ASHTON

It's hard to remember a time when my relationship with my dad wasn't messy. I know that time exists, but it's so vague that sometimes I'm convinced I've dreamed it up.

Trying to remember is like watching the memories on our busted TV before you thump the picture right. Static and fuzzy glimpses of what life was like looking through young, naïve eyes.

There was a before. Before the auto body shop, before the violence, before Cloverbrook. Now all distorted memories. Everything after is HD clarity.

"Ashton." Cruz ambles up as I shut the hood of the car I'm working on, toolbox in hand. "Boss said I should take the reins on this one since you're getting nowhere."

Of course. No doubt those words are verbatim.

"I've got it," I tell him curtly, sliding into the driver's seat. "Thought you were doing a paint job on that Civic."

"I was. That's what I'd rather be doing, but..." He runs a hand over his shaved head. "You know what your pops is like."

My jaw tightens as I insert the key in the ignition. "Just go, I'll take the fall if there's a problem."

The car splutters and clicks, begging me to shut it off before the engine floods. I hit the wheel, jerking the key out.

"You sure you don't need help?" Cruz pats the toolbox.

"I said I've got it, Cruz," I snap, and he slowly backs away as if I've pulled a knife on him. My hands instinctively rub my face as I let out a breath, springing back when they press on the tender skin I've forgotten about.

I shouldn't take any frustration out on Cruz. He's one of the few people who works here that doesn't buy into the shady stuff my dad does. Just a good guy who comes in, does his job and aimlessly flirts with the receptionist.

I get out of the car and pat his tense shoulder. "Thanks, though. I'll call you if I'm at a dead end."

He nods and walks off, leaving me with the hunk of junk. I think my dad gives me cars like this on purpose. They're not fun to work on, they're not challenging, they're just frustrating because as soon as one thing is fixed, then a million other problems come to light and you have to pinpoint each one.

It's a setup to fail. To send in someone else to take over because I'm not capable enough, and he wants to remind me of that.

I shut the squeaky door, mentally analyzing the elements I've worked on already and trying to piece together my next step. In a way, this is the type of car that could represent my relationship with my dad.

It's on its last legs. Worn out, a ridiculously high milage, scratched and rusted and on the brink of death. Neglected. The owner didn't do jack to take care of it, he just used it for years until it broke down on him.

The difference is, at least the owner brought it in instead of abandoning it. I can't say the same for my dad. If I stayed in Cloverbrook for the rest of my life, I think he'd run me into the ground and leave me to rot when I eventually broke down.

What's the point of fixing something he'd be happier without? Something that only reminds him of my mother and what she left behind.

I'm getting ready for my next attempt on the bucket of bolts when a little red Chevrolet pulls up in the driveway. My chest tightens, and I drop everything to jog out before it gets closer.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask Charlie as her window slides down.

"Ah, there's the ungentlemanly Ashton I know," she chimes.

"Seriously, how'd you even know I'd be here?"

"Nick told me."

I make a note to tear him a new one later. He knows damn well not to blab about this side of my life to anyone, including the auto body shop.

"Don't look so pissed," Charlie says. "He was barely paying attention when I asked him. How have I known you for so long and had no idea you also worked in a family-owned business? Scared I'd meet the parents?"

I shove my hands in my pockets, glancing back to see if my dad's skulking around. "What are you doing here, Charlie?"

She rests her elbow on the open window, fingers disappearing into her curls as she looks up. "I need an oil change."

"Really..." I exhale. "An oil change. And this is the only place in town you can get that, is it?"

"It's the only place I can get it and talk to my friend at the same time, yes."

"And you can't talk to me at school because?"

"Ashton, I drove all the way here. I know you're probably busy but..." She pouts. "Can you just squeeze in me—? I mean, squeeze me in?"

Her smooth correction of that 'accidental' word mix-up makes me crack an involuntary smile. "C'mon, pull into that empty space there and I'll get you sorted."

❖❖❖

Charlie stands to the side as she watches me jack up the car. "Gotta say, seeing you all sweaty and greasy is pretty sexy. I would have found out about this place sooner if I knew what the view was like."

I shake my head, giving a couple more cranks before standing. "Two days."

