Bad Habit (Bad Love 1)

“It’s okay,” I’m quick to assure her. “I had Dash.” But the truth is, it’s not okay. And I don’t know why my first instinct is always to placate her.

“I envy you, Briar Victoria. Your brother has the title of being a rebel, but you… You’ve always marched to the beat of your own drum, even when it drove me insane.” She laughs bitterly.

She couldn’t shock me more if she decided to slap me in the face.

“Doing the right thing comes naturally to you,” she adds. “That’s why I wasn’t worried about you staying behind when we moved. Knowing the right thing is easy. Doing it is the hard part. You’ve never had that problem. So, if you think that Asher is worth your heart, then I have to trust that. I know better than anyone what happens when you don’t follow your heart.”

This is the first time my mom has ever, in my life, said something like this. She’s always been so closed-off, and though I’ve never once doubted her love for me, I never felt like she understood me. She’s prim and proper, and everything is black or white in her eyes. I’m messy, and I see the world in shades of gray. But seeing her this raw and unfiltered humanizes her. I feel like I’ve seen the first glimpse of Eleanor Vale the person, not the mother.

Closing the distance between us, I wrap my arms around her neck, hugging her tightly. She’s stock-still for a moment before she hugs me back just as tight and kisses the uninjured side of my head.

“So, where is he?” she asks, pulling back, wiping the wetness from under her perfectly lined eyes.

“Asher?” I ask.

“I’m assuming he’s the one who’s been staying here? It was his truck that was in the driveway that day, wasn’t it?”

I nod, feeling guilty for the first time about keeping it from her.

“And to say that he’s why you disappeared from the fundraiser would be a safe assumption?”

I clear my throat and look away and sit down on the bed, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Like she knows exactly what happened up on that balcony.

“I figured as much,” she admits, raising a brow. “You were always close. A little too close. And very protective of each other.”

I almost laugh, because it’s true. Asher has always been that way. But I’m just as protective of him. I’ve always felt the need to come to his defense and shield him from the condescending comments and judgment from the people of Cactus Heights, even when I know he’d rather I kept my mouth shut. He always thought he wasn’t good enough, but the opposite is true.

“That’s because he’s worth protecting. I knew it even then.” I feel those stupid tears stinging my eyes again, and I pick at the nonexistent lint on my duvet.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Mom confesses, her forehead wrinkling in confusion. “Why are you upset?”

“John Kelley died the night I was in the hospital.”

“Oh my God,” she says, sitting down beside me on the bed.

“Ash didn’t take it well.” I don’t know why I’m telling her any of this. It doesn’t feel natural, like I need to keep my secrets and feelings guarded. I keep waiting for her disapproving look or her condescending tone. But at the same time, I so desperately want to have this kind of relationship with her. She made an effort, so now it’s my turn. “This time it’s over for good, and I’m scared to death about what that means.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He thought you sent him away, right? And he still came back to you.”

“He didn’t,” I argue. “He came back for his dad.”

“That’s not what I said. He may have come back for his dad, but he came back to you.”

It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s a moot point. If he cared, he wouldn’t have left me in that hospital room after I begged him to stay. Even if he did decide to come back, it’s too little too late. I could forgive him, but I couldn’t ever forget.

Chapter 17

Asher

I stare at the old message on my screen, like I’ve been doing for the past hour, ignoring the texts from Dash and Adrian and everyone else. Briar was texting me “Glycerine” lyrics the other day before any of this happened. Lyrics about not letting the days go by. Lyrics that I could admit are fitting, if I wasn’t so stubborn.

I can still remember the night I played it for her. She closed her eyes, her long lashes resting on the tops of her still-round cheeks. Her black combat boots—that I was ninety-nine percent sure she begged her mom to buy her because I wore the same kind—were covered in dirt and dust and dangled off the hood of my car as she listened. She fell in love with that song, and I watched it happen. It was one of the first times I had ever felt like I had anything to offer Briar. I didn’t have money. I didn’t have anything, but I gave her a song and she liked it.

I think about responding. I type and delete, type and delete, before deciding against it. This is how it needs to be. I smooth my hair back with both hands before dropping my head to the back of the couch. She didn’t do it. This entire week has been a daze. I haven’t had time to process anything that went down except for Briar getting hurt and my dad dying. Fucking Whitley. I should’ve known she would stoop to that level. That girl is made up of equal parts jealousy and daddy issues.