Made of Stars (5 page)

But I don’t. I just stare down at him, wondering if I imagined it. Wondering if I’m over-thinking, because there are a million ways a person can get a bruise on his hip, and Chance is not exactly the most graceful of creatures. Besides, he’d probably think I was a freak for having been staring to begin with. Maybe something
is
wrong with me, seeing as all that staring and visually tracing that tattoo with my eyes has left me a little uncomfortable. His close proximity in the bed isn’t doing a thing to help how warm my face has gotten, either.

We aren’t kids anymore, so I wonder if this isn’t okay like it used to be. Maybe I should tell him, but I can’t think of a way to word it that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. Chance doesn’t see things like most people do. We used to share a bed, he would say, so what changed?

He stretches out on his back and stares up at the stars on the ceiling. Lifting a hand, he points. “It’s glowing bright tonight.” Without taking my eyes off him, I know he’s talking about Draco.

“They’re plastic stars, Chance,” I say. “They all glow about the same.”

A crease forms between his brows. “Nuh uh. Look at it. The dragon is brightest.”

His cold fingers grab my face, turning it to look up. Bizarre. I could swear that he’s right. As though by saying it, the stars forming his favorite constellation are brighter than the others. I smile a little, made difficult by his fingers pressing into my cheeks, but he doesn’t let go.

“Nah. Looks the same.”

“Don’t be difficult. You’re still in trouble for lying to me.”

Oh. So much for the hope he’d let that slide. The stars give me something to focus on. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”

“If it weren’t a big deal, you would’ve mentioned it.” His gaze burns into me. “Rachael’s feelings would probably be hurt.”

No
probably
about it. Rachael has always been insecure about how invested I am in our relationship. No matter what I’ve tried to do to change that over the year we’ve been together, nothing seems to help. Over the last few months, my resolve for trying has weakened.

Except what I said on the phone to her… How much is that going to change things? It has the potential to make them a lot better, but knowing my luck, it’ll make everything a hundred times worse. Because what am I going to do the next time she calls and says
I love you
? Say it back even when I don’t mean it? Skirt around it, which will inevitably lead to questions or an argument?

Chance rolls onto his side to face me. “What’s she like?”

I really don’t want to be talking to him about her. I’m not ready to take these two polar opposites and try to crush them together. His scrutinizing gaze makes me shift restlessly, itching to get out of bed. “She’s kind of intense, a little critical, but hard-working. She’s smart.” Rachael’s intelligence is the first thing I think of when someone asks me about her. There’s
nothing
she can’t learn. She used to tutor me in subjects I had a hard time with. She’s the kind of girl who would read up on history before visiting a museum and probably know more than the tour guide once she got there.

“Is she hot?”

“She’s beautiful, yeah.”

“Blond hair?”

“Black. About Ash’s height, I guess.” I finally look over. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

He shrugs, dropping his gaze, plucking some lint from the borrowed shirt. “Trying to imagine it.”

“Imagine…?”

“She’s this phantom person in my head. I’m trying to picture you with her.”

Might as well give him warning. “You can meet her. She’s coming out for Christmas.”

Chance rolls away from me, yanking the covers up to his chin. “That ought to be…interesting.”

I feel like I’ve missed some vital part of this conversation. But that’s Chance—always more aware of what’s being said and not being said. I almost apologize to him again and bite my tongue. Better to let it go. Give him some time to get over whatever it is that’s bothering him. So I settle beside him, the TV flickering quietly, the stars shining from the ceiling, and nothing but an inch of space separating Chance’s body from mine.

December

Ashlin

Mom hardly believes me when I tell her I got a job.

“Why would you do that?” she asks on the phone, completely bewildered. “I’ve been putting money in your account. Your father isn’t blowing it on booze, is he? I swear to God, if he is…”

I roll my eyes, contemplating the merits of hanging up on her. It’s like this every time we talk. She hates that I’m out here. Can’t seem to accept that Dad does the best he can with us. He always has. I think she’s waiting for Dad to mess up with me because he did with her and Hunter’s mom.

“Dad doesn’t drink, Mom. And I doubt he realizes you give me money.”

“
Oh, great! So he thinks I’m some deadbeat parent not taking care of my girl—”

“Breakfast is ready, and Hunt is waiting for me. Love you. Bye.” She’s still going on when I hang up the phone.

