Gilt Hollow (7 page)

Willow cocked her head. His decisive tone almost seemed like a warning. “Why?”

Isaiah stared down at the yellowed linoleum, shuffled his feet, then glanced back up, not meeting her eyes. “A lot of people don't want him here, that's all.”

Willow moved forward slowly. “That's kind of obvious, but you mean someone specific, don't you?”

Yells and the sound of running jerked their attention to the hallway. Willow passed Isaiah and found a circle of students, their excited whispers indicating a fight. Dread twisting in her gut, she pushed to the front of the crowd. Ashton and Colin Martin faced off like two bucks about to lock horns.

“Don't touch me again, Keller.” Colin shoved a finger into Ashton's shoulder. For all his blond prettiness, the varsity quarterback gave Ashton a run for his money in the muscle department.

“You were in my way,” Ashton growled, just before his gaze shifted from Colin and found Willow. As if a switch flipped, the tension leeched out of his shoulders and he stepped back. But before Willow could register relief, Ashton's eyes shuttered and his mouth slid into a dangerous smirk. He may have changed over the years, but that expression still spelled a million kinds of trouble.

Fear burned in Willow's chest, and she took a step forward. Someone had to stop him. He didn't come back here to be expelled the first day. A hand gripped her arm and pulled her back. She glared over her shoulder and found Brayden shaking his head. “Stay out of this,” he hissed.

“What's the problem, Colin?” Ashton had crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance. “Are you
afraid
?”

“What the frick is that supposed to mean?” Colin lurched forward, strands of hair falling out of the knot at the back of his head. “This is
my
school. If anyone should be afraid, it's you.”

As if confirming Colin's words, a few of the other football players raised their fists and began to chant, “Martin! Martin!”

Ashton lifted his chin. “Go ahead, pretty boy. I'll give you a free shot.”

Colin's muscles coiled, but he hesitated. Ashton cocked a brow in challenge.

“Break it up, gentlemen.” Mr. Rush pushed his way in and stood between the two boys.

Colin relaxed, his face taking on a plaintive moue. “I didn't do anything, Mr. Rush. He rammed his shoulder into me.” He rubbed his bicep and grimaced like his arm might be broken.

The boy should skip sports and follow his true calling in the drama club.

“Mr. Keller.” The squatty teacher spun on Ashton. “Violence is not how we conduct ourselves at GHH. This is not juvenile detention!”

Ashton's expression didn't change, but the color drained out of his skin. Recovering quickly, he snapped to attention and raised a hand to his forehead in salute. “Yes, sir!”

Only someone who knew him well would detect the mocking in his voice and the anger darkening his eyes. Mr. Rush wasn't one of those people. He straightened his own rounded posture and gave Ashton a quick nod. “Very good. You may go.”

Obviously, Colin Martin wasn't the only hidden thespian in their midst. The group began to break up, and Willow pulled away from Brayden, striding after Ashton's retreating form. She had to jog to keep up with his long strides. When he turned into a short hallway that led to the quad, Willow called his name.

He stopped, turned to face her, and crossed his arms over his chest. Jaw set in a hard line and brows lowered, he looked so menacing Willow had to fight the urge to turn tail and run. But she'd been running from life long enough. She lifted her chin and met his eyes, the familiar deep blue flecked with gold giving her courage.

“We need to talk.”

T
he bones of Ashton's face appeared to harden beneath his skin. “I have nothing to say.”

To you.
At the unspoken words, a spark flared inside Willow's chest. Being around him was like a knife striking flint, her emotions going from a single flame to a burning inferno in a matter of seconds. She mirrored his stance, crossing her arms and arching a brow. “Does that mean I don't have the right to speak?”

His cheek rippled, and she could hear his teeth grinding as he searched her face. Willow bit the inside of her lip in an effort not to squirm. After several seconds, he clipped, “Then speak.”

She cleared her throat and decided on a direct approach. “You can't stay in the house.”

He took two steps forward, standing so close she could feel his warmth and smell his spiced citrus scent.
How does he still smell the same after all these years?
An involuntary shiver raced down her spine as she tilted her head back to meet his shaded gaze.

“It's
my
house and I'll stay there if I like.” His words were low and controlled, but the underlying threat hovered just beneath the surface. “The question is, what are
you
doing in it?”

Was it possible that he could kick them out? Override the contract they'd signed? Where would they go? Keller House was not only their shelter, but her mother's sole source of income. A change of tactic was in order. Willow took a step
back and broke eye contact. Able to breathe much better with some space between them, she pushed the bangs off her forehead and forced her tone into more polite territory. “My mom signed a contract to take the caretaker job. We moved in last week. She's been working hard to clean up the place, but the last guy let it go for years.”

