Текст книги "All It Takes"

Автор книги: Sadie Munroe

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Where is it? Where the fuck is it?

There!

My eyes catch on it. Yes! I inch closer, squinting at the dark shape, Star’s question about wolves looping over and over in my mind.

“Hey!” I yell out, waving the light back and forth, trying to get its attention. “Get out of here!”

But as the words leave my mouth, the thing steps out of the shadows, and I catch it in the beam of the flashlight, and my entire body fucking freezes.

Holy. Shit.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Bruiser?

Star

Oh. My. God.

I’ve never seen anything like this.

I thought for sure that the way Ash had tensed up, the way his eyes had darted back and forth across the yard, searching, meant that he was going to turn to me and tell me to get in the house and call animal control. But when his eyes landed on the creature, his grip on my arm didn’t tighten, and he didn’t start pulling me back to the car. Instead his grip loosened until his hand fell from my arm to hang limp at his side, and his eyes turned into dinner plates.

He murmured something and shot forward, through the back gate, straight toward the animal. I opened my mouth to stop him, to scream, to do something. But instead of growling or snarling or backing away—or any number of things the animal could have done—it let out a series of high pitched barks and then raced forward, straight into Ash’s arms.

Holy. Shit.

I’m on the back porch now, but even from here I can see the look on Ash’s face. He’s laughing but at the same time he looks like he’s about a second and a half away from bawling his eyes out. He turns and buries his face in the dog’s neck, even though its dark brown fur is filthy and probably stinks just as bad as anything we’ve found in the yard. He’s on his knees in the patchy grass, the still-damp fabric sinking into the dirt, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He just wraps the massive dog up in his arms, and starts squeezing it like there’s no tomorrow.

The dog, on the other hand, is the image of pure joy. It’s squirming in Ash’s arms like all of its Christmases have come at once, and just the sight of it is making my eyes start to burn.

Fuck.

I didn’t cry when CPS knocked on my mother’s door and took me away. I didn’t cry when I got the call that my mother had died. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to start crying over whatever the hell is going on in front of me, no matter how much my throat is choking up right now.

I turn away and scrub my hands over my face, though. Just in case.

***

Ash starts making his way back over to me once he and the mutt—who actually has a much sweeter disposition than his appearance led me to believe—have calmed down enough for him to introduce us, and I can’t stop thinking about it. About how happy they both look.

Ash can’t stop grinning, and the dog is staring up at him like Ash is the true source of happiness, like he’s got sunbeams and unicorns coming out his butt. It’s . . . pretty cute, actually.

I guess this is what people mean when they say they’re dog people. I’d never seen the appeal before, not after my less than stellar past with my foster mom’s Pomeranian. But I have to admit, I’m starting to come around. Especially when Ash walks over to me, the dog plastered to his side, and introduces us with tears still shining in his eyes. He kind of sniffs and tries to scowl them away, like he’d gotten something in his eye, but we both know why they are there.

“So,” I say. “Not a wolf.”

Ash barks out a kind of strangled-sounding laugh, and scrubs his hands over his face. “Yeah,” he says. “Not so much.”

I let the smile I’ve been trying to tamp down start to sneak through, and plant my free hand on my hip. “You know, you still haven’t answered my were-you-serious-about-the-wolves question.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.” He reaches down to give the dog an affectionate slap on the side. “We’ve got this big guy to protect us.”

“And I’m guessing you know each other,” I say, smirking at him.

“Yeah . . . yeah. Star, this is Bruiser,” he says, and ruffles the mutt’s ears. The dog’s entire body shakes with joy. “He’s my dog.”

The night has cooled down enough that we can actually use the fire pit that we’d unearthed from the ton of junk in the backyard, and Ash tells me the whole story as we get a campfire going. The dog is his, he tells me, as we settle in and start building the sandwiches from the stuff we picked up from the grocery store. He’d left Bruiser with his parents when he’d been put away for the accident—the crash, he called it, because for some reason, he never seems to use the word accident, even though I know that’s what it was—and they hadn’t told him the dog had gotten out and gone missing until he’d gotten back to Avenue.

“I’ve been so fucking angry,” he says, pulling a sliver of roast beef out of his sandwich and tossing it to the dog, who snaps it out of the air like it is nothing. “It’s like . . . I know I’m a fuck-up, okay? But Bruiser? He didn’t do anything. And I just . . . ” He trails off, staring into the fire.

I turn my half-eaten sandwich over in my hands and pull my gaze away from him to stare down at it. “You just wanted him to be taken care of.”

