Page 23

23

JAMIE

O n the night of the Briar Club event, Ashling lets me into the lobby of Central Dorm when I arrive to collect Sawyer.

Ash wears no makeup and is dressed in thick, oversized sweats. She looks about fifteen.

“How is it with you, Ashling?”

She grins. “Right as rain. Nice outfit. Is that a designer tux?”

That I’ve relented and bought the tuxedo she suggested I would need at GU with all its formals causes me to roll my eyes. At the time she said it, I denied any intention of attending dances and the like, but plans have shifted.

As with all our family, Ash enjoys being right in the end and can’t resist emphasizing it. Her cheeky smile remains.

“And what of your own plans? Bit of calisthenics, is it?”

She laughs. “No, just trying to decide if I’m going out tonight. I’ve got no boyfriend to Cinderella me around, so…” Her lips do a mock pout.

“I reckon the lack of boyfriend should tell you a bit about your personality. Time to do some work on yourself.”

Her laughter causes me to smirk, too. Taking the mickey out of each other is standard among friends where I’m from, which she well knows. When she reciprocates it always gives me a bit of home.

Ash points her index finger in my direction. “Maybe I should take a page out of your book. Go overseas and act sad and lonely until someone takes pity on me.”

My grin widens. “Is that what your little mate says about why she’s dating me? Pity?”

“Maybe,” she says with mock gravity. “Girl talk between roommates is private, so it is .”

Her attempt at an Irish accent is, as usual, laughable. “Just so you’re not spilling my secrets along with your own.”

Her head cocks, sending her ponytail swinging. “What secrets?”

Mood sobering, I incline my head in her direction so I can lower my voice. “You’ve not told Sauce about Jude, have you?”

“No.” Her brows rise as she turns serious. “Haven’t you?”

My muscles tighten. “No. Not yet.”

“Hmm.” Her eyes assess me as though I’m a defective item that may need to be returned. Then though, her tone turns mellow and accepting. “Okay. I won’t mention him.”

“Grand.”

Sharing confidences doesn’t fit into my arrangement with Sawyer. Although, the other morning, she let me have a look behind the curtain of her life when she told me about her brother’s violent tendencies. That set me on edge. A proper boyfriend would need to do something about him immediately, like beat him until he becomes familiar with the taste of his own blood.

My Crue sleeper cell, though, is trying to avoid notice. Public fights are therefore off the table.

Ash holds up a hand in a wave before heading toward the elevator. “Have fun tonight.”

I nod, watching her until the door closes.

As a friend, Ash has good instincts—the best I’ve seen actually. At Jude’s wake, Ash was Jude’s age and looked almost exactly like him except for the long hair. While we were standing alone, she said to me, “If my brother died, I would want to die, too.” Then her little arms wrapped around my waist in a tight hug. No one else reacted that way… or seemed to understand what losing my best friend of a brother was gonna mean for the rest of my life.

Over the years, on the anniversary of his death, an email or a text always came from America. The words were never anything special. Dear Jamie. I was thinking about you and Jude. Hope you’re okay. Love, your cousin Ash. The words would be followed by heart emojis or a gif of kids hugging.

Fucking Ashling and her over-the-top sweet messages back when she was young. The year I thought she forgot because her message went into Spam, I was angry she’d forgotten. I found her email a week later and realized how important it still was to feel like there was another person who knew that some dark days would never be anything but black.

Of course, my parents and siblings remember Jude, too, but it’s different. We never speak about it the way we should. No one’s ever allowed to talk about what drove Jude to suicide. The old man and one of my sisters have even implied it was Jude’s own choice to kill himself, so we’re not under the same obligation to grieve as if he’d been hit by a car or something not his own fault.

Those comments ignite my rage, though I simmer in silence. A silent trip to the cemetery. The silent lighting of candles in church. Even when my immediate family is around me, remembering Jude, I often feel alone. Which, by the time I was a teenager, was how I wanted it. With the exception of hearing from Ash.

Ashling’s grown-up messages don’t carry heart emojis or hugging cartoon characters. Lately, they suggest we go to a pub to have a drink, which suits us now. Ash has always been the one person who seemed to want to be in this thing with me. Still can’t understand why. But it’s the reason Ashling could cause any amount of trouble to rain down, and I’d overlook it.

The memory surfaces of Brad Allendale grabbing my cousin. And of Sawyer’s sad, resigned acceptance of the abuse she suffered at his hands as a young teenager. Allendale is going to bleed for those assaults. The thing I haven’t decided yet is whether he’s going to die for them.

Covering my tracks is trickier now, but it could be worth the risk.

Some murders are.