Zane shakes his head, the half-smile still in place.

“You said something about a social worker?” I let the male nurse manhandle me to check the stitches on my side and lower back. “Is she coming by today?”

“No.” Zane rubs the back of his neck. “About that. It won’t be necessary.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

The doctor chooses this moment to come in and I have to lie back down for the examination. Between being prodded in painful spots and asked questions about my vision, the headaches, dizziness, nausea, pain levels and everything in between, I have to let go of Zane’s comment for the moment.

The doctor pronounces me fit to go. He also tells me in no uncertain terms that under no circumstances am I to fight in the foreseeable future and that hitting my head repeatedly is a sure way to find myself in a wheelchair some years down the line.

Hell. That’s one scary image.

A nurse brings the discharge papers to the room for me to sign. Zane has brought me some of his clothes, and as the nurse helps me off the bed and into the jeans and T-shirt, I try to hide from everyone how shaken I am by the doctor’s warning.

Then again, the lingering dizziness takes care of that. Zane is more concerned about keeping me from falling on my face than anything else as the nurse pulls me off the bed and onto the wheelchair.

It also seems that just getting up causes my headache to go off the damn charts, so that it’s all I can do not to clutch my head and moan as the nurse wheels me out of the room. Instead, I do my best to straighten and sit upright as I’m wheeled down endless corridors.

“Audrey?” I manage.

Zane, who’s walking beside the wheelchair, glances at me and smiles. “She’ll borrow Tessa’s car and wait for us in the parking lot.”

That eases some of the stupid panic.

The nurse leads me to a smaller waiting area, next to a row of plastic chairs, and takes his leave.

Then Zane leaves as well, saying he’ll take care of the payment paperwork. So I sit and let my eyes drift shut, trying to ignore my throbbing head.

I don’t know how long I sit there, listening to the sounds of people walking about and talking, the distant cries of a baby, the deep cough of a man.

The row of seats beside me creaks. Someone has sat down.

“Ash.”

I almost jump out of my skin. “Tyler.” I raise my head. “I thought you left.”

“Don’t worry, little brother, I’m leaving.” There’s bitterness in his voice, but frankly, what does he expect? “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

I glance at him. Tyler’s four years older, broader and taller than me. His hair’s longer than mine, the ends brushing his collar, and he wears a blue shirt and well worn jeans over black boots. I catch another glimpse of his tat, the lines crawling up his neck.

He looks like crap. His dark eyes are shadowed, the bags underneath telling me he hasn’t slept well in days.

Then again, he came over because Dad died and... Yeah, I don’t believe for a second he’s come for me. And if he has, it’s too late.

I wait for him to get up and go, since he’s said his goodbyes, but he doesn’t. He presses his thumbs into his red-rimmed eyes. “I was wrong, Ash. I realize that now. I really thought that if I left, you’d be okay. Stupid of me, I see that in retrospect. But I can’t change the past. I get that you don’t know me anymore, and you don’t trust me. I deserve that.”

I listen to him talk and anger flares again, heating my chest. “If you’re waiting for me to say it’s okay, then you’re wasting your time.”

He flinches. Running a hand through his dark hair, he grunts and shrugs. “Yeah. I see. I’m going now. I just wanted to let you know that you’re not gonna be left on the streets again, not on my watch. I’ve talked to Zane and I’ve opened an account in your name. I’m not rich, but you’ll have a monthly allowance until you find your feet. For as long as that takes, Ash.”

He gets up quickly and gives me an uncertain smile. “I never forgot you. I just thought you were better off without me. I’ll see you at Dad’s funeral.”

And he turns and goes before I can formulate a response. Groaning, I clutch the armrests of the wheelchair and scrunch my eyes shut.

I don’t know how I feel about Tyler anymore. It confuses the hell out of me. I was furious with him for leaving, and his sudden appearance hasn’t done anything to appease that fury. If anything, it has laced it with renewed resentment, throwing me back into time to relive the moment he abandoned me—right before Mom died and Dad went off the rails.

His concern, his regret, his offers—they leave me reeling. My fury’s now tainted with curiosity and sympathy. Even sorrow. It isn’t pure. Isn’t sharp. It doesn’t help me get over anything, only sinks me deeper into grief.

***

Coming out of the hospital in the icy breeze and seeing Audrey in her blue coat is like seeing the sun after a polar night. Pressure lifts from my chest and the pain in my side and head eases.

The panic begins to fade, especially when she smiles. She’s standing next to Tessa’s Jeep. She opens the car door and Zane rolls me over to her. Together they pull me up and settle me inside.

It’s damn embarrassing, needing help to get into the Jeep. The doctor has assured me that the dizziness will pass, but with the world constantly sliding away from me and the pain in my side, even simple tasks like that defeat me.

Zane is uncharacteristically silent during the ride and I’m not in the mood to talk, either. I wonder if he’s talked to Tyler, or if something else is bothering him.

All I want is to find myself alone with Audrey, wrap myself around her and forget about the world and the black hole that’s currently my life.

There’s another frustrating moment when I have to be helped out of the parked Jeep and up to Audrey’s apartment. And then another when I remember my duffel bag is lost and I don’t even have a change of clothes.