I’m offended she doesn’t think I’m capable of holding down work. It isn’t like I’ve never
tried
before—just never needed to. Hunter has had a bunch of part-time jobs over the years, but he and his mom aren’t as well off as me and mine. Dad always sent child-support, but if anyone has spent anyone’s money on booze, it’s probably Carol’s boyfriend, Bob.

Hunter is waiting for me downstairs. I started at the bookstore the first week of December, and Hunt landed a job a few blocks away stocking shelves at a grocery store, so it’s convenient for us to ride together.

Chance wasn’t happy about this. He made a lot of faces at the idea of us having so much of our free time monopolized, even though we pointed out the extra cash would let us take more trips farther from town, which we’ve already explored from top to bottom. He wasn’t at all pacified—not until he realized he could hang around the bookstore all day and read while I worked the counter.

Sometimes, he comes up to ask me and the other girls questions—”Where can I find self-help books on male pregnancy?” “Where do you keep the dirty magazines?” “I’m looking for a copy of the bible. Where’s your nonfiction area?”—just to see how far he can push my coworkers. Thank God they got used to him quickly.

Dad, on the other hand, was absolutely thrilled we took the initiative and are doing something productive with our time. Even if this year was meant to be our “time off” before settling on colleges, I know he thinks it’s wasted lying around the house all day. Which is why he beams at me when I come downstairs, already done with his own breakfast.

Hunter is halfway through devouring his food, and mine sits on the table, untouched. Isobel must have been by early this morning to check on Dad and cook breakfast. Really, a nurse isn’t needed for Dad anymore. A fact he glosses over when I’ve asked him why he and Isobel still spend so much time together.

Not that it’s a bad thing. At all. I adore Isobel, and it made me feel less worried being away from Dad so much for two years knowing someone was at his side, taking good care of him.

“They keeping you busy at that shop?” Dad asks.

I sink into my chair. “Sure. It’s getting close to Christmas, so there’s plenty to do.” Not that our town has a crapload of business, but we’re never left idle.

The back door creaks open. I hear Chance stomping his feet on the welcome mat before venturing inside, greeting us with a smile. “
Hola
, neighbors. Morning, Mr. J.”

Dad gives a nod of his head. “More food on the stove. Help yourself.”

As though Chance needs to be told twice. He snatches the remaining strips of bacon and at least tries to display some semblance of manners as he wolfs them down. You would think his parents never feed him.

Though after seeing his house that day and meeting his mom, one has to wonder. Mrs. Harvey didn’t exactly strike me as the always-traveling-with-a-well-paying-job sort of mom like Chance told us she was.

“Have you thought about getting yourself a job, too, Chance?” Dad asks. “Maybe one of these two could get you a position at their places.”

Hunter snorts and nearly chokes on his milk. I bite back a grin as Chance shoots him an offended scowl. “I don’t think Lotsa Books or Pappy’s Groceries are really the kind of jobs Chance would enjoy,” I say.

Chance shoves another piece of bacon into his mouth. “Why not? I could do it. I can lift stuff.”

“And talk to customers?” Hunter asks.

“And talk to customers. Sure. I love people!”

Liar, liar. Chance thinks most people in this town are dull and idiotic. Can’t say I blame him, especially after having interacted with so many of them at work. But he can be perfectly charming when he wants to be.

“He wouldn’t always have a way to get there,” Hunt points out. “We’re already struggling with one car between Ash and me.”

Chance slouches into the seat beside me, munching away. “I don’t know. Maybe that car out front is for me.”

Hunter lowers his fork. He and I exchange glances before looking to Dad. In unison: “Car?”

Dad heaves a dramatic sigh. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag.” He pulls a set of keys from his pocket and slides them across the table. They come to a halt after clinking against my plate. I stare down at them, fascinated.

“Car?” Hunter repeats, equally in awe.

“Figured you two needed something of your own to get around in. And cramming all three of you into the Toyota’s a bit of a tight fit, isn’t it?”

It is, though we’ve never complained. Sometimes, Chance likes to ride in back, standing up at red lights and pounding on the roof in (what he insists is) Morse code. We won’t mention that to Dad.

