Page 62 of Ashley & the A-Listers

She deserved a pack. But he imagined her at the center of a pack, being spoiled beyond measure. Not doing the spoiling.

“Anyway,” Ashley continued, and Dylan realized he’d never responded. Ashley’s stare lingered for a split second before she made for the stairs. “Stay there,” she said. “Or make yourself comfortable or something. I’ll go grab the photos.”

As she made her way upstairs, he glanced around and for the first time… ever, he felt uncomfortable within these walls.

The last time he’d been in them, he’d… well. He’d been picking Ashley up for the concert.

Dylan scrubbed a hand over his face and went to wait in the living room. He didn’t know why it felt wrong to take a seat on the couch, but it did. He leaned back, throwing an arm across the upper cushions, and then leaned forward, elbows on his knees, attention turned toward the floor.

Above him, he heard the floors creak as she returned, and he sat up straighter, eyes on the open doorway, anticipating.

With a medium-sized plastic tote in hand, she stepped into the living room, pausing for a beat upon finding him there, as if surprise he hadn’t left.

Dylan was already at the left end of the couch, but he scooted over even more to make room for her as she took a seat in the middle. She plopped the box down like the weight was too much to handle.

Ashley cleared her throat, one hand placed atop it.

“I’m gonna be honest for a moment. Is that okay?”

Dylan nodded.

“I’ve already been through these, and it was the darkest time in my entire. Fucking. Life,” she began, and Dylan swallowed. “So I’m going to go get a glass of water while you open it and begin, and then I’ll be back. Would you like anything?”

“Water is fine,” he answered.

“Great. I’ll be just a minute,” she said, and patted the top of the box gently before she got up and left the room.

Dylan watched her go, and then stared at the box.

Damn. He couldn’t believe this was all they had left of Lorie. That she wasn’t going to come down the stairs and say his name and hug him like she used to.

His chest hurt, and he braced himself before popping open one side of the plastic box, and then the other.

Stacks and stacks of photographs were inside. Polaroids and faded developed photos. As far as he could tell they weren’t in any kind of order, but they were stacked carefully.

Some had the dates on the back, but most were blank.

Lorie’s face was visible in photos on the very top.

Standing outside, by the tulips she’d been so proud of planting, hands still dusty with dirt. A photo of her and Ashley, dressed in matching paint-splattered smocks.

He wondered if they’d put the camera on a timer for that one.

A few photos down he found one of her and Dylan. It was wintertime, and Dylan chuckled at the giant puffy coat he had on, looking like a blue marshmallow next to Lorie. Snow was falling in the photo, and he remembered playing with her and Ashley in it until she’d made them come inside to warm back up, and then sent him home.

Ashley must have taken this photo.

God, Dylan had practically been here more than he’d been at his own home. He doubted his mom had photos like this.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, and pulled out a photo of him and Ashley. They had to be… what, nine? Ten?

They looked so small. So cute.

So completely unprepared for the big bad world.

He rubbed at his face as he heard Ashley’s steps returning, and shook his head.

“You okay?” Ashley asked, placing a glass of water on the table in front of him.

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