"Two days what?"

"Two days since we ended our benefits and you're flirting with me. Am I that hard to resist, Charlotte?" I tease, picking up a wheel block.

"Sigh. You see right through me," she teases back.

Once the oil is draining steadily, I ask her if there was anything in particular she wanted to talk about while we wait.

"Well, my parents are going out of town next weekend, and they said I could have a party."

"Cool."

"Yeah. You'll come, right?"

"What day is it?"

"Friday."

My mouth twists as I wipe a cloth over my knuckles. "Can't. I'll have a shift at the movies."

"You can't get someone to cover for you that night?"

I give a loose shrug. "Maybe."

There's a silence while I carry on wiping my hands, and I feel Charlie's eyes on me. I can almost hear the wheels tuning behind them.

"You won't wanna miss it," she says fast. "Some people from the higher years at school are coming, and I'm inviting the whole class. Nick, Ryan, Diego... Summer."

I pause, careful not to let my expression change. The way she said her name was too deliberate. Planted for me to react.

"Okay?" I toss the grease-stained cloth on the table behind us.

"Okay you'll come?"

"No... I don't know."

"Ashton," her tone drops into seriousness. "You have a thing for Summer, don't you?"

"A thing? What are we, twelve?" I take a few steps and crouch down to check the oil, an excuse to not be under her microscope.

"She had your lighter."

My eyes shut. "So?"

"So you literally never let anyone use it. Not even Nick. Why would you give it to her, practically a stranger?"

"I didn't give it to her," I retort, standing again. "She had it for like, twenty minutes. It's not a big deal."

"Please." Her eyes roll. "I know how much that thing means to you. It's a big deal."

"Charlie, you're reading too much into it, all right?"

"So you're not into her?" Her crystal irises have never looked so icy.

"Is this why you came here? To grill me about Summer?"

"I'm not trying to grill you, I just..." She searches my face, shaped brows drawing together. "I just want to know if she's the real the reason why you cooled things down between us."

"How does that make sense when I already told you weeks ago it was going to end when culinary school started?"

"I guess it doesn't." She tilts her head. "But then again, you haven't denied being into her either, have you?"

I hold our eye contact steady, quickly debating with myself. She's really backing me into a corner here. We were friends before anything happened between us, and now I'm wishing that's all we ever were. That the night we got together never happened.

This conversation wouldn't exist, Charlie wouldn't care, and I wouldn't feel like an asshole for wanting to pursue Summer instead of her.

I've always been an upfront person, but the thought of hurting Charlie with a straightforward answer makes it feel like she's securing a gun in my hand, waiting for me to pull the trigger on her.

"I don't know what you're expecting to hear, Charlie," I scoff, going to fetch the bucket of drained oil under the car. "Do I think she's hot? Sure, I'm not blind. But does that make me into her? Hell no. She's my shallow, stuck-up, pain in the ass workstation partner, that's all. So rest assured, Summer has nothing to do with anything."

❖❖❖

Dodging the sprinklers on Nick's front lawn is like walking through a minefield. I unstick the wet shirt from my skin as I ring the doorbell, hoping he'll be the one to answer.

But no, the door swings open to reveal the signature upper middle class sneer of his mom. She sighs. "Ashton."

"Hey Mrs. Abrams, Nick home?"

"Nicholas!" her shrill voice calls back. Still blocking the doorway, she looks me over with a tight smile. "We just sat down for dinner. I'd invite you to join but last time you nearly ate us out of house and home."

"It's cool, I'm not hungry." I lie.

Her narrowed eyes linger on my bruises. "I hope you didn't drag my son into whatever trouble earned you those."

I raise my hands. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Oh, hey dude." Nick appears behind her, tearing a bite off a dinner roll. "You coming in?"

Mrs. Abrams reluctantly steps to the side, and I slip through, telling Nick, "We gotta talk."

He stops chewing, a concerned look overcoming him. "Sure. Go up to my room, I'll be there in a sec."

His mom starts to object, but I'm already bounding up the carpeted stairs. I hook my hands around the back of my neck in his room. It's been a few hours since I saw Charlie, but the restlessness has stayed since.

