Asher Kane's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

Sammy's fingers pressed the cut on his shoulder. She leaned close, studying the gash, then him. This was the moment Asher had wanted for three years. His rival, no longer leaving. Just curious. He wanted to say something true. But his mouth never worked that way with her. "You did this picking a fight," she said. Flat. Not a question. "You started it," he said. The words snapped out before he could stop them. Old habit. Festival habit. Sammy's hands went still. Her jaw set. "There it is." He knew that look. He'd caused it at every booth, every judging table. The moment she decided he was just trouble. She pulled the gauze tight, hard enough to sting, and reached for her bag. "Wait." His voice cracked. "Don't." "Why? So you can win this too?" She stood. "I came here. I touched your busted shoulder. And you still swing at me." Asher opened his mouth. The same tired joke was waiting there, ready to ruin it. He clamped it shut. He had three seconds and no words that wouldn't come out as a fight. So he didn't speak. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the thing he'd been carrying for a week. A spiked choker, black leather, silver points. Her name stamped bold across the front. SAMMY. He'd made it himself at the bench, filing each spike by hand. He held it out to her. Sammy stopped. She looked at it. Then at him. "I can't say it right," he said. "I never can. With you I say the wrong thing every time." He pushed the choker closer. "So. Here. This is what I meant." She didn't take it. Not yet. She stared at her own name in his rough hands. "You made this," she said. Quiet now. Not clipped. "Spent two nights on the spikes." Sammy sat back down on the stool. She took the choker. Her thumb ran over the letters of her name, over each sharp point. She wasn't leaving. She wasn't arguing. "Three years," she said. "You fought me at every festival. And this whole time you were building me a necklace." "I'm bad at the fighting part too," he said. "I just can't stop looking at you." The words landed before he could take them back. No joke under them. Nothing to swing with. Just the truth, plain. Sammy fastened the choker around her throat. The spikes caught the garage light. She looked at him the way she looked at a problem she finally understood. "Okay, troublemaker," she said. "Finish letting me fix your shoulder." She picked the gauze back up. But her other hand stayed near his, not pulling away. The fight was over. Something else had started. And now Asher had to prove he could keep his mouth shut long enough to earn it.