“Nothing special or pretty.” Dad shoves his chair back, grabs his cane, and rises to his feet with a grunt. “You gonna go have a look or what?”

Hunter and I scramble out of our seats to dash outside. Chance does, too, but only after snatching the bacon off my plate.

Dad’s right about the car not being pretty. It’s probably as old as we are, and the blue paint is chipping in spots. But the tires look brand-new and, as we peer inside, I can tell the interior has been recently redone. It’s big enough to hold all of us, but it isn’t a monster like the truck. I might actually be able to drive it without wanting to close my eyes every time I make a turn.

While Hunt starts it up, I throw my arms around Dad—delicately, of course—and hug him. “You really didn’t have to do this, but thank you.”

He actually
smiles
. A big smile, too. I can’t remember the last time I saw Dad look so pleased, but it’s been a really long time. “Yuh huh.” That’s all he says. No explanation for why he did it or where he got it. Just
yuh huh
and that’s that. Along with, “Thank Isobel when you see her next, too. She’s the one who found it and has been keeping it at her place while I paid to get it fixed up. Now get going or you’ll be late for work.”

I run back inside long enough to get my and Hunter’s things. When I return, Chance has made himself comfortable sprawled across the backseat, and Hunt is messing with the dials. Radio, cassette player (“We’ll have to get a new stereo,” he says), heater. Definitely the heater. Dad waves to us as we pull out of the driveway. And crunch, crunch, crunch, Chance is still eating his bacon, savoring the last piece. I swear, he could eat a whole pig’s worth of the stuff.

“So,” he says. “I think I’ll give this work thing a try.”

Hunter glances at him in the rearview mirror. Despite being ancient, our little car runs surprisingly quiet and smooth. “I can talk to my boss, I guess.”

“Like hell! Not yours. I don’t want to lift crap all day.” He slips a hand between my seat and the door to pinch my arm. “I’ll go work with Ash.”

I giggle and swat at his hand, trying not to sound as pleased as I feel at the idea he’d rather come work with me. “The problem being everybody at my work knows you. You’re the lazy brat who occupies the sofa all day and never puts his books up when he’s done. And you never buy anything, for that matter.”

A lazy smile creeps across Chance’s face. “I’ll get a job, just watch.”

In town, Hunter drops us off first outside the bookstore. Lotsa Books isn’t really a hole-in-the-wall place, compared to some of the other shops in town. I mean, it takes four of us each shift to keep things running smoothly between assisting customers, ringing people out, taking orders, cataloguing the used books, and handling any online purchases we get. I don’t tell Chance that one of the shift leaders, Debbie, has been looking for a fifth person for the holiday season now that things are picking up. No point in getting his hopes up before they shoot him down.

I slip in back to put away my purse and lunch while Chance, I assume, wanders off to troll the aisles and stock up on books to keep him busy. Except when I step out onto the floor with a “Love Books?” apron tied around my waist, I spot him leaning gracelessly across the counter, chatting away to Debbie.

And my only thought is:
oh my God, they’re going to kick him out. Or fire me. Or kick him out and
then
fire me.

Scuttling over, I grab hold of his arm. “Morning, Deb! Um, sorry, Chance was just—”

Debbie waves me off with a roll of her eyes. “He’s talking, Ashlin. Let him finish trying to tell me why in the world I should consider giving him a job.”

Chance throws me a triumphant smile. “As I was saying… There isn’t a book in this store I don’t know how to find by this point. I can sell anything. With Christmas around the corner, isn’t that what you really need? Someone to upsell?” He tips his head, brandishing one of those beautiful and sincere Chance smiles. The smile that Hunter and I are immune to now, and that Deb probably doesn’t believe for a second, but it drives his point home that his pretty face could sell a surround sound system to a deaf man.

Debbie purses her lips, tapping a ballpoint pen against the counter like she always does when she’s thinking. Finally, she looks at me. “Opinions?”

Rock and a hard place. I can’t tell her she shouldn’t hire Chance because he’s too…Chance-like. I can’t imagine him showing up on time every day. Can’t imagine him not snapping at customers when one of them says something he doesn’t like. Sure as hell can’t imagine him taking orders from someone as snippy and temperamental as Debbie can be.