Nick walks in carrying his plate of dinner. "What's up?"

"Why'd you tell Charlie about the shop?"

He frowns. "Did I?"

"Yes! She came in and asked me to change her oil."

"Is... is that a euphemism?"

"Wha—? No! It was an excuse for her to question me about Summer. And now she knows about the shop and could just show up at any time."

"Is that really so bad? It's not like it's your house or something. And who's to say she'll pitch up there again, anyway?" He offers the plate of food to me, a knife and fork in his other hand. "Here."

"What, you want me to eat your table scraps like a dog? No thanks."

Nick shoots me an offended glare. "Does this look like table scraps? I haven't touched a thing. And I can get more when you leave, so quit shitting on me and just take it."

My mouth waters at the sight, stomach rumbling in response. I sheepishly take the plate and mutter a thank you.

I don't particularly like his mom, but I'll give credit when it's due. She makes a mean brisket. Paired with buttery mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables, this meal is a million times better than the gas station dinner I was planning on grabbing on the way home.

I sit at his desk and push aside a pile of books, tucking into the food.

"So Charlie wanted to talk to you about Summer?" Nick asks, slumping on the edge of his bed. "Why?"

"She thinks Summer had something to do with me ending our friends with benefits thing."

"Does she?"

"No... I mean, kind of." I shovel mashed potato onto my fork. "It was gonna end anyway. Summer just happened to come into the picture around the same time. I don't want Charlie knowing that, though."

"Worried she'll attack you?"

"What?" I give him an incredulous look. "No. Why would she attack me?"

"Oh, man." Nick laughs. "Don't you remember what she did to Mikey Seldero in ninth grade?"

The memory rushes back at the mention of that name. "Jesus, I totally forgot about that."

"Poor guy walked out of the relationship with a sprained wrist, thanks to her. I guess he deserved it since he was messing around on the side, but still. Pretty drastic."

"Fuck. And here I was thinking about how I didn't want to hurt her. Maybe I should've been more worried it would be the other way round."

"Nah, that was like an actual relationship with Mikey. You guys were nowhere close to that level." He leans back on his hands. "Give it a couple weeks and she'll be over everything and hooking up with someone else."

My mind is running in thought. It slams to a halt as I drop my knife and fork, turning in my seat. "Do you think I'm stupid, Nick?"

He stares at me in blankness. "Uh..."

"It's not rhetorical."

"I don't have to tell you you're a smart guy, Ashton. If you're fishing for compliments—"

"I'm not talking about intelligence, I'm talking about life." I get up, glancing at the sun-faded Arctic Monkeys poster on the wall before beginning to pace.

"Like, am I just stupid in life? Is every fucking decision I make a stupid one? I provoke my dad and piss him off when I know how it's gonna end. I'm always landing myself in trouble because it's fun, but at what cost? I lied to Charlie about being into Summer. And I am, I'm into her and I don't even really know why because she frustrates the crap out of me, but there's something about her. She's been stuck in my mind since we met, and that's gotta mean something, right? But is it all just going to blow up in my face? Should I go against whatever I'd usually do? I don't—"

"God, chill. You're gonna pass out if you don't take a breath." Nick cuts in. "First, what your piece of shit dad does to you isn't because you provoke him, it's because he's a piece of shit. And second, yes, you're stupid."

I'm about to argue back as a reflex, but he stops me again.

"You make stupid choices, Ashton. You already know that. I've told you that when you try talking me into doing stupid shit. The thing is, though, a lot of those choices normally end up paying off. And they probably wouldn't for other people. You wouldn't even be in culinary school if you hadn't been forced into home ec, and a stupid decision is what got you kicked out of woodshop."

Nick runs a hand through his bronze hair, keeping me hooked on his blunt words of wisdom.

"When it comes down to it, you don't listen to your brain because it's smart and would stop you. So you listen to your gut because it's driven by instinct. We both know you're gonna do whatever the hell you want. So if you want Summer, nothing you tell yourself, nothing Charlie says, and nothing I say is going to stop you. Fighting with your brain is only drawing out the inevitable."

A/N: please take a sec to tap on the star and vote, I appreciate it!