Asher Kane's Arc

Chapter 4 of 6

The shoulder was wrapped. Sammy sat on the stool, the choker tight at her throat, waiting. Asher knew the rule now. No festival. No crowd. No fight to hide behind. Just the two of them. And he had no idea what people did when they weren't swinging at each other. Three years, and every place he knew her was a booth or a judging table. He had to find somewhere new. Somewhere he'd never ruined. "Let me take you somewhere," he said. It came out flat. He braced for the joke to follow. It didn't. "Not here. Away from all of it." Sammy studied him. "You don't do away from it. You do festivals. And losing." "I know a dock," he said. "Quiet water. Bushes around it. Nobody goes there." He didn't say it was the only place he could think of where he couldn't start a fight. There was no prize to win at a dock. She stood. Crossed her arms. "How do I know you won't turn it into a contest? Race me swimming. Judge my diving. Something stupid." "Because there's nothing to win there," Asher said. "That's why I picked it." That landed. He watched it land. She uncrossed her arms. He took her on the bike. She rode behind him and said nothing the whole way. When they stopped, the water sat flat and gray. The dock ran out over it. Sand and bushes hid the shore from the road. No people. No noise. Asher killed the engine and the quiet pressed in. They walked out to the end of the boards. Sammy sat down, let her boots hang over the edge. Asher sat beside her. The old pull came. Say something sharp. Make it a game. He clamped his mouth shut. "You're quiet," she said. "I'm trying not to ruin it." Sammy laughed. Short. Real. He'd never heard that one from her. "You don't have to go mute. Just stop keeping score." So he talked. Not a joke. He told her about the choker. How many times he'd filed each spike wrong and started over. She listened. She didn't flinch when their shoulders touched. The water stayed calm. Nobody kept score. The sun dropped low. Sammy turned to him. "This was better than a festival," she said. "Don't tell anyone I said that." "I won't," Asher said. And he meant it. She stood, brushed the sand off. "Next time's mine," she said. "I pick the place. And you don't get to know where first." Asher watched her walk back down the dock. He'd done it. He'd taken her somewhere real and not broken it. But now the ground had moved under him. She wanted a next time, and she wanted it her way. A place he couldn't scout. Couldn't control. The one thing worse than not knowing where to begin was knowing she'd choose the where, and he'd have to follow.