“Please. Anywhere else.”
“Unfortunately, I couldn’t arrange for anything on short notice. Look, it’ll be a rough night. But you’ll tough it out and learn your lesson.” She patted his thigh. “Once everything settles down, I’ll make it up to you.”
“Candace, this is mad!”
“Shh.”
“My knees, the boxes, it’s—”
“Shut your mouth.” She tucked the barrel under his chin. His mouth clicked shut and she slapped the tape over it. “Remember, I’m actually taking it easy on you. You and I both know this is a mild punishment for betrayal. Let’s just hope Ash doesn’t act up again.”
Clutching her stomach, she rose to her feet. With a grunt, she stepped back. Their eyes met for a cold moment.
Then the lights went out.
The door rolled down.
She left him there. Just like the shooter had thirty-two years ago.
44
Ash merged onto I-81 North and crushed the gas pedal. She had no destination, only a desperate need to clear her head. Driving fast usually relaxed her, and now was no exception. With the van rumbling around her and the heater throwing chalky air in her face, she felt healthier, saner. Her neck muscles warmed and softened as she distanced herself from Hollow Hills.
Before long, however, her anxious mind overpowered her. Thoughts of Dad suffering cropped up inside her head. She could only imagine what he was going through. She pictured her own knees buzzing like a pair of hornets’ nests, complete with bursts of stinging heat. Her stomach twisted with each passing mile, each shake of the vehicle’s frame.
Over in the passenger seat, Cheeto stared out the window. She’d allowed him to ride along only because he promised to shut up and not look at her. His pitying look from earlier still irritated her. She worked hard to hide her past, especially from her bandmates. Now that he knew about the dumpster, she wanted to fire him. That, or smack him around till amnesia kicked in.
But what she wanted more than anything right now was to grab her Gibson and play something fierce. Something from the heart. Obviously she couldn’t play anything, so she turned on the CD player. The speakers blasted with the latest Bad Parts album. She amped the volume.
Next to her, Cheeto lip-synced. On the album, his vocals meshed perfectly with her riffs. With a voice like that, he couldn’t be mimicked or replaced.
She lowered the volume. “Cheets.”
“Yeah?”
“Why’d you join my band?”
“You promised we’d make millions.”
Ash snorted. “Any other reason? I mean, you had it pretty good with that Boston screamo band. They were your buddies. Why leave?”
“Guess I outgrew them. Wanted to see where life would take me.” He shifted in his seat. “If we’re being real, I never thought much of my singing till you threw me in your lineup.”
“Wow. You’re nuts. The second I heard you, I saw dollar signs.”
“Well, I didn’t. I actually wanted to quit singing, get a haircut, and take up accounting.”
“Accounting? Seriously? Can you even subtract?”
“Very funny. My old man’s an accountant. Every time I see him, he pushes me to get a degree and join his firm.”
“Pssh. You’re better with notes than numbers.”
He shrugged. The van went silent.
Driving around didn’t placate her tangled stomach. Next chance she got, she turned back. When they returned to Hollow Hills, she parked on Candace’s street, about six houses down. There were still no lights on inside. Why was it taking so long to move Dad a few miles out? The question only made the guilt twist harder inside her. She wanted a distraction—wanted Cheeto to say something. Hell, she’d say something herself, but she couldn’t think of anything.
Actually, there was one thing.
“So,” she said, taking a deep breath. She couldn’t believe what she was about to admit. “I was twelve when I found out about the dumpster.” She tried to meet his eyes, but the best she could do was stare at the dash. “Now before you tell me that I was a baby and it wasn’t my fault, you gotta realize I’ve heard that a million times. I get it, there’s no logical reason to blame myself. But I do anyway. You see, when Trent and I were kids, it didn’t take us long to realize that Dad and his ex-wife weren’t our real parents. I always wondered about my real mom and dad, and I worried that I wasn’t good enough for them. That bothered me, but at least Trent was in the same boat. At least until…”
She stopped herself. Couldn’t go on.
“Until,” Cheeto said, “you found out only you got left behind. For whatever reason, they kept Trent but not you.”
Lump in her throat, she nodded. She expected him to coddle her and tell her it was okay, but he didn’t. Nor did he pat her shoulder, offer a hug, or deliver any of the other consolatory gestures she’d received through the years.
“Ash?” he asked. “Can I see your hand—er, wrist?”
“Why?”
“Just want to see it.”
What the hell, she figured. It was no secret anymore.
She popped the cast off. Even with the heater blasting, her arm felt chilly as she stretched it toward him.
He pushed the sleeve up her arm. Her flesh tingled under his fingers. He gripped her wrist. With his thumb he rubbed her stump. Kept rubbing. Wait, was he massaging her? It might’ve felt good if not for how perverted it was. She tried pulling back, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Can I have my arm back?”
“In a sec.” He leaned forward as if studying the seamless flesh. Without warning, his lips pushed against it, warm and soft.
“Jesus!” She jerked back. “The fuck, Cheeto?”
“What?” When he looked up, his hair tickled her forearm. Something stirred within her stomach. He kissed her stump again. “Am I doing something wrong?”
“Yeah.” She tried to wrestle her arm free. “You know my policy.”
“Policy?” He laughed. “What’re you, HR?”
“I’m protecting the band.”
“Are you?” His head tilted. “Is it really about the band?”
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“You tell me.”
Her mouth opened to reply, but words failed her. She wanted to smack him, but she felt paralyzed. Right in front of her, Cheeto—her fucking vocalist—was making out with her amputated limb and she…
She didn’t want it to stop.
But it had to stop. For the band’s sake. If Cheeto went further, it would change their dynamic, both onstage and off.
Slowly she pushed him away.
“What, I’m not good enough?” he asked.
“That’s not it.”
“So am I?”
“For fuck’s sake, just stop!”
“Why? I don’t care that you’re missing a hand. Doesn’t change anything. Not for me.”
She was breathing heavy. They both were. The windshield fogged up. As she reached for the defroster, something in the back of Ash’s mind detonated like a nuke. It exploded down her spine, an outpouring of excited chills.