I admit as much to Zane as Audrey goes ahead and opens the apartment door. She smiles at me from the opening.

“Let’s get you inside,” Zane says. He leads me to the couch and settles me down, then perches across from me in the armchair. “Ash. Listen to me, f**ker.”

I glance up, trying to get out of the dark fugue. “What?”

“Stop sweating the small stuff, okay? The underwear, the T-shirts, the toothbrush. I’ll get that for you. No, listen first,” he says when I open my mouth to protest. “I let you down. It shouldn’t have mattered that Erin has a problem with your family and isn’t happy when you crash at my place. I should have told you that. I should have made sure you had a place to stay. I’m the worst friend on the damn planet. Yeah, I have trouble in my life, but that’s no excuse for not seeing how hard things were for you. And this, getting you the basic stuff, is the least I can do.”

I gape at him as his monologue winds to an end, and I lift my hand to stop him when he seems about to launch into another. “Z-man, shut up. You’ve been the only real friend I’ve ever had. You save my sorry ass on a regular basis. You have nothing to apologize for.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah, whatever. One more thing: you don’t have to stay here. I swear it will be okay if you crash at my place. I’ll talk to Erin. No big deal. Seriously, f**ker.”

So that’s what eats at Zane: guilt. That’s wrong on so many levels I can’t even. “I’m fine here.”

And the truth is, I really feel fine. Cozy. Welcome. Audrey’s puttering in the kitchenette and she turns to shoot me a smile. It makes me feel warm. “And you have nothing to feel bad about. You’ve done all you f**king could. It’s my fault things have come to this. I already told Audrey what I’m telling you now: I should have told you guys what was happening. I shouldn’t have tried to fix things on my own.”

Zane turns his face away, his jaw clenching. Then he nods, gets up and leaves. It’s as if he’s running away, and I can’t help noticing his shoulders are shaking.

Dammit. I’ve made my best friend cry and I’m not even sure if it’s in a good or a bad way. I should go after him but my head’s still swimming. Breaking my neck trying to reach him probably won’t make him feel any better.

I’ll call him later.

Audrey comes into the living room with a tray, trailing a scent of freshly-brewed coffee and sugar. She places steaming cups and a plate of cake on the table and sits next to me.

“Thank you,” I say, figuring out I can start with her before I get onto to Zane. “For everything. For searching for me, believing me, staying with me.” I catch her hand in mine and stroke my thumb over her soft skin. “For taking me in.”

She ducks her head, her red hair streaming on her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkle. Leaning over, she kisses me—a chaste little touch of her lips that nevertheless burns like fire and sends lightning through my veins. And then she says the most amazing thing:

“Welcome home.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Audrey

Having Asher in my apartment, in my life, is overwhelming. Now I’ve stopped hiding behind my insecurities, old hurts and the pain of losing Dad, now I have Ash back from the dead, I can’t stop touching him to make sure he’s here, alive and well.

Despite my excitement, I realize things won’t be so easy, at least at first. Ash needs help moving about, and the doctor has warned me he still has dizzy spells. Plus he’s exhausted and I decide to make him comfortable on the sofa, where he dozes for most of the day. Passes out, practically. I have a suspicion the painkillers the doctor prescribed knock him out.

Zane comes by at some point to drop a few things for Ash—some clothes that look brand new, the labels still attached, and an unopened toothbrush and toothpaste, shampoo and a shaving kit. He also brings Ash’s cell phone.

I put everything away and return to find Zane standing by the door, watching Ash sleep. Ash half-lies on his good side on the couch—his better side, since one was sliced and the other busted—one hand hanging off the sofa, the other flung over his head. The swelling in his face has barely begun to go down and the bruises are still dark and stark against his pale skin.

“Thanks for offering this to him,” Zane says when he sees me.

“It’s the least I can do. I have the space, and...” My cheeks heat. “I do care for him, Zane, so you can stop worrying I’ll sucker-punch him or kick him in the balls.”

Zane winces. “I wasn’t worried about that.” He snorts. “I was gonna say I wasn’t worried at all, but I’d be lying.”

I chew on my lower lip. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” Zane is always straightforward and honest. I wonder what I’m about to hear.

“It’s just that...” He hesitates. “I told you before, Audrey. He’s been in love with you for such a long time. And now he’s with you. Look at him. He looks relaxed. At ease. Happy.”

“He looks tired,” I say.

“He is tired. But he didn’t think twice about coming here to stay, and now he’s asleep on your couch.”

I don’t share with Zane my theories about the kick-ass painkillers, because I think he has a point. “Aren’t you glad for him that he’s comfortable and happy here with me?”

“Fuck yeah.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “But you hardly know him anymore. What if you’re at each other’s throats within days?”

I shrug. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“That’s it? Whatever, girl.” Zane grimaces.

“What is it, Zane?”

“You know how it is hoping for something for so long? For years? Reaching for it even if you know you can’t have it? Measuring everything and everyone around you against that perfect original and having everything and everyone fall short? And then one day, bam, you get the original, you get what you’d hoped for.”