Gilt Hollow (4 page)

Brayden's gaze shifted to his battered blue-and-white Chucks. “I'd like to take you out sometime.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Coffee or something. No big.”

Willow surprised herself by saying, “Sure.” She'd never been on a date, and despite her earlier freak-out, she liked him.

His cinnamon-brown eyes sparkled. “Cool! Gino's? Friday, after the football game?”

“Okay.” She'd forgotten he played on the team. She never went to football games or any other social events. Maybe he was right. All these years, she'd thought people avoided her. But maybe she'd been the one to pull away.

“I guess you heard the rumor?”

Suddenly wanting to talk about anything but herself, Willow pulled her legs up and crossed them in front of her. “Not unless you're referring to the buzz about the next installment of the Marvel franchise. 'Cause I'm totally on board with Loki getting his own movie.”

Brayden barked a short laugh, but it melted quickly into a frown. “I'm not sure I should be the one to tell you this, but . . .” He became intent on poking the tip of his shoe-lace into each one of the metal holes in his Converse. “It's why I came out here, actually. I needed some time to process the news.”

Something sparked in Willow's gut, a completely illogical
warning that dried out her mouth and made her palms sweat. “What news?”

He glanced up under the fall of his bangs. “I heard Ashton got released early.”

“What? How?” she managed to choke out.

“Isaiah Kagawa told me. You know him, right?”

“Yes.” She didn't really
know
Isaiah, but he'd been one of the boys at the falls the day Daniel died. His dad was also the chief of police.

“You're trembling.” Brayden rubbed her shoulder.

Willow felt the rough boards of the tree house press into her back. She pulled away from his touch and shot to her feet. “I . . . I have to go. My mom will be looking for me.”

“Willow, I—”

“It's fine.” Willow shook her head. “I'm fine.” She needed to be alone so she could think.

Brayden watched her, his brow furrowed. “I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought you should know.”

Willow kept talking as she climbed down the ladder. “Thanks for . . . telling me. See you at school tomorrow.”

She jumped down the last few rungs and landed with a jolt. But before she could escape, something skittered across the ground and came to rest on the white strap of her flip-flop. She bent and picked up the piece of trash and sucked in a sharp breath. Trader Joe's Swiss dark chocolate with hazelnuts.

Ashton's favorite.

A
shton turned onto Main Street, and a cluster of people his age rushed toward him. Not ready to make a comeback while wearing his dad's old clothes, he tugged his cap lower over his eyes and focused on the scuffed toes of his boots. The group funneled around him without a backward glance and filed into Gino's Cappuccinos. Ashton blew out a breath and raised his head, pushing down his nerves. Not that they would've recognized him anyway. He'd grown almost a foot since he'd gone away.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled down the familiar tree-lined street. The town felt different but looked the same. This place that had once been his wonderland had become a means to an end.

He walked around a group of musicians squatted cross-legged in the middle of the sidewalk having an impromptu jam session. Then he peered into the bookstore with the same old dust-coated volumes piled to the ceiling and the same tired Christmas track blaring from the open door. He paused, shocked to see the fat orange-and-white tabby in the window. Memories of a girl with wide dark eyes and a long ponytail petting the enormous cat caused an uncomfortable expansion in his chest. That girl no longer existed to him.

Forcing his fists to unclench, he turned away and almost smacked into a guy wearing a pink tutu and black high-top Converse. “Excuse me, sugar.” The guy's black-lined eyes gave Ashton the once-over as he passed.

Patting the string bag on his back to make sure it was still secure, he continued on.

His father used to say that if the people of Gilt Hollow got any more open-minded, their brains would fall out. Ashton didn't know if he agreed—he just hoped their open-mindedness extended to him. Otherwise his plan would end with him driven out of town by an angry pitchfork-wielding mob, or, worst case, back in lockup.

When he'd returned, he hadn't expected to find the house inhabited. So he'd snuck in through the kitchen window, grabbed some supplies, and headed to sleep in the tree house. Considering he had zero experience with breaking and entering, it was no surprise that he'd totally botched it. And when he turned back to see if he'd woken anyone, the outline of a girl stood in the upstairs window. He was lucky whoever it was hadn't called the cops.

But in desperate need of cash, he'd snuck back into the house earlier that day, grabbed some clothes, and searched the attic for something he could sell. When he'd found Gram's old record collection, it felt like an answer from heaven. He had been his grandparents' favorite, and they'd left him all of their belongings, including his grandfather's motorcycle collection—which he planned to dig out of the garage as soon as he figured out how to convince the current tenants that he wasn't some random kid off the street.

But first he needed to see if Twisted Beauty was still in business. The store was so “exclusive” it didn't have a sign. Ashton turned into the tiny clothing boutique and climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor, where the pounding guitar riff to “Back in Black” greeted him. Ashton smirked at the irony.

