Shit. It had been her dad’s death that had set her mom off. That made sense. She’d lost not only the guy she’d loved, she’d also lost the one person who would have actually been able to stop her from bringing all this shit into the house in the first place.
“And at first it was great,” she says. “I had all these new toys to play with, and all this new star stuff. I loved it. But . . . ”
“But then it didn’t stop,” I say, because that’s what happened. It just kept coming and coming, burying Star and her mom alive.
She nods. “And soon it didn’t matter that I had the newest toys, because there was nowhere to play with them. There were these paths through the piles, and my mom tried to pretend it was a game, like we were living in a maze or something. And that was fine at first, too, but eventually people noticed. And then she had to choose between having me and keeping her things and, well . . . ” She’s still staring off into space, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s seeing, if that day is playing over and over in her mind in full color. “Well,” she says after a moment, seemingly shaking it off, “you know the rest.”
I can’t help it. I reach out and wrap an arm around her shoulders and tug her just a little bit closer. “That blows,” I tell her, and take another pull on my cigarette before I can say anything else.
I can feel her nod against my shoulder, lean into me, just a little. “Yeah,” she says. “It really does. It’s just . . . She was a shitty mom. I know that. She chose her stuff over her daughter, over me. But . . . ”
“But she was still your mom,” I say. And I get it. I do. Because even after they kicked me to the curb, my parents will always be my parents, and I don’t think there’s anything they could do that I wouldn’t forgive them for, at least a little bit. They’re the reason I’m here.
Star shifts against me, and I’m doing everything I can to not pull her closer. “Yeah, but it’s more like she was a person, and people keep forgetting that. They just keep talking about her like she wasn’t. Like all she was was this,” She reaches a hand out and kind of waves it around us, gesturing to the house, the car, all the stuff. Everything.
“Look,” I say. “Screw them. Seriously. Those people? The ones from earlier and anyone else who says that shit? They don’t matter. Not to you and not to me.” I take one last puff of my smoke and finish it off, dropping the butt into the soup can.
Only you matter, I want to say, but I keep my mouth fucking shut. She doesn’t need my problems, not right now.
We sit in silence for a minute, just breathing in the night air, until finally Star turns to me. “Come on,” she says, pulling out of my embrace and getting to her feet. “We missed dinner and I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
I don’t even think. I just follow her inside.
I’m pretty sure I’d follow that girl anywhere.
***
Now that we have the power back on, dinners are less of the college food experience extravaganza and a bit closer to the look at me, I’m a grown-up kind of thing. The meals aren’t fancy, but they are tasty. Spaghetti and meat sauce, tacos, chicken and potatoes. Simple stuff, really. But considering I have no clue what I’m doing in the kitchen, I still think it’s pretty damn good. I’m even starting to reconsider my stance on vegetables. When Star adds them to stuff, they taste good. I’m starting to think that it’s not veggies I hate, but my parents’ cooking. After all the drama we’ve been through lately, it feels good to just sit down with Star and eat. And she was right. I was ravenous.
But eating dinner with her, cleaning up afterward . . . it’s nice.
I’m not used to having nice in my life. I’m used to shitty. I’m used to disappointment. I’m used to people being let down by me, by the way I act and speak and fucking look. Everyone’s just always so disappointed in me and with me and just—ugh.
But when I look at Star, I don’t see disappointment in her eyes. Not when she looks at me.
She’s standing next to the counter now, drying the last of our dishes from dinner. It was my job to wash since she couldn’t with her injured hand. And she’s just smiling at me, talking about something that she’d seen Bruiser do today when I’d been out taking a load of stuff down to the dump. But I can’t even make out the words she’s saying.
I don’t even hear them.
All I can do is look at her, at how fucking gorgeous she is. How her eyes fucking light up when she smiles at me, when she tells me about her day. And suddenly all I can think of is the way she looks at me, and the chance.
The chance that she feels the same way about me as I do about her. The chance that we could be together. That it could be good.
The chance that I keep letting pass me by every single fucking day that I don’t open my mouth and say something, don’t do something about it.
My heart is racing in my chest, and the thoughts that are racing through my brain must show on my face, because Star’s voice trails off and just looks at me, that same little furrow digging deep between her eyebrows.
“Ah, fuck it,” I say suddenly, striding toward her. I grab the dishtowel from her hand and toss it on the counter beside her as her eyes widen with surprise.
“Ash, what—” But that’s all she gets out before I surge forward and press my mouth to hers.
For a minute, she stands there frozen, and all I can think is that this is the end. I’ve fucked everything up. But just as I’m about to pull away, her hands come up and I feel her fingers against my face. It’s the softest damn thing I’ve ever felt, and I can’t stifle the moan that rises up out of me as I press forward, and slant my mouth against hers. My tongue glances against her lip, and then she’s pressing back against me, her mouth opening beneath mine, her fingers tightening in the fabric of my shirt.
Fuck.
My arms come up around her, my palms flat against her sides, my fingers touching, trailing everywhere I can reach. And she fucking whimpers and starts writhing her hot little body against mine, and what little control I have snaps, and I’m wrapping her up in my arms and leaning her back against the kitchen counter.
Star
Holy crap.
Holy.
Crap.
This is actually happening. God, for weeks I’ve wanted Ash, wanted to press myself against him, touch him all over. Now that it’s actually happening I don’t even know where to start.
So I do the only thing I can. I touch him everywhere. Up his arms, under the hem of his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin against mine. I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, tugging him closer. I slide the fingers of my good hand through his hair.
A million years pass; a single second. I can’t tell anymore.
And then all of a sudden, we’re moving.
His hands are rubbing up and down my sides as we kiss, making our way, together, step by step, toward my makeshift bedroom. When we’re just inside the door, Ash spins us so that my back is up against the door jamb, and his hands smooth down my sides to my legs. Then, without warning, his hands clasp behind my thighs and he hauls me up. The jamb digs into my back and I wrap my legs around his waist without thinking, a rush of heat shooting through me. I rake my fingers through his hair and jerk his head closer as he presses against me. His body rubbing against mine. Back and forth. Back and forth. It’s driving me crazy.