adorable jiggle of impatience. “Yes!”

He tugged off her blindfold.

“Oh!”

Ashton watched her face. The lights he'd strung up on the tree house sparkled in her eyes like fireflies, and her mouth dropped open in awe. “What's all this for?”

“I'm not very good at saying how I feel, so I thought I'd show you.” She turned to him and searched his face. Feeling his neck warm, he grabbed her hand and tugged her forward. “There's more. Come on.”

Inside, he'd arranged pillows in the corners, rolled out a plush rug, and set a dozen battery-powered candles of different heights in the center. A wicker basket stood open, displaying a narrow loaf of fresh bread and a glass carafe of chilled apple cider.

“It's a picnic!” Willow stood in the doorway and then
spun on him with an impish grin. “Did you make the food yourself?”

“Um, no. Your mom helped with that.” His culinary skills extended to PB&J with the occasional boxed mac and cheese, if he felt ambitious.

Willow walked inside, kicked off her shoes, and sank her toes into the soft shag of the carpet. “Where'd you get all this stuff?”

“Keller House is like a treasure trove of unused finery.” Ashton knelt in front of the basket and then glanced up at Willow, who paced around the carpet like a caged cat. She was
so
not good with surprises, but Ashton figured if she experienced enough good ones she'd learn to enjoy them. “Have a seat, Wil. This is supposed to be fun, remember?”

“Okay, fine.” She dropped down and crossed her legs, then tugged a pillow onto her lap. Leaning over to peer into the basket, she squeaked, “Is that chocolate-pumpkin torte from Gales?”

Ashton just smiled.

Willow reached in and grabbed a plastic container, rich dark chocolate swirled with orange smashed against the sides. “How did you know this is my favorite?”

Ashton paused in unpacking the basket and leveled his gaze on hers. “Because I know you, Willow Elizabeth Lamott.”

She ducked her head, the sheet of her dark hair falling across her face, but Ashton could tell she was smiling.

After pouring glasses of cider and distributing the sandwiches and fruit, Ashton leaned against the wall and stretched out his legs. Even sitting diagonally, his feet almost reached the opposite wall. The place had not been built for full-grown teenagers. A memory of Mr. Lamott laying each board and patiently instructing Ashton on the proper use of
tools tugged at his heart. He would do everything he could to preserve this little retreat.

“I know you said you didn't want to talk about it tonight, but something's been bothering me. I never figured out how you knew that note Colin had Yolanda forge wasn't from me,” Willow asked, breaking into his sappy thoughts. This was how it had been over the last weeks—so much had happened that night that as each of them processed through it, details would emerge, sparking questions at random moments. And although Ashton wanted to focus on each other, he knew Willow, and she wouldn't stop turning it over in her mind until she had all the answers. He bent one of his legs and hooked his arm around it. “At the ball, when Yolanda handed me the note, I knew it wasn't from you as soon as I read it.”

Wil stared at him. “How?”

“You would never forget to dot your
i
's, no matter how much you were rushing. That combined with what I'd learned from Isaiah set off my internal alarms.”

Willow gazed down at her plate, running her finger along the fluted edge.

“What?”

She lifted one shoulder and raised her head. “I just feel stupid. I didn't recognize that Colin had faked the note from you.”

He reached over and took her hand. “How about I hand-write sonnets to your beauty until you know every loop of my hideous cursive?”

Her lips quirked to one side. “Really? The boy who doesn't know how to express his feelings is going to write love poems? Doubtful.”

“Song lyrics?” He lifted his brows.

She bit back a smile and shook her head.

“Limericks?”

“Now that, I'd believe.”

Ashton let go of her hand and sat back. “There once was a girl named Willow . . .”

“Oh no, please don't.” She shook her head emphatically.

“Her dark hair, how it did billow.”

He popped a blackberry into his mouth, buying a second to think. “With the mighty strength of an oak, she is one you
do not
want to provoke.” He drank in the sight of her eyes as they danced with amusement, and then finished his rhyme, “But if you can get close, her skin is as soft as a pillow, her kiss like . . .”

