Christ. It sounds like a come-on line.
Hey, was it something Tessa said? She was kidding, you know?
Yeah, right.
I might have treated you like crap, but I don’t really hate you. Like, not anymore. Or ever. Not sure.
By the way, sorry your mom died.
Oh god. How lame and horrible.
I put my cell down and check my ankle. It hasn’t swollen much. The ice pack made a difference, and Ash was probably right, it isn’t so bad.
Ash...
I power up my laptop, open my essay, try to concentrate. I was rolling the ideas for my paper over and over in my mind when I was attacked, but now all I have to show for it is a big blank.
I’m tired. It’s getting late. Truth be told, I’m still shaken. I’ve never been attacked before, and the way those guys pawed at me...
So different from the way Ash held me, and touched me. As if I’m the most precious thing in the world.
The time on my cell reads eleven. What if Ash is already asleep?
Good try, Audrey.
I open Tessa’s text message with his number and hit ‘call.’
And wait as the phone rings, and rings, and rings, until it goes to voice mail.
I disconnect without leaving a message.
Ash probably doesn’t want to talk to me tonight. And I can understand why. I’ll try again tomorrow.
***
That night I dream. The nightmare starts as usual. I’m in the car with Dad and we are driving down an empty street. It’s dark. A light drizzle falls. The windows of the car are fogged.
Dad is focused on driving, pushing his wire-framed glasses up his nose from time to time. His short, dark hair is swept to the side. He always has that distracted air about him, even when he’s concentrated. He has a smudge of ink on his cheek. All his work as an architect is done on a computer, but he loves doodling on paper.
And I stare at him, aware I’m lucky to be seeing him, and not knowing why.
“I missed you,” I say. “It’s been a while.”
“I live far away now,” he replies, his mouth twisting. “Takes me longer to come down here.”
I frown. I know he’s right but can’t remember why he lives so far from me now. “You can drive.”
“Cars don’t cross over,” he says, and again that makes sense somehow, though the details escape me.
“Glad you made it.” I settle back in my seat. Unease stirs in my stomach and the urge to throw the door open and run is too strong.
But I can’t leave him. Not when he’s come so far to see me.
I open my mouth to ask how he’s doing, when I realize he isn’t my dad. Not anymore. His dark hair is tousled, and the glasses are gone. I know those pale blue eyes.
Ash.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say.