“Of course,” he said, opening the passenger door.
Ash glanced at Candace, whose expression looked impenetrable enough to deflect gunfire. If Ash had any chance of swaying her, arguing now wouldn’t help.
Cradling her cast against her stomach, she stepped down from the passenger seat. The moment the door shut, Candace turned the Jeep around and drove off.
“Dad, this is it,” she said, hoping to stoke his enthusiasm. “It’s everything we need—my hand, Trent’s leg, and your ticket outta town.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what scares me.”
15
Ash shoved open the front door and called out to Trent. In the kitchen she spotted a doe-eyed woman with glasses and a frumpy haircut sitting at the table. The woman, who appeared to be in her forties, forced a smile and rose from her chair. She pinched at her crucifix necklace, clutching it as though Ash were Satan’s envoy.
“Hi, there!” the woman said in a fake-nice voice. She offered her hand. “You must be Ash.”
Ash shook the woman’s hand. It was moist with sweat.
“I’m Lauren.” She cleared her throat. Her breath smelled of peppermint. “Nice to meet you, sister-in-law.”
“Sister-in… Oh. Wow.” Ash vaguely remembered Dad texting her years ago about Trent having a kid. This appeared to be the baby mama. “Where’s Trent?”
“Listen,” Lauren whispered, “you should probably give him some space. He’s not rea—”
“Trent? Trent! Where you at?” Ash checked the den, expecting to see him lounging with his leg propped up. Instead a kid was lying on the couch. He was kinda cute, like a mini-Trent with sunglasses. Headphones plugged his ears, and clutched to his chest was an old-school iPod, one with a click wheel. She opened her mouth to ask what he was listening to when the back door rattled open.
Trent limped inside.
Though she tried not to look, her eyes gravitated toward the cane he hunched over. He spotted her and immediately shifted his weight onto his good leg and stood tall, throwing his shoulders back. He scowled beneath his shaggy black hair, his eyes burning. Ash swallowed, feeling the room’s temperature rise.
With a sideways nod, Trent signaled her to join him outside.
She followed him out, her hand concealed in her purse. They stood in the rocky mud beside the door, their designated smoking spot back in high school. As if reading her mind, he offered her a crumpled pack of Newports.
“I quit,” she said.
“So did I,” he said.
He shook the cigs at her. She felt too guilty to refuse and poked one between her lips. He lit it and she took a pull, making sure not to inhale. The smoke was dry and harsh but welcome.
“Why’d you quit?” he asked.
“Couldn’t afford it,” she said, tapping her cig over the dirt. Smoking out here was undeniably nostalgic. Almost like adulthood had never happened. “These days I invest everything in my band.”
“Yeah? How’s that going?” His tone was edgy, jealous.
“Good.” She swallowed. “We’re opening for Deathgrip on Friday.”
“Really? You flying me down?”
She couldn’t tell if he was joking. To be safe, she took him literally. “Wish I could.”
“Don’t bullshit me.” Trent dropped his cig and stomped it out with his cane. “You’d sooner cancel the show than have me anywhere near that place.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Oh yeah? Then why haven’t I heard anything from you in a decade? Not a call, not a text, not a card on our fucking birthday. Ever since you skipped town like a little crybaby, it’s been all silence.”
She opened her mouth and closed it again. She couldn’t find the right words.
“Know what? Don’t bother answering.” He turned, facing the woods beyond the backyard. “Just get outta here, okay? You ditched me and Dad once before. Do us a favor and do it again.”
“I never ditched you.”
“Hah. Right.”
“I left because I caught Dad burying a corpse. It freaked me out.”
“Bullshit. You got sick of taking care of me. That’s the reason. Driving me to physical therapy, helping me rehab my leg—that shit cut into your guitar time. God knows, nothing’s more important than that.”
That last part stung. When he put it that way, she felt like a callus bitch. He wasn’t entirely wrong either. Back then, she had wanted to escape the rehab routine. Not because she wanted to strum chords but because seeing him like that every day—crippled and miserable—made her want to smash herself to pieces.
“I fucked up my hand,” she said abruptly.
He blinked. “What?”
She lifted it from her purse. The palm throbbed inside the cast as she held it out to him. The scowl melted off his face.
“Jesus,” he said, studying the damage. “What happened?”
She told him everything, starting with Ski-mask and ending with Snare’s offer.
Meanwhile, Trent burned through another cig and tapped his cane in anxious anticipation. When she finished, he blew out a long, smoky sigh. “Sounds like you’re taking Snare’s deal.”
“Yeah.” She chewed her lip. “Gotta find someone for the leg.”
“Good luck.”
“I was thinking you, Trent.”
“Yeah, no shit,” he snapped. “But I’m not doing it.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not getting stuck in this town like Dad.”
“You won’t be stuck if this deal’s legit.”
“That’s a big if.”
“Trent—”
“Face it, Ash. You’ve already ruined my life once. Let’s not go for two.”
Her cheeks burned. “I’m trying to make up for it.”
“By setting me up with some demon that enslaves people? Wow, you’re too good to me.”
When he put it that way, she no longer felt so sure about the deal. Snare indeed had a shaky track record. Still, Ash had no other options if she wanted to take the stage on Friday. Maybe Trent could ignore the offer, but she couldn’t.
“If you change your mind, hit me up.”
She moved toward the door.
“Hang on.” He lifted his cane, blocking her. “Did Snare mention eyes?”
“Eyes?”
“Yeah.” He lowered his voice. “If it has an extra hand, what about extra eyes?”
“What for?”
“My kid.”
For a moment she didn’t understand. Then it hit her. Those sunglasses on the kid’s face—he didn’t wear them to be cool. He needed them for the same reason Stevie Wonder needed them.
“Wait,” she said, “your son’s blind?”
Trent nodded.
“Was he born like that?”
He shook his head.
“Then how’d he go blind?”
“Can you get extra eyes or not?”
“I…can try.”
“Try hard,” he said, tossing his cig. “Otherwise I’m not sticking my leg in that creek.”