“Don't say it!”

Evidently she knew the limited words that rhymed with her name. “. . . an armadillo.”

“Ugh!” Willow lobbed a pillow at his head.

He snatched it out of the air. “What? Armadillos are cute.”

“That wasn't even a proper limerick! Please, no more love poetry, I beg you.”

After their laughter died down, Willow resumed eating her sandwich and asked, “How did the visit with your family go?”

“Awkward.” He tore off a chunk of bread and squeezed it between his fingers. “My mom can barely look me in the eye now that she knows I wasn't guilty, and my dad still acts like I'm the prodigal son returned to complete his life and join the family business.”

“How do you feel about that?” Willow selected an olive from the antipasto tray. “About them?”

Ashton leaned back on his hands. “College first, and then we'll see about the business, but . . . I've forgiven my parents.”

Willow's brows shot up.

“I didn't deserve your mercy or forgiveness after the way I treated you.” He leaned forward, meeting her gaze. “But you showed me all the good that can come from second chances. Anger has torn me apart for too long . . . I'm ready to let it go.”

Willow reached over and linked their fingers. “I guess . . . Colin deserves the same.”

Heat flooded Ashton's chest as it did every time he thought about all the evil things Colin Martin had done—the years he'd stolen from Ashton and all the good people he'd hurt. He inhaled and turned his gaze to the stars twinkling outside the window. Forgiveness didn't excuse Colin from facing the consequences for his actions. Being tried as an adult meant he'd be living with those consequences for a very long time.

With a slow exhale, he turned back to Willow and offered a crooked smile. “I'm working on it.”

Her dark eyes twinkled. “Good.” She popped another olive into her mouth. “Now tell me about all the guilt gifts your parents bought you.”

“Lots of clothes and electronics, and . . . a car.”

“No way!”

“Yeah, a Nissan GT-R. It's being delivered next week. They let me pick out the color.” The car wasn't going to fix anything, but Ashton knew it was their way of trying to make up for their mistakes.

Willow took a sip of cider and then watched him over the rim of the glass. “GT-Rs are crazy fast. I didn't think anything could be more dangerous than a motorcycle, but you're going to kill yourself in that thing.”

Ashton ignored her. “I chose black with black leather interior.”

“Of course you did.” Willow grinned and shook her head.

“But this is still my favorite.” He held up his wrist, where he wore the watch she'd given him. A gift to make up for all the birthdays she'd missed.

“It's just a watch.” She shrugged, her cheeks flaming a gorgeous pink.

The watch itself was nice, but the inscription she'd had engraved on the back had rocked him.

I loved you at your darkest. Always, Wil

All those years when he'd felt alone, she'd loved him. The double meaning had not been lost on him, and every time he thought about it, he had to touch her. Ashton set down his half-eaten sandwich and crawled across the blanket. Willow lowered her glass to the hardwood and patted the carpet beside her with a slow smile.

Ashton gathered her into his arms and gazed into those exquisite dark eyes that still held countless mysteries he needed to discover. He tucked a wave of silken hair behind her ear as her hands ran up and down his back, igniting tiny sparks across his skin and filling him with the best kind of heat. His eyes drifted to her lips and then back to her eyes. “I've spent years burying my emotions, but when I touch you . . . it's like they all come rushing back at once.”

She lifted a hand to his face, and even without words he knew she understood him. Ashton's heart was so full he thought it might explode. He felt superhuman, like he could scale a mountain with his bare hands or cure world hunger in a single day. Melodies swirled inside his head and wrapped around his soul. Songs had been written about this feeling since the beginning of human history, and he could see why.

He brushed his thumb across the gentle slope of her chin. “Wil, I told you once that I won't make promises to you that I can't keep, so for now all I want is to see you tomorrow.”
He placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. “And the day after that.” He kissed the rounded curve of her cheek. “And the day after that.”

And
all
the days after that, but he kept that part to himself as he kissed her lips.