Page 82 of Guitars and Cages

I could hear the pride in his voice, the affection, and I realized then how badly I’d wanted that, too. “Good, I’m glad.”

And I was, because Alexia had never been like the rest of us, so I was glad she didn’t have to share the bastard we had for an old man. I moved away from the desk, away from that piece of paper. “Can I, uhh...go work my shift now?”

“No. I told you, I borrowed a bartender from Dalton tonight and it wouldn’t be right not to let him make a full night’s pay.”

“I can work the door,” I suggested desperately, but he shook his head.

“I have Trevor on the door; he’s not gonna need any help tonight. I expect it to be pretty slow, and with that hand it’s not like you’d be much help if people got stupid.”

“Isn’t there anything you need help with?”

“To be brutally honest, Asher, right now I can’t stand the sight of you. Go home. I’ll call you when I think I can deal with you being here.”

That hurt. I wanted to lash out at him, to call him a liar for saying it didn’t matter if we were his or not, that he would still want all of us around, but I didn’t say a word. I just stood there.

“Go, Asher, before I say some things I might regret.”

I flinched. “Yeah, ’cause now that I ain’t yours I’m trash that you can toss out, right? Fine, I’m going!”

I walked to the door, fumbling with the lock, cussing it until it slid open. He didn’t say a word to me as I left. I didn’t run; I walked out of the bar and back out onto the streets, feeling cold and lost. I’d known this was going to happen, and yet even knowing, I hadn’t been prepared for how bad it felt to be kicked to the curb. I didn’t want to go home, and I didn’t want to hear Cole give me shit about how he’d been right. He’d told me not to take the test; I should have listened. At least then the maybe would still be there and Morgan might have kept me around.

Who was I kidding? He was too good of a person to want somebody like me, especially not now that he knew for sure Alexia was his.

I thought about going back to Catfish and begging for more mescaline, but I wasn’t sure if he had more. I wished I had a blade, something cold and sharp I could drag up my arms until reality faded, but Morgan had taken all my blades and hidden them away when he’d helped me move.

Cole would have blades, I suddenly thought, wondering if he’d started drinking yet and how long it would take before he passed out. It would be easy enough to pick up the one that was always strapped to his boot. I could almost feel the weight of it in my hand now. With single-minded determination, I headed for home, a car horn honking loudly after I stumbled off the curb damn near in its path. Oh well, it’s not like it would matter anyway, one less loser in a world full of them; that driver would have been doing a ton of people a favor if he hadn’t missed.

As I passed my old building I paused, glancing up toward the window of Conner’s apartment. The light was on, and I watched as a figure passed in front of the glass. Morgan was right: the gods should have pity on anyone thinking about having anything to do with me. I thought about Cole’s knife and the slick, sharp feel it would make sliding up my arm. Deep, I wanted to cut deep.

Instead, my feet carried me into the building and up the stairs, until I stood on the landing across from the crappy place where I used to live. I shouldn’t be there, I was screaming at myself to leave when I reached up and knocked on the door. My hands twitched; my body jerked. I wanted to bolt and flee down the stairs, run to my apartment, run to River’s End, run to anywhere far away from there. I half-turned, took a shaky step, and then the door was yanked open.

“Asher?”

He was watching me, and I saw the uncertainty in his eyes when I said nothing at first, the words choking me.

“Do you want to come in?”

I opened my mouth to say no, to apologize for coming up there, but the whispered sound I managed to make said neither of those things. “I need help.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Conner held the door open, waiting for me to go inside, but I stood there in the hallway, trying to decide what to do. In the end, Conner decided for me when he caught hold of my arm and practically dragged me inside the apartment.

“It’ll be a lot easier to talk in here than out there,” he said as he steered me toward the kitchen. First Catfish and now him; I guess I was really having a hard time moving under my own power. He pulled out a chair and I sat only after his hand on my shoulder pressed down enough to clue my brain in on what it was supposed to tell my body to do. A moment later he passed me a soda and sat down across from me, taking a long drink from the can in front of him. I ignored mine ’cause at the rate I was goin’ I’d prolly spill it if I tried to drink.

“What happened?” he asked after I’d been silent for a while.

I sat there trying to untangle all the things that had happened, the train wreck that my life had managed to spiral into. I didn’t know where to start. I shook my head at him, fumbling for words that didn’t come.

“I can’t help you unless you tell me what you need me to help you with,” he said patiently.

“I need to go to Nebraska,” I blurted out.

His eyes widened at that. “Isn’t that where you grew up?”

“Yeah, and I... I need to go back, but I can’t...and I have to.”

“Whoa, uhh, that’s a pretty big contradiction there.”

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