Ash lets out a kind of half-sigh/half-snort, and I look up to find him looking at me. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Exactly.”

The silence stretches out like a ribbon between us, neither of us knowing what to say. Finally, I can’t take it any longer. I take another bite of my sandwich to buy myself a minute, but when I swallow I plaster a smile on my face and look over at him. “So, no offense or anything, but are you sure that he’s your dog? I mean . . . he looks pretty feral.”

“Pfft, feral,” Ash mutters, but I can see the smile tugging on the side of his mouth. “I’ll show you feral. Watch this.” He reaches down and picks up the bag of potato chips he’d snagged from the grocery store at the last minute, claiming that after all our hard work and all that swimming, mere sandwiches wouldn’t be enough for his quote-unquote “manly hunger.” He rips the bag open, and the dog is instantly on high alert, pinning the bag with a stare that any body guard would be proud of.

“Sit,” Ash says, and before the word has even completely left his lips, the dog’s butt hits the ground. His tail’s wagging so hard it’s thumping against the dirt, drawing dust up into the air, and he watches as Ash pulls out a single large chip and holds it out to him, telling the dog to wait. Bruiser looks between Ash’s face and the proffered chip over and over again, and I laugh at the look on his face. Half obedience, half betrayal, and one hundred percent Seriously? You’re making me do this right now? But he doesn’t make a move toward it. He barely even breathes.

Finally, after long seconds have passed, Ash says “okay,” and the dog darts forward and snaps the chip up. The animated crunching that follows is honestly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and something inside of me is torn between laughing and melting at the sight.

“Nope,” he says, smiling at me as Bruiser licks his chops and starts rooting around, looking for more treats. Ash just looks down and shakes his head at the dog, grinning, until Bruiser finally gives up and makes his way over to me instead. I’m lost in that moment, that instant of us together in my mother’s backyard, sitting by the fire. Because in those long, drawn-out heartbeats, the sight of Ash’s smile by the light of the fire is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. “He’s definitely my dog.” He rubs the back of his neck before sinking back down into his seat. “I mean, fuck. He’s kinda skinny and he’s got more gray fur than I remember, but it’s definitely him. It’s Bruiser.”

I shove down the warmth that’s spreading through my chest, and lean forward. “So,” I say, reaching out to run a tentative hand down the dog’s back. I’m trying to picture a bigger, heartier version of the dog in front of me, and honestly it’s kind of terrifying. I feel like the dog’s going to turn on me at any moment and snap my fingers off. Just because he seems to adore Ash, doesn’t mean he’ll put up with me touching him. But Bruiser dashes my fears in about two seconds, as he leans into my hand, squirming, pressing closer, so I continue. “Not dangerous, then.”

“Not at all,” Ash says, and then reaches out his left hand to me, pinkie out. “I promise.” I bite my lip and reach out to link my finger with his.

And while we’re mid pinkie-swear, Bruiser sees his opportunity and makes off with the rest of my sandwich.

Chapter 8

Star

I’m settled on the porch steps the next morning, a paper cup of coffee clutched between my hands. It’s absolutely boiling—and for once worthy of the Caution: Hot label on the side—but I didn’t sleep well last night. I was too busy trying to figure out a plan and how to set it into motion, and as a result I ended up getting maybe four hours of sleep. Maybe. At this point I need the coffee like I need to live. And even though I was barely awake, Ash was already hard at work when I arrived, and I’m glad that he’s finally gotten comfortable enough to just do his own thing.

Progress.

He’s puttering around, hauling stuff out to the Dumpster, and at first I think it’s just the heat, but after watching him for a few minutes as I wait for my coffee to cool, I realize that what I’m seeing isn’t just my imagination. Ash is sunburned.

“You know,” I say, trying to force down my smile before it gives me away. “You’re looking a little red about the edges, there.” My smile breaks free and Ash turns even redder at my words. I can’t help it if the guy looks cute with a little pink in his cheeks. He’s more approachable that way, somehow.

“Ugh, I know,” Ash mutters, scrubbing at his ever-so-slightly sunburned neck. “Curse of the blonds. I was always getting burnt when I was a kid. I was kind of hoping I’d grow out of it.”

“I don’t think it’s something you really grow out of,” I tell him, and dig into my purse and pull out a tube of sunblock. “Here.” I toss it to him when he turns around. He looks down at it, clutched in his hands.

“You’ve had this the whole time?” he asks.

