All It Takes Read online

  Then I remember the scars, and I come crashing back down to reality. Shit. That’s why I hadn’t wanted to take my shirt off in the first place. I glance down at them. She hasn’t said anything yet, but I know how bad they look. My entire side is criss-crossed, and there’s one jagged one that looks like something tried to tear me in half. The funny thing is, my wounds from the crash look a hell of a lot worse than they ever were. I was messed up, yeah, but nothing vital was hit. I was never in any real danger.

  The guy I hit, on the other hand, all he got was a bump on the head, and that was it for him. Lights out. It fucking sucks.

  I hate the scars, but they’re important to me like almost nothing else ever has been. They’re my reminder. Every time I see them, I have to remember what I did, how I fucked up and caused the death of another human being. And I have to live with that.

  Shoving down the urge to scoop my shirt back up off the rock and pull it back on, I look over at Star. Our eyes meet, and she looks a little sad.

  Fuck.

  She opens her mouth, and since I don’t want to talk about it, about the crash, about the guy I killed, about any of it, I cut her off before she can say anything. “You gonna join me?” I ask, and nod toward the water. She kind of blinks at me for a second, like she’s trying to decide whether or not to let me have my diversion, but then a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

  “Maybe I want you to see how cold it is, first.”

  “Oh, I see how it is,” I say, smirking. “You want to see if I’m gonna freeze my balls off when I jump in. Gonna leave it all on my shoulders, huh?”

  “Well, swimming was your idea,” she says, and leans back against the rock.

  “Fine, then,” I say, and start climbing back over the rocks, away from the shoreline.

  “Hey!” she says, turning to watch me go. “Where are you going? I thought you were going in.”

  “I am,” I tell her, and turn back around.

  “Hard to do that from way over there. What? You chickening out already?”

  I shake a finger at her. “You’re going to regret saying that in a minute,” I say. Then I drop my arm, bounce a little on the balls of my feet and start running toward the water.

  I race through the forest, bare feet pounding against the dirt, and as soon as my feet hit rock, I do what I haven’t done in five whole years.

  I close my eyes. I jump.

  I fly.

  In that moment, there’s nothing. Nothing but the wind in my face and the feeling of weightlessness before I come crashing down. And this . . .

  This is the hardest part, the shock of the cold all around you when you first hit the water. It moves through your body in a jolt, like an electric shock gone wrong.

  It gets to me every damn time, and this time is no different. Still reeling from the cold, I feel my feet hit the bottom of the lake bed, and I shove against it, propelling myself back to the surface. I spin around, searching for Star, and find her on her feet, sputtering, dripping with water. I grin. I knew my splash would get her.

  “I told you so!” I yell. And she looks over and glares at me.

  “You’re a jerk,” she calls back, wiping her hands down her arms to get the droplets of water off her.

  I laugh. “Well, you’re already wet now,” I call out to her. “You might as well come in.” I’m not gonna lie, the sight of Star dripping wet in front of me is doing things to me. Even through the chill of the water, I can feel the heat that courses through my body at the mere thought of her with her soaked clothes sticking to her.

  Down boy, I tell myself. No perving on Star. We’ve fucking established this.

  “Turn around,” Star calls from the shore.

  What?

  “What?” I yell back. It’s weird how loud the water is once you’re actually on it. All I can hear is the sound of the waves around me, the echoes of the splashing and laughter from the beach across the way. Why the hell would she want me to turn around?

  “Just turn around, Ash,” she says, planting her hands on her hips and giving me a little glare that’s honestly not doing anything to make the heat in my belly die down.

  “Ugh, fine,” I say, and swirl my arms around me until I’m facing in the other direction. From here I can see the crowd on the beach, and I can’t help but wonder if my parents are a part of it. They could be there, right now, attending another barbecue or whatever the hell they do during the summer now that they’re retired. I’ve never asked. I feel kind of bad about that, all of a sudden. It’s been five years, and other than them losing my dog, I have no idea what they’ve done in all that time, no idea what their lives are like. I tread water for a bit, waiting, wondering what Star’s doing back there. With my luck, she’ll have grabbed my shirt and shoes and run for the car as soon as I turned around, leaving me waiting here, splashing around like an idiot. That’s what my ex Gina would have done. She would have laughed the whole way, and then would have told me to stop being such a pussy, that it was just a joke, when I would be all pissed at her, afterward.

  Not that I’m speaking from experience or anything.

  But seriously, what the hell is Star doing back there? I wonder if I should turn around, but she told me not to, and technically she’s my boss, so . . .

  “Okay,” her voice breaks through my daydreaming. “You can turn around now.”

  With a splash, I turn back toward the shore, and I’m kicking myself for not turning around. She would have killed me, but it would have been worth it, because fucking hell that girl is wearing the tiniest black bikini I’ve ever seen, and I’m so freaking glad I’m immersed in cold water right now, because Jesus Christ. She’s so fucking hot. I can’t help it; I let out what I hope is the quietest groan ever, and dunk my head under the water. When I come back up for air, she’s making her way down the rocks like a billy goat, arms stretched out at her sides for balance.

