The yellow street threw weird shadows over the ugly scene. Ash’s face seemed demonic as he swung three more times. It all happened so quickly, only the second man tried to hit back, his fist tangling in Ash’s coat.
Then two of them were laying on the cold sidewalk, their breath steaming like horses, surprise and pain on their faces.
The third man stared in disbelief, his alcohol soaked brain trying to work out what had just happened.
I was so shocked, I hadn’t moved a muscle, but when I saw Ash grab him even though the guy wasn’t putting up a fight, punching him over and over again until the man puked and collapsed in his own vomit, I cried out.
“Ash, no!”
I swear I heard the snap of breaking ribs as Ash stamped down hard. Then he hesitated and turned slowly to look at me. Across the street, people were shouting, and I could see two of them on their cell phones, probably calling the police. We had to get out of here or Ash would be spending Thanksgiving in a jail cell. And this time I was certain my dad wouldn’t help him.
Ash lowered his foot and seemed to come back to himself. He jogged toward me, scooped up the gym bag and grabbed my hand, tugging me down the street, until we turned the corner and the men were out of sight.
My frozen fingers fumbled as we reached my car, and Ash calmly took the keys from my shaking hand, opened the passenger door and helped me inside.
Then he jumped into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb, his face tense, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. I’d never seen anything so . . . so vicious before. Those drunk guys hadn’t stood a chance, and I’m not sure Ash would have stopped before he’d done even more serious damage. What the hell had happened? We’d been walking away? What had set him off? I tried to think back, but my mind had gone blank.
“Did you see him?” Ash asked suddenly.
“Yes! I . . . my God, Ash! Those men! That was . . .” Insane. Horrifying.
Ash threw me a confused look, then his face settled into a hard mask.
“They were assholes.”
“Yes, but . . .”
He sighed out a long breath. “Are you mad at me?”
The hot and cold emotions running through me couldn’t be summed up in one word or even one sentence, so I didn’t try.
“You have blood on your shirt.”
His lips tightened again. “You’re mad at me.”
“You could have been arrested for assault.”
He shook his head. “I can go home—back to the apartment—if you don’t want me to be with your nice happy family.”
His tone was sarcastic, but there was a vulnerability that made me want to protect him, to make it okay. Which seeing as he’d just taken on three guys—drunken guys I’ll grant you, but three guys all the same—he definitely didn’t need my protection.
“No, it’s over now. Just . . . I can’t believe . . . so ruthless.”
We didn’t speak again, except for me to give him directions as we left the city and headed south.
It felt a lot like our escape from Vegas. There was the same tension in the air and uncertainty between us as Ash drove into the night. Finally, I remembered the trick that always worked with him: I turned on the radio. We listened to a mournful Country song before Ash hit the button and found a Chicago jazz station.
As we drove south, we passed through the quaint community of Canaryville where I’d grown up. Each street had a memory, with the landscaped yards, sprawling old trees and a cultural life that centered on St. Gabriel’s. Mom was going to love the fact that Ash was Catholic. I knew that come Christmas, she’d be dragging us off to Midnight Mass.
As soon as I had the thought, I paused. Ash wasn’t my family, no matter what a piece of paper said, and for all I knew, now that he had money, and his passport and green card were on the way, he’d be flying home for Christmas, especially if the show was going to close like he thought.
A sharp ache made me press my fingers to my chest. And it wasn’t the cold November night that made me shiver.
But then my phone rang, and my cousin Paddy’s name flashed up.
“Hi, Paddy!”
“Hey, kid! You on your way?”
“Yes, another 10 or 15 minutes. Why?”
“Well, don’t freak, but Collin’s here.”
“Collin?”
Ash threw me a questioning look.
“Yeah. He’s been drinking . . .”
“Collin never drinks.”
“Well, he is now, Laney, so you’d better get over here. And, um, he’s been saying things.”
“What sort of things? What’s he been saying, Paddy?”
There was a sigh. “Just get here, Laney,” and then he hung up.
“That was weird.”
“Everything okay?” asked Ash.
“I don’t know. Apparently Collin showed up. Oh God, that’s going to be awkward! What on earth is he doing at my aunt’s place?”
Ash tapped a long finger on the steering wheel.
“He wants you back.”
“No, not after how things ended. You heard what he said.”