“Of course. I need it for the tattoos. The sun messes with them. Also—” I pin him with a smile “—you’re not the only blond around here.”

His eyes narrow on me for a minute, then he shakes his head and pops open the tube, dumping a pile onto his palm, which he then claps on the back of his neck. “You’re messing with me.”

I watch as Bruiser twines around Ash’s legs like a cat, sniffing away like mad. Probably wondering what Ash has in his hands, and if he can eat it. I’ve known this dog less than twenty-four hours, and he’s already tried to eat everything I’ve laid my hands on. It’s a wonder he managed to survive on his own, considering the way he was staring at the station wagon’s tires and licking his chops. I look up and Ash is still looking at me like I’m trying to pull one over on him somehow, so I just shake my head at him and settle back down on the porch. It’s scorching again today. I can barely take it.

“I’m serious,” I say, reaching up and ruffling the roots of my hair. “Totally blonde underneath the dye.”

“I can’t even imagine what that would look like.” He tosses the tube of sunscreen back to me. I fumble it when it hits my hands and it almost goes tumbling to the ground before I manage to get a grip on it. He’s gotten a bunch of the sunscreen on the tube itself, and it’s all greasy now. I sigh and try to scrub it off as best I can, wiping my gooey hands on my legs. Boys.

“It’s better if you don’t,” I say, clicking the cap back into place and dropping the tube back into my bag. Stretching out my leg, I shove Bruiser away with my bare foot, trying to keep him away from my purse. “Stop it. That’s not for you.” He looks up at me with big puppy-dog eyes and I sigh and reach down to ruffle his ears to ease the sting of rejection. This dog is going to be the end of me.

“No, seriously.” Ash steps closer to me, his eyes dancing over my face and hair as a little smirk starts pulling at his lips. “What does it look like?”

“Like Barbie, okay?” I say, exasperated. I can tell he isn’t going to let it go. “If I don’t dye it, I end up looking like I need a hot-pink car to go shopping in. I hate it.”

“That’s so bizarre.” He laughs and I stick my tongue out at him. “No offense, or anything,” he says. “It’s just really hard to picture you like that.”

“I know. And that’s how I want to keep it. It’s not me. Hasn’t been me for a long time.”

Ash sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I know what you mean,” he says, chuckling awkwardly, and I take a sip of my coffee and just look at him for a second when I realize he’s right. If anyone knows what it feels like, it’s Ash. After all he’s been through, everyone around him has just decided who he is and what he’s going to do, even though he’s trying his hardest just to start over. It sucks.

“Well, I figure, fuck it. Right?” He picks up a rake that had been hidden under a pile of boxes just a few minutes ago, its tines stuck deep in the sandy earth. He pries it loose and dusts it off, then uses it as a leaning post as Bruiser sidles up to him and plops down beside him in the one patch of shade. “The people around here, they don’t know you. They don’t know me, either. So fuck them. I’m trying. They’re not. And I just have to accept that. I mean—” he takes a deep breath and blows it out, like he’s trying to calm himself down before he gets too worked up “—if they can’t accept me, then I just have to live with it, I guess.”

I nod, and try to smile even though my heart is breaking for him. “Yeah,” I say. “You’ve paid for what happened. You served your time. If they can’t accept that, well, they’re not your problem.”

“Exactly,” Ash says, but his voice isn’t as upbeat as I was hoping it would be. Instead, he’s just . . . resigned. He tugs the rake free from the ground and walks it over to the shed, leaning it against the siding next to the shovel and all the other gardening tools we’ve found so far. I don’t know why my mother even had all these things. She never gardened a day in her life. Her yard didn’t even have room for a garden, not the way it was covered in junk.

“So,” Ash says, making his way back over to where I’m sitting on the porch. He draws out the word into three long syllables as I glance up from the box I’m sorting through. I raise my eyebrows at him, waiting.

“Yes?”

“Change of topic,” he says, and shoves his hands into his pockets. It’s hot enough out today that he’s ditched his hoodie, but his T-shirt is back in place. It’s a shame.

A damn shame.

“What’s with the other tattoo?”

“What?” I ask, my brain taking a minute to catch up. For an instant I’m terrified that he caught me sneaking looks at him, but when I look at his face, there’s no mocking or anger. Just curiosity. He jerks his chin toward me, and I realize he’s talking about my tattoos, not his.

“The one on your upper arm,” he says. “What does it say?”

