Page 17

17

SAWYER

W e have sex twice more before dawn.

As I dress, I’m sore. In the best way.

The rowing team has an early morning workout with their coaches, so Jamie drives me back to campus and walks me to the residence hall at six-thirty.

“I’m working late tonight, Sauce, so I can’t play with you. Hold tomorrow night for me, though.”

“Done.”

He winks with a smirk.

“Bye, Jamie.” I wait, intending to watch him walk away, but he doesn’t move. “You’re waiting for me to go in?”

“It’s still dark out, so yes.”

“Okay.” With a wave, I head to the security keypad and swipe my ID. I love that he’s watching me get inside safely. I’m not used to having anyone act protective toward me.

As the door closes, he turns and walks away.

I smile the entire elevator ride up to the room. When I unlock the door and enter, I wake Ash who sits bolt upright with her hair flying everywhere.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Laughing, I sit on the edge of my bed to take my shoes off. “Nothing, weirdo. Go back to sleep.”

She rubs her eyelid with the heel of her hand. “What time is it?”

“Like seven-ish.”

“In the morning? What is wrong with you guys?” Falling back onto the bed with a thud that drowns out the squeak of the bed springs, she groans.

Smiling, I strip down to my underwear before crawling under my weighted blanket.

A couple of hours later, I’m drifting in and out of sleep when Ash sits up again. “Seesaw, you awake?”

“Yep.”

Rising to her feet, she says, “I can’t sleep on this prison-issue bed another minute. Wanna go to Boston?”

Pushing up onto my elbows, I look at her. “I have class at eleven.”

“Skip.”

Chewing on my lip, I consider. Literary Criticism is one of my toughest classes, and participation factors into the grade. I never blow it off… normally. “Should be okay this once.”

“This once?” Ash pauses as she drags clean clothes from her drawers. “You go to all your classes? In the actual lecture halls?”

Laughter bubbles out of me. “Yeah, I like our campus. Besides, it’s an upper level course, and the professor is really tough. Doesn’t want people thinking it’s an easy road.”

“Subject?”

“English.”

“Are you going to be a tortured writer when you grow up?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“Lawyer.”

She wrinkles her nose in distaste. “DA or defense?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t think. Just answer.” She fires the words at me like we’re in a movie scene courtroom battle. It’s odd and strangely amusing.

“Politician.”

A slow smile forms. “Fair play to you,” she says in a mock Irish accent. Gathering her clothes, she gives me a pointed look. “Do you need a shower this morning? If so, haul butt, babes, cuz as soon as I’m ready to go, this train is leaving the station with or without you.”

“Maybe you should roll without me then,” I say, falling back onto the bed. “I’m tired.”

Without warning, she hits me in the face with her pillow. “Get your lazy bones up and come on.” Then, she stalks out.

My smile stretches wide. I like the way Ash does friendship. Things are never stilted and circumspect. Unlike at my prep school or the Briar Club, there’s no careful consideration of whether forming a relationship with someone would be an asset or a liability.

Ash’s ‘no holds barred’ manner is the way I imagine things would be between sisters.

* * *

When we’re on the expressway, Ash sings out of tune to every song blaring from the enormous speakers.

“Ash!”

She swivels the volume dial down. “Yes?”

“Can you stop splitting my eardrums? Seriously!”

“Music too loud? Or is it my bad singing?”

“Both,” I say.

She laughs. “Yeah, the Patricks aren’t the best singers. My ma always says she ‘couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.’ To which Scotty says, ‘who carries buckets anymore?’ And so, my sister Kat started saying, ‘Couldn’t carry a tune in a backpack. It’s a real shame.’” Ash smirks. “It’s our worst thing, and it’s genetic. We all three look like my mom—which is good—and sing like her, which is really, really bad.”

“If you know you can’t sing, why were you screeching at the top of your lungs for the past twenty minutes?”

“I like to sing and thought you might be too polite to call me out.”

“Oh, my God. Such a bitch move.”

“Really?” Her eyes widen, and there’s a hopeful note to her voice. “I’d really like to be a bad bitch in public occasionally.” She makes a fish-lips pout. “But I haven’t really got it down. I’m sunny on the regular. And a rebel, quasi-outlaw, on the down-low. But bitchy? Nah.”

“Rebel quasi-outlaw? In what way?”

“That’s a ‘been friends a year’ kind of a question. But I will tell you this, because you need to know, the underground party with Tronex? Jamie and his asshole housemate will be working security, and they don’t want us there.”

“What? Why?”

“We might become—” She lifts her hands from the wheel long enough to make quote marks. “A distraction.” Dropping her hands back into position, she lowers her voice a couple of octaves to mimic a guy’s voice. “They’re very serious about their work.”

I smirk for a beat and then sober. “Are you still gonna go?”

“Yeah, but I’ll understand if you want to stay home so you don’t piss off your new boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, exactly.” I suck on my lower lip. “And I was a Tronex fan long before I was a Jamie fan.” Tilting my head, I shield my eyes from the sunlight pouring through the windshield. “If he’s working, I’ll steer clear. We won’t be a distraction.”

“Exactly.” Ash offers me her big white-rimmed square sunglasses. Where does she find these things?

I slide them on, and they’re so big they hit my cheekbones.

“If it was just War working the door, I’d tell him to fuck right off. His inability to focus is his own problem. But Jamie’s my favorite cousin, and we… kind of watch out for each other. That’s why you and I are headed to Boston to get wigs. Between them and the masks, done and dusted. Can’t be a distraction if we’re unrecognizable.”

“What’s the deal with War?”

“We got off on the wrong foot because…” Ash blows out a breath, squinting in the sunlight. “He’s a raging asshole who despises everything about me. And he’s worked hard to earn my complete loathing.” She nods and flips her hand over for emphasis. “Other than that though, we could’ve been besties.”

Chuckling, I cock my head. “Are you sure he despises you in particular? The guy’s resting face is a glare. Seems like he hates the world in general.”

Ash chuckles. “That’s on the money.” Lifting her hand from the gear shift, she gestures toward the glove box. “Grab my spare sunglasses for me, Seesaw.”

I open the glove box and find a pair of aviator glasses. After passing them to her, I watch her out of the corner of my eye.

“I’m not sure what War’s damage is.” Ash pushes the glasses up the bridge of her nose. “He wasn’t raised in Boston or Coynston, so none of us were around for whatever went down while he was growing up. But I know his dad wasn’t murdered, like mine was.” Her tone carries the most bitterness I’ve ever heard from her. “And I know his happy family wasn’t ripped apart because they were broke, with one sister having to live with relatives in Ireland and a brother forced to live an hour away with a jerk uncle. And a mom so grief-stricken she could hardly get out of bed.” Ash purses her lips, then blows out a slow breath.

Grimacing at her pain, I put a hand on her shoulder.

Ash reaches up to squeeze my hand before dropping hers back to the stick-shift. “Sorry, Seesaw.” Her tone lightens. “Didn’t mean to make it sound so grim. I’m fine. I was only three when my dad was killed, so I don’t even remember that. My family did their best to shield me while I was growing up. The hardest thing for me is that I wanted us to all live together again. Sometimes, it was just my mom and me at the house, and I missed our other three. So much.”

“You were really close, huh?” The pang that hits me nearly brings tears to my eyes. My own losses were so tough that any tragedy that causes family separation is like a knife twisting in my chest.

“Yeah. We’re still close.” She shrugs. “I’d do anything for them. Need a kidney? Here you go.”

And this is the girl War despises everything about? Ash’s right. He’s a raging asshole.