When Ashton didn't respond, she jerked her gaze back to his face, then wished she hadn't. His mouth had parted as he searched the wall behind her head, his face unguarded for the first time. He dropped his eyes to the floor and scrubbed a hand down the back of his neck. “Just give me some time.”

Without waiting for her reply, he pivoted and pushed out the door.

Willow slumped against the wall as a realization slammed into her—he had nowhere else to go.

■ ■ ■

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Willow didn't see Ashton again and heard rumors he was doing admittance testing. In his absence, he was still all anyone could talk about, with reactions ranging from fear that a “killer” walked among them to twitters from girls about how he wasn't like the other boys—his bad-boy persona only fueling their fascination. Willow found herself thrust into the center of it all and faced their voracious curiosity with as much nonchalance as she could manage.

All the while, her own thoughts swirled in her head. Ashton appeared so strong and independent that she hadn't given a thought to his plans—or lack of options. And why would she? Between his ominous glares and irritating taunts, there hadn't exactly been room for a heartfelt reunion. But she was beginning to see through his facade.

By the time she jogged up the front steps of Keller House after school, she'd decided to talk to her mom about him staying there—temporarily.

The acoustic stylings of James Taylor's “Fire and Rain” greeted her as she entered the house, along with her mom's sweet soprano singing, “But I always thought I'd see you again . . .” Willow dropped her backpack on a chair in the entryway and followed the music to the formal parlor, where her mother had thrown open the damask cream drapes and stood on a ladder cleaning one of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The rounded room with its silk upholstered sofa and matching loveseat wasn't exactly cozy, but she'd been enchanted by it as a kid. She turned in a circle, and as her eyes landed on the curio cabinet packed with colorful hand-painted teacups, saucers, and pots, the urge to have an
Alice in Wonderland
–style tea party came rushing back.

“Oh, hey, Willow.” Mom backed down the ladder and turned the radio off. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” Willow muttered as she perched on the Queen Anne sofa. “Can I talk to you?”

Her mom pulled one of the dust covers back over the edge of the love seat before sitting in her dirt-stained clothes. Willow's belly lurched. The enormity of the favor she was about to ask made her wish she hadn't eaten the cafeteria meat loaf.

“I actually need to talk to you about something as well.” Mom's dark eyes leveled on her face, her full lips pressed tight.

That look—the parental “we need to talk” expression—made Willow sit straighter. Such a rarity in their relationship, it caused her to blurt the first thing that came to her attention. “Hey, that's my T-shirt.”

Mom tugged the shirt away from her slim chest and
glanced at it, the Goonies Never Say Die letters cracked over the faded skull and crossbones logo. Willow had worn it out the summer she turned fourteen—which brought her thoughts back to Ashton.

“Mom, I—”

“Willow—”

They spoke over each other and then both laughed. But it was less like their usual camaraderie and more like a nervous giggle. Curious, Willow conceded. “You go first.”

“I ran into Chief Kagawa at the market today.” She flicked the tail of her dreads behind her shoulder and tilted her head. “Did you know Ashton was back?”

Willow nodded. Isaiah's dad must have told her, and her mom was hurt that she hadn't shared the news. “That's actually what I—”

“Have you seen him? Talked to him?” Her mom's brows lowered, her back stiff as a board.

“Yes . . .” Confused, Willow stumbled over her words. “He . . . er . . . he came to school today.”

“I don't want you associating with him, Willow. I know you were friends once, but he's not the same boy you remember.”

Willow searched her mother's face for signs of fever or possession. This could not be her open-minded, peace-loving parent talking. “How would you know? You haven't seen him in years.”

Mom continued as if she hadn't heard the question. “Chief Kagawa is going to be keeping a sharp eye on him, and I don't want you anywhere nearby if he gets arrested.”

“Arrested?” Willow leaned forward. “Why would he? Do you think he's in town to case the local bank? He just got out of jail!”

Mom slumped back in her seat and pinched the bridge
of her nose. “Willow, I know you cared for him once, but drowning people will only drag you down with them. You may not realize it until you're ten feet under and suffocating, and then it's too late.”

A breeze fluttered through the open window, brushing Willow's exposed skin with an early taste of autumn. She shivered and rubbed her arms against the chill. Ashton had been her
best friend
. She'd spent almost every day with him between the ages of five and fourteen. If Mom thought he was such a monster, why had she allowed the friendship?

Then she recalled overhearing a rare argument between her parents one morning before a trip to the zoo. Although she hadn't been able to make out all the words, Ashton's name had come up repeatedly, and she'd had to tell him he couldn't come with them as they'd planned. It all began to make sense now . . . her mom setting up playdates with prissy little girls Willow had nothing in common with, the sudden enforcement of a nine o'clock curfew—even in the summer—and her best words of comfort after Ashton's conviction: “
Maybe you're better off without him
.” Willow had assumed those words had been her mom's way of trying to comfort her because she didn't know what else to say. But she'd really meant them.