When I realize which one he’s talking about, I can’t help it. I start laughing, because the irony is just ridiculous. He’s scowling at me a little, though, so I shake it off and clear my throat before I answer him. “It’s an old Polish saying,” I say. “It’s a saying that a friend of mine used to use all the time.” Because Roth made me work for the meaning, even though he said it every chance he got. So I’m just upholding the tradition.

“Yeah,” Ash says, rolling his eyes. “I know it’s Polish. Well, no, I don’t. But I can tell it’s not in English since I can’t fucking read it. What I want to know is what does it mean?”

I want to tell him, want to see the smile spread across his face when he realizes just what it says. But even though he smiles around me all the time, I know he isn’t happy. Not really.

I can change that. At least, I think I can. I hope. But it needs to be one thing at a time. He needs to know that all the good doesn’t just come at once and then get snatched away. There’s good in life all the time, and he deserves his fair share, no matter how bad he messed up.

“Well,” I say, drawing the word out just like he had. “I’ll give you a choice.” I set my cup of coffee down on the step next to me, and reach for my purse, pulling it into my lap. “You can either have what my tattoo means, or—” I pull out the little blue plastic bag I’d shoved in there earlier and hold it up “—you can have the present I got you.”

Ash kind of blinks at me for a second, confused. “Present?” he asks, and as I watch, his face goes through half a dozen emotions, from confused to wary to downright suspicious before ending up at hopeful in a matter of seconds. But I can still see the caution in his hopeful gaze, and it pulls at something in my chest. How long has it been since the last time he got a present? No strings attached. Just a simple gift from someone trying to put a smile on his face.

Something tells me it’s been awhile.

A long while. At least five years.

The bag trembles in my hand as I try to swallow around the lump forming in my throat. “Yeah,” I say, waving the bag back and forth a little bit, hoping to tempt him. “A present.”

Luckily for me, the store is too small to brand their bags, because otherwise it would have given away the surprise. I try not to think too hard about the fact that I really want to surprise Ash.

“You . . . ” As I watch, Ash takes a shaky breath and blows it out, reaching up to run a nervous hand through his hair. It sticks up in all directions, and he looks like a little kid. It’s awkward and adorable at the same time. If only the rest of the people in Avenue could see Ash like I do. All of his problems would be gone. “You actually bought me a present. Like, actually went out and bought me something.” He stares at me like he’s expecting me to respond, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I did, so I stay quiet until he breaks and asks, “Why?”

I can’t quite manage to stifle the groan that fights its way out of my chest. “Because I wanted to, okay?. And I bought it because I knew it was the one thing that we’d never find in this damn house.” Which is absolutely true. No matter how much random junk and crap my mother had laid her hands on, I knew that this wasn’t one of them. My mother never wanted anything to do with pets or animals in her house, especially after my dad died. “So what’s it gonna be?” I ask, and waggle the bag at him. “The present, or the tattoo? It’s your choice.”

I know what his choice is even before he makes a move, but I still can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face when he steps forward and takes the bag from me. Nor can I stop the warmth that spreads in my belly at the sight of his shy smile. I knew he’d like it, I think as he opens the bag and his shy smile turns into a freaking sunbeam. Bruiser is twining around his legs like a puppy, his tail going crazy with excitement as Ash pulls out the collar and leash combo I’d purchased that morning.

“I hope it’s big enough,” I say, kicking my legs out in front of me so that I can lean back against the wooden deck post. “I kind of had to guess.” Which hadn’t been easy. Even the pet-store people in this town seemed to have it out for me. The guy in the store had followed me around the entire time I’d been in there, and had eyed me like I was some kind of master criminal who was after his bags of kitty litter. It was unnatural.

Ash looks up at me, and I’m taken aback by the tears in his eyes. “Thank you,” he says and then hesitates. He wants to say something else. I know it. But instead he just reaches up with his free hand and scrubs away his tears before they fall. Then he leans down and starts putting the collar on Bruiser.

The silence between us grows until it becomes unbearable, so I pull myself to my feet and wipe my hands against my shorts.

“Come on,” I say awkwardly, trying to look anywhere but at Ash. “We should get back to work.”

***

I watch as Ash pulls the loaded-up station wagon out of the driveway and chugs along down the street. Finally, as it turns the corner and disappears, I let out the breath I’ve been holding for what feels like forever. Good. He’s gone.

It had been easier than I thought it would be, getting him out of here for the afternoon. All I’d had to tell him was that I needed him to take a load of boxes to the thrift store on the other side of town. I’d taken a load there myself the other day, and the quite frankly ancient guy that ran the place had kept me there forever, regaling me with his entire life story. It was torture, but it was more than convenient. It was the only way.

