Page 57 of Ashley & the A-Listers

Was it my fault?

How come you never texted? Called?

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Instead she let the silence lie and wondered if she’d ever be brave enough to ask them.

“How’s your mom?” Dylan asked suddenly, quietly.

Ashley’s breath caught in her chest, and a pang of hurt bloomed, fresh and bloodied, like a knife in her ribs.

She turned her head to him again, wondering if the pain she felt was visible in her eyes.

“How can you ask that?” she asked, sitting up, ribs hollowed out once again with the spade of a simple question.

In flashes, she remembered all the times Dylan had come over, had stayed with them, had let her mom love him when his own family had failed to.

Her throat was tight as she said, “Dylan, you know my mom died years ago.”

She watched the grief cross his face as he flinched back from the information. He dragged a hand down his cheeks, wiping the sweat away, and Ashley pushed to her feet, intending to stalk off.

This was a mistake.

Of course it was.

She didn’t know what had happened to make Dylan so different from the kid she’d grown up with, but she wasn’t interested in entertaining whatever had taken his place.

“This was a mistake,” she muttered, and waved a hand off.

She hadn’t taken the first step when a hand reached out to circle her wrist, holding her in place. The instant she tugged back, Dylan released her, and he lifted his hands, expression pleading.

His scent was on her skin.

She wished she didn’t like the idea of that.

“Ashley, wait. What do you mean, ‘I know’? I don’t know anything!”

Her breath was like shards of glass in her throat. “I reached out to you when she died, Dylan. If only to let you know.” What she’d wanted was her best friend during the worst time in her life, a raft in churning waters, and he’d left her to drown. “And you ignored me.”

“Don’t run,” he said, taking a step towards her when she shifted as if to walk away once more. “We can’t…” He shook his head. “Do this again.”

“We?” Ashley growled, and backtracked, pushing a finger into his chest. “Youare the one who ran away, not me.”

Her chest was rattling with so many emotions, anger and confusion and grief that would never fade.

He winced at her words, but met her gaze with all of his regret in his dark chocolate eyes.

“It’s possible you texted my old number. I had to get a new one not too long after I… left.”

Ashley drew her arm back, crossed it with the other.

“I wouldn’t have received any messages you sent.” His eyes flicked over her face, and something like sorrow rooted there.

“You reached out?” he asked, voice impossibly soft.

It was the same softness he’d had even as a kid. The same gentleness she’d loved about him.

“I did,” she said, and tried to keep her voice even.

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