Rock posters lined the walls of the small landing. Ashton
poked his head around the corner. Wooden bins of LPs filled the room, and the familiar smell of molded plastic laced with dust and a bit of herbal remedy drew him in. Ashton had spent many hours in this stuffy, second-floor shop, running his fingers over the accordion of colorful covers, helping sort stock, and learning to appreciate real music. Behind the counter, the owner, Jeff White, screeched into an invisible microphone.

“Still rockin' the classics, old man?”

Jeff glanced up mid-headbang, flicked shaggy bangs out of his eyes, and then lowered his fist by slow degrees. “Ashton? Is that you?”

So much for not being easily recognized
.

Ashton tugged off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah.”

Jeff leaned over and turned the music down. “How you doin', kid?”

Ashton met Jeff's unwavering gaze. When he saw no fear or condemnation in the man's clear gray eyes, the tightness in his chest released. “I can't complain.” He shrugged and thumbed through the movie soundtrack section.

“Are you in town to stay?” Jeff leaned on the counter, the sun streaming through the windows behind him highlighting the silver streaks in his brown hair.

“For now.” Ashton picked up a double album of an old musical he'd liked as a kid. He and Willow had watched the DVD until it warped. He dropped it back into its slot like it burned his fingers.

“If you need anything, kid, anything at all, just say the word. My couch is open if you need a place to crash. It ain't much, but it's cushioned more important butts than yours.” He chuckled at his own joke.

Ashton slanted a glance at the shop owner. “You still giving cash for vinyl?”

“You know it! Whatcha' got for me?”

“How about the Beatles's
Can't Buy Me Love
?”

Several beats of silence passed. Ashton glanced up to find Jeff's jaw unhinged. “You better not be yankin' my chain, kid.”

A grin tilted up one side of Ashton's mouth as he lifted the record from his bag and placed it on the counter. “Nope. It's the original 45.”

“Hot dang! This thing's worth a small fortune.” He ran his fingers over the mint-condition cover reverently. “Where'd you get it?”

Ashton's jaw locked up. He couldn't tell if the guy thought he'd stolen it or if he was just curious. But he sure as heck hadn't come here to defend himself. He narrowed his gaze and growled, “Do you want to buy it or not?”

Jeff's eyes widened and he took a step back. “Sure . . . sure . . . of course.” Then he blinked, as if remembering he'd known Ashton most of his life, and a goofy grin spread across his face. “Does Steven Tyler wear leather pants?”

The tension left Ashton's shoulders. “How much will you give me for it?”

Jeff moved over to his computer and typed in silence for several moments. Practically vibrating with excitement, he turned back to Ashton. “How does five hundred sound?”

Ashton knew his records, and this thing may not be the holy grail—that would be John Lennon and Yoko Ono's
Double Fantasy
—but he wasn't about to get screwed on the deal either. “You know it's worth four times that, Jeff.”

“True . . . but I have to put up the cash not knowing what I'll make in return.” He perched on a stool and began typing
again. Ashton thumbed through the selection of singles, a dull pain radiating through his lower back. He lifted his arms and stretched, popping several vertebrae. He'd slept like a baby the first night. The fresh breeze flowing through the tree house tasted like freedom. The second night had been a different story. Crashing on a stoner's sofa wasn't the answer though. Jeff may be cool, but Ashton needed to stay as far away from illegal activity as possible. Maybe he could convince the tenants living in his house to break their lease early. He had a home visit from his parole officer coming up in less than a week.

“Eight hundred is my final offer.”

Ashton strolled back to the counter. “I've got more where this came from . . .” He let his words trail off as Jeff's gaze sharpened like a laser. The others weren't worth as much as this one, but together it would be enough for food, school fees and supplies, and some clothes that didn't stink like mothballs. “Make it a grand, and it's a deal.”

“Okay, kid, but just because I know you.”

Ashton nodded, already imagining the reaction of his “friends” when he walked through the doors of Gilt Hollow High. It was time for some payback.

D
o you think he'll come back here?” Lisa asked as she laid a slinky black skirt on top of the growing pile of clothes in Willow's arms.

The logical part of Willow's brain told her Ashton would never return—to the scene of the crime, where Daniel's parents still grieved, where he would forever be seen as a criminal. But the part of her that knew Ashton Keller better than anyone else on the planet knew he'd never run from a challenge in his life.

The question that wouldn't stop playing through her mind since she'd heard he was released, since she'd seen that freaking candy wrapper, was whether or not she
wanted
him to return. She'd tried to reach him for almost a year after his conviction, but with every day she didn't hear from him, her heart had broken a little more. And even though she'd never admit it to anyone, she began to wonder if the darkness she'd seen growing in him after her father passed had eclipsed the Ashton she used to know—the boy in her daydreams.

“Willow?”

Recalling the shadowed figure she'd seen watching the house, Willow suppressed a shiver and forced her attention back to her friend.