“Why, Mom? What happened to make you feel this way about him?”

“Sweetie, that's not important now.” Mom rose and then sat beside her on the sofa.

“But he has no one,” Willow muttered, staring blindly into space.

Mom took Willow's numb fingers, connected to an arm that felt like boneless rubber. “I never thought we'd have to deal with this . . . never thought he'd come back here since his parents left so long ago. But I don't want you spending
time with him.” She squeezed until Willow met her intense gaze. “Do you understand?”

Where had this woman come from? When did she become judge, jury, and executioner? Fury uncoiled in Willow's chest, heat flooding her neck and cheeks as she stared at her mother.

“All these years, I defended him and you didn't say a word. You watched me suffer under the weight of this town's judgment. Lose my friends, and every job I've ever had, and you said nothing!” Willow yanked her hand back and shot to her feet.

“We raised you to have your own opinions. I just never shared mine.”

Willow whirled. “That you thought he was guilty. That he
killed
Daniel Turano!” It wasn't a question.

Mom crossed her arms under her chest, her chin jutting out. “Regardless. I don't want you seeing him.”

Willow coiled her fingers into fists at her sides to hide their trembling. She'd heard people complain about their unyielding, autocratic parents—something she never thought she'd have to deal with. Angry tears burned her eyes as she spat, “You're nothing like I thought you were. Dad would be ashamed.”

Before she could digest the hurt crumpling her mother's face, she stomped out of the room.

Ashton leaned his head back against the wall, Linkin Park's “Numb” thumping in time with his riotous thoughts. Some things never changed. He'd been blowing off class and
hanging out at Twisted Beauty since he hit middle school. The place was usually dead during the week, just a few Annherst students trickling in between classes. Jeff probably had the internet gods to thank for his ability to stay in business.

Half a day at that cesspit of a school had Ashton beginning to regret the strings his financial attorney had pulled to get him into Gilt Hollow High. The whispers behind his back. The terrified stares, like he might whip out an Uzi and go Call of Duty on their zombie butts. And worst of all, the morbid fascination, being poked at like some kind of circus freak. A kid had actually snapped a picture of him on his cell in the flipping restroom.

In computer science, Yolanda Shepard had plopped down at his lab table, propped her chin on her fist, and ogled him like they hadn't known each other since kindergarten. Ashton had never had a confidence problem. His sister used to tease that he'd been born with a superpower that attracted the opposite sex. But outside of the toothless cafeteria lady at JJC—who used to slip him extra rations—it had been a long time since he'd been around any females. And they were
way
more forward than he remembered.

Yolanda had run her hand down his bicep, her black-lined eyes heating with appreciation. Then she'd invited him to “hang out” at the snack shack by the football field at lunch. He'd let his gaze sweep over her and replied, “If you're looking for a relationship, I'm not interested.”

Her hand found his thigh beneath the table. “We don't need commitment for what I have in mind.”

He should've jumped all over it. She was hot, and part of Colin and Brayden's crowd, but something held him back. Maybe the way she kept glancing over her shoulder to see who was watching. Like being with the ex-convict would solidify
her reputation as a rebel. He'd told her no and moved his leg from under her hand. Before flouncing away, she'd made a comment about it being his loss and spent the rest of the class texting. Probably relaying their conversation to half the school. He'd just have to find another way to infiltrate the Martin cousins' inner circle—one that didn't require him hooking up with a soulless clone.

On second thought, the absolute worst part of his day had been seeing the boys who used to be his friends—Isaiah, Brayden, and Colin Martin. He hadn't been able to look at any of them without the memory of their soulless eyes as they stared down at him from the top of the falls the day of the accident. Bumping into Colin had been an accident, but when Colin had lifted his chin and shot him that smug I-got-you-sucker look, Ashton's instincts had kicked in.

“Hey kid, you want a drag?”

Ashton turned to find Jeff holding out a hand-rolled cigarette, a tendril of pungent smoke curling to the ceiling. He shook his head and offered a grin. “In case you haven't noticed, I'm like half a foot taller than you. I'm not exactly a kid anymore.”

Jeff took a long drag, walked to the open window, and shrugged. “You are to me. You've got your whole life ahead of you.” He swept his arm wide.

Great. Ashton had forgotten how Jeff loved to wax philosophical. He used to find it funny, but right then he couldn't think past the next day, let alone his undefinable future. Mr. Zane Ponytail Reed would be coming to Keller House tomorrow for his first parole visit, and Ashton had no freaking clue what to do about it.