  The girl has tattoos everywhere and that fact alone is going to kill me.

  “Be careful, okay?” I call out to her, because, contrary to popular belief, I’m not a total asshole. “The rocks are slippery.”

  “You’re not kidding,” she says, sliding a bit before catching herself with a gasp. I swim closer. Better she fall on me than on the rocks.

  “Just get to the edge of that one and jump in,” I tell her. “It’s deep enough.”

  “I’m not really the jumping type,” she tells me, but she plants her feet on the edge of the rock like she’s considering it, anyway. “Normally I just ease myself in.”

  “Rookie mistake,” I say, and now that I’m close enough I start treading water again, holding my position. “It’s better to just get it over with.” She stares down at the water like she’s trying to figure out its secrets, and I want to laugh at the serious look on her face, but I’m too distracted by her tattoos. I’ve seen the one on her right arm, but it looks like she has an almost matching one on the back of her upper left one, but I can’t make out what it says. There’s also a bunch of stars trailing up her foot—fitting, I decide—and what looks like some kind of pink-and-white flowers dancing up her ribs.

  She’s fucking gorgeous. Her eyes dart up to me, catching me looking at her, and at first I’m afraid she’s going to tell me off, but all she says is “you sure?” and I nod.

  “Just jump,” I tell her. “You’ll be fine.”

  And then she does.

  ***

  We lose track of time and the sun is starting to set by the time we head back to the car. We’re dripping wet and laughing, our clothes sticking to our damp bodies like a second skin, our stomachs rumbling from our forgotten lunch and dinner.

  “I’m starving,” Star moans as we pull up to the house. Her hair is still dripping, and the tiny droplets keep running down her neck and under her shirt, and I really really want to follow them with my eyes, find out where they go.
But instead, I nod my head in agreement and haul myself out of the car. Instead of heading to the diner for the millionth time, we stopped at the grocery store on the way back and got stuff for sandwiches, and I pull the bag out of the backseat and slam the door. “I forgot how hungry swimming makes me.”

  “Too bad,” I tell her, following her to the backyard. “Because I’m going to eat all the sandwiches. All of them.” I wrap my arms around the grocery bag to claim it for my own. “Every last one.”

  “Not a chance,” she says. “You even try and I will feed you to the wolves.”

  I laugh. “Then I’ll be full and the wolves will be full, and you’ll still be hungry. So that would still be a win for me.”

  “But you’d be dead,” she points out.

  “Full and dead,” I say, because the full part is the important one here.

  “Ugh, you’re a terrible person,” she groans. “Why do I hang out with you again?” She’s joking, I know she is. But her words still make something jerk inside me. Because right now, she’s the only one I’ve got, and as amazing as Star is, that still really fucking sucks.

  I step forward in the darkness, and go barreling into her unexpectedly. I grab her before we both go tumbling to the ground, and when we right ourselves, my arm is wound tightly around her waist. “Woah,” I say once we’re steady on our feet again. “Are you okay?”

  “Ash?” There’s something in her voice that makes me freeze up. Something’s wrong.

  “Yeah?”

  “Were you being serious about the wolves?”

  “What?”

  She looks over her shoulder at me. Her eyes are like saucers. “Are there really wolves in Avenue?”

  “Why?” She takes another step back, until her back is pressed hard up against my chest. She’s shaking. Her entire body is trembling in my arms.

  “Because I think there’s something in the backyard.” Her voice cracks on the last word. It takes a second for her words to filter through my brain enough for me to make sense of them. As soon as I realize what she’s trying to tell me, I pull her back, putting my body between her and the gate to the backyard.

  “Whoa, are you fucking serious?” I ask. I have my hand flat against her stomach, and I keep my arm extended, keeping her well behind me. I can feel her muscles jump beneath my fingers. I take a careful step forward, trying to see into the backyard while still keeping my distance. But it’s too dark. I can’t see. The only light out now is the glow from the streetlights, and it isn’t quite making it to the backyard. Fuck.

  I realize I’m still holding the grocery bag, so I hand it back to Star. She takes it without a word, and together we edge closer to the backyard. We’re almost at the gate when, out of the corner of my eye, I see something move along the back fence, disappearing into the shadows under the oak tree. “There!” Star hisses, reaching out and jabbing a finger toward the shadow. “Did you see it? It was right there?” She takes a step forward, and I reach out and catch her by the arm, pulling her back.

  “I saw it,” I say. “At least, I think I did.” It is too dark, too fucking dark. I can’t see anything clearly. My free hand darts out, and snags the flashlight out of the box that we’d dumped by the side of the house. I flick the switch and a beam of light shoots out. I flash it over the fence, scanning the light back and forth, gazing hard into the darkness.

  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.