“Or will he go to . . . Where did you say his parents moved—Columbus?”

“Cincinnati,” Willow corrected. “Not sure.” Willow mouthed a relieved “thank you” as she unloaded her burdens into the arms of a clerk.

“What's your favorite color?” Lisa called from behind a multihued display. “Or more importantly, what's Brayden's favorite color?”

“I have
no
idea.” A scarlet halter dress appeared in her arms as if by magic.

“All boys like red,” Lisa pronounced as she flounced over to the jewelry counter.

They were shopping for her date—even if she didn't know if that's what it was—at the only upscale boutique in town. Lisa had turned her nose up at every other clothing store they entered, declaring them “too hippie,” “too vintage,” “too . . . disgusting!”

Unemployed—again. The money Willow had managed to scrounge together wouldn't go far. She turned toward the fitting rooms. “I'm going to start trying stuff on.”

Lisa was close behind. “I found the perfect necklace for that dress!”

Willow stared at the rainbow of clothing hanging in her fitting room. The majority of it was way out of her comfort zone. She gravitated toward muted colors and comfortable fabrics. But she had to admit, the jewel tones Lisa had picked out for her were gorgeous. She selected a sapphire-blue sweater and held it up under her chin.

Lisa yanked open the door and appeared in the mirror behind her. “That blue really makes your eyes pop. Try it on,” she ordered as she slammed the door.

Willow drew her loose gray shirt over her head.

“And take those glasses off!”

“Oh. My. Gosh. Bossy much?” Willow laughed as she removed her cat-eye frames and placed them in her purse. Ever since Lisa learned the glasses were only for seeing at a distance, she'd been bugging her to ditch them. Willow
slipped on a pair of soft charcoal leggings and turned to admire how long they made her legs look. And they were comfortable.

She opened the door and met Lisa at the three-way mirror. Her friend wore a sleeveless jumpsuit that managed to look relaxed and chic at the same time.

“That really is your color. Wait—” Lisa jogged into her dressing room and came back out with a wide belt that she looped around Willow's waist. “Voila! Instant figure.”

A blast of bass shook the mirrors in front of them.

“What's up there? A rave? It's five o'clock on a Wednesday. Geez, this town is weird.” Lisa turned and looked over her shoulder to check out the back view of her outfit.

“It's a record store.” Willow adjusted the belt on her hips. “I love that jumper, by the way. I could never pull it off, but it looks great on you.”

Lisa's blue eyes met hers in the mirror. “A record of what?”

“You know, albums. Are you sure you're from a big city?”

“Yes, genius, but record stores are only for stoners and old guys reliving their glory days.” Lisa smirked. “Now go try on that sexy red dress.”

Willow did as ordered, and after ten more outfit changes they were at the checkout. The prices more reasonable than anticipated, she decided on the leggings and blue tunic, as well as the scarlet halter dress. She had no clue when she would wear it, but it actually made her look curvy instead of like a stick figure.

“Want to grab dinner?” Lisa asked as she paid for her jumper and three other outfits with matching accessories.

“Can't. I've got homework.” Anxiety churned in Willow's gut. For the second night in a row, she'd barely slept, and now she had at least three hours of studying ahead of her. A huge
yawn escaped and she covered her mouth. If she didn't fall asleep first. This was exactly why she never procrastinated.

Ready to be home, Willow gathered her bags and they made their way toward the door.

“Do you want to go to the game with me Friday night?” Lisa asked, stopping to admire a black tulle skirt. “Oh, I love this!”

“I think you've bought enough, and that's way too Madonna,” Willow teased as she tugged Lisa away. “And yes, going to the game sounds fun.” After talking to Brayden yesterday, she'd realized she'd spent too much time worrying about what other people thought of her. She had a new friend and a date with one of the most popular boys in school. It was time to let go of the past and live her life. Enjoy her senior year.

“You should come to my house first. I'll do your makeup for your date with Braaayden.”

“If you say his name like that again, deal's off,” Willow threatened.

Just as they reached the cramped entryway, a guy came out of the stairwell from the record shop. Tall with the lean muscles of an athlete, his T-shirt stretched tight across his chest and shoulders, a black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Something about the way his dark hair curled against the olive skin of his neck, the way he moved . . . she
knew
him. As he reached out to push open the door, he turned, and Willow's heart dropped into her feet.

Ashton
.

Time seemed to stop as they stared at one another.

He was still Ashton, but transformed, as if a sculptor had chiseled away the softness of his face to reveal the sharp angles beneath. Broad cheekbones, strong chin, square jaw
clenched tight. But his eyes were the same deep blue of a lake at midnight. He was Ashton all right, but all grown up.

Then something clicked behind his gaze and turned hot like a gas flame igniting. Willow sucked in a sharp breath as the planes of his face hardened into a mask of rage.

And for the first time in four years, Willow believed Ashton Keller was capable of murder.