But as soon as Ash is gone, my resolve starts to waver.

This might not be the best idea I’ve ever had, but I don’t have a lot of options. I don’t want to tell Ash, but I’m already running out of money. Renting the Dumpster and getting it hauled away cost way more than I thought it would. And I’m not dipping into my college money. I’m just not. So this is my option.

The shed.

And I need Ash gone if I am going to get this to work. Because he’d probably try to talk me out of it if he knew what I am thinking, but really, what other option do I have?

At least it’s summer, I tell myself. And while it might be boiling inside the garden shed, it will be out of any rain and elements. Basically, it will be the same as if I’d cleared out a room in my mother’s house, since the power is still off in there. Exactly the same.

Except I’ll be living in the shed.

Oh god, I can’t believe I’m doing this.

We finally managed to get the backyard mostly cleared out, and here I am, about to fill it right back up again.

Ash is going to kill me.

***

“Seriously?” Ash demands when he sees what I’ve done to the backyard. He catches sight of me and pins me with a look. “Fucking seriously?”

“I know! I’m sorry,” I say, and I am. I understand his frustration. The backyard is covered again. There was just so much more stuff in the shed than I’d been expecting. I couldn’t find anywhere to put it. But I managed to get it all out and the mattress I’d scrounged from the house in before he got back.

“Seriously? Dammit Star, what the fuck happened?” He’s reaching up and raking the fingers of both hands through his hair, looking around the yard like he’s never seen it before, and to be fair, that’s probably what it feels like. We’d just about gotten used to seeing the same stuff over and over again when we were cleaning before. But all this stuff is new to him. He probably feels like I’ve set us all the way back to the beginning. “Where did this stuff even come from?”

“The shed,” I say, and wave at it over my shoulder.

“Holy crap,” he sighs, and wipes his hand over his face. “Why?”

Okay, I knew this was coming. I take a deep breath and just hope that I can explain this without sounding like a total lunatic.

Ash

I can’t say anything. I know I can’t. I live in a fucking car, so if Star wants to sleep in a garden shed, that’s her business, but still . . .

“This is a really fucking bad plan,” I spit out and then immediately clamp my teeth together to shut myself up. Instead of saying anything else, I just dump the bags of garbage at the curb and turn to walk back toward the yard. Star keeps pace with me, though, dropping the box she was carrying and following me back.

“It’ll be fine,” she says, and her voice is light but I can tell my opposition to this plan is bothering her. Good. Maybe then she’ll change her mind.

“What happened to you being afraid of being eaten by wolves?” I ask, shoving the gate open and stepping back into the yard. It’s taken us all day to get it back to where it was before, and there’s still tons of stuff that we still need to go through. Apparently some of the stuff in the shed might actually be salvageable, ultimately headed for somewhere other than the dump. Who knew? “Or the fact that, oh yeah, you’d be living outside where anyone could mess with you.”

“Awwww,” she says, and I whip my head around to look at her, just in time to catch her batting her eyelashes at me dramatically. “Are you worried about me, Ash?” You little smart ass, I think, but I can’t help it. I smile at her, and she crows with laughter, having caught me.

“Shut up,” I mutter, and lean down to haul another box of garbage off the ground. “I’m just afraid of who’s going to pay me if you get eaten or dragged off my fucking marauders or something.”

“Marauders,” she repeats, nodding along like she’s humoring me. Like I’m the one acting like an idiot here.

I heft the box up, holding it mostly with one arm so that I can use the other to point at her. “Stop being a smart ass,” I say, and shake my finger at her. “My point still stands.” I drop my arm and use it to support the box. “Maybe I should leave Bruiser here. To protect you.”

“Bruiser,” she repeats, and hearing his name my dog’s ears prick up and he turns to look at her from his seat a couple feet away. She turns to me and rolls her eyes. “You think Bruiser is going to protect me?” she asks, and his tail thumps against the ground at the sound of her voice. She reaches an arm out and makes a finger-gun and points it at him. “Bang,” she says, and my dog just fucking flops over. The traitor.

I never should have showed her that trick. I’ve had the dumb dog back for less than a day, and he’s already turned against me. She turns back to look at me, a smug little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Somehow, I don’t think he’s up for the job,” she says.

I just glare at her over the top of the box. “Shut up. It’s still a bad plan.”

But she just smiles at me, and for the millionth time since we met, I’m struck by just how bizarre my life has become.

At least it couldn’t get any weirder.

Right?