From Ashes

Over the last eleven years, Tyler has begged me to let him tell his parents what was going on, but I couldn’t let that happen. If Tyler told them, they would call someone and I knew they would take me away from Tyler. My hero had died, and the mom I loved had disappeared down a bottle; no way was I letting someone take me from Ty too. The only way I had gotten him to agree was agreeing myself that if he ever found me unconscious, all promises were off and he could tell whomever he wanted. But that was just keeping Tyler quiet; we never had factored in the neighbors . . .

After the first three years of the abuse, I stopped sneaking out to Ty’s house every night, only doing so on the nights when it was something other than body parts hitting me, but Tyler was always waiting, no matter what. He kept a first aid kit in his room, and would clean up and bandage anything he was able to. We butterfly-bandaged almost all the cuts, but three times he forced me to get stitches. We told his dad I tripped over something while going for a run outside each time. I’m not naïve, I knew his dad didn’t believe me—especially since I was not one for ru

So when Tyler kissed my forehead, cheek, or hand, it never meant anything romantic. He was just comforting me in the same way he had since we were kids.

“Cassi? Did I lose you?” Tyler waved his hand in front of my face.

“Sorry. Life, starting over. Friends, yeah, this, uh—will be—I need to . . . friends.” I’m pretty sure there was English somewhere in that sentence.

Ty barked out a laugh and squeezed my knee, and after a few silent minutes he thankfully changed the subject. “So what do you think about the apartment?”

“It’s great. Are you sure you want me to stay with you? I can get my own place, or even sleep on the couch . . .” My own place? That was such a far-fetched idea it was almost fu

“No way, I’ve shared my bed with you for eleven years, I’m not about to change that now.”

“Ty, but what about when you get a girlfriend? Are you really going to want to explain why I live with you? Why we share a dresser, closet, and bed?”

Tyler looked at me for a second before turning his eyes back to the road. His brown eyes had darkened, and his lips were mashed in a tight line. “You’re staying with me, Cassi.”

I sighed but didn’t say anything else. We’d had a version of this argument plenty of times. Every relationship he’d ever had ultimately ended because of me and the fact that we were always together. I hated that I ruined his relationships, and whenever he was dating someone I would even stop coming to his room and answering his calls so he could focus on his girlfriend instead. That never lasted long though; he’d climb through my window, pick me up out of bed, and take me back to his house. We never had to worry about my boyfriends, since I’d never had one. What with Tyler’s possessiveness and all, no one even attempted to get close enough to me. Not that it bothered me; the only guy I’d ever had feelings for was too old for me and had only been in my life for a few short minutes. The moment I’d answered the door to see him standing there, my stomach had started fluttering and I felt this weird co

Tyler had decided to go to the University of Texas in Austin, where his cousin Gage, who was two years older than us, was currently studying. I’d heard a lot about Gage and his family from Ty over the years, since they were his only cousins, and I was genuinely happy he was going. Gage was like a brother to him and Tyler hadn’t seen him in a few years, so their sharing an apartment would be good for Ty. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do when Tyler left; the only thing I did know was that I was getting away from the house I grew up in. I just had to make it another month until I turned eighteen and then I was gone. But Tyler, being Tyler, made my future plans for me. He crawled through my window, told me to pack my bag, and just before he could haul me off to his Jeep, he told Mom and Jeff exactly what he thought of them. I didn’t have time to worry about the consequences of his telling them off, because before I knew it we were on the freeway and headed for Texas. We made the trip in just over a day, and now, after being here long enough to unpack his Jeep and shower separately, we were headed to some lake for a party to meet up with Gage and his friends.

Gage’s family wasn’t from Austin; I didn’t know where in Texas they lived, but apparently they had a ranch. After hearing that, I’d had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from asking what Gage was like. I understood we were in Texas now, but already Austin had blown my expectations of dirt roads and tumbleweeds away with its downtown buildings and greenery everywhere. I just didn’t know how I’d handle living with a tight-Wranglered, big-belt-buckled, Stetson-wearing cowboy like I’d seen in rodeos and movies. I’d probably burst out laughing every time I saw him.

When we came up to the lake and the group of people, I sucked in a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm my nerves. I wasn’t a fan of new people.

Tyler grabbed my hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “New begi

“I know. I can do this.” His Jeep stopped and I immediately took that back. Nope. No, I can’t do this. I had to think quickly of where every bruise was, making sure my clothes were covering them all, even though I’d already gone through this at the apartment. I just didn’t want anyone here to know what kind of life I’d had.

I jumped out of Tyler’s Jeep, took one more deep breath, and mentally pumped myself up. New life. I can do this. I turned and rounded the front and hadn’t even made it to Tyler’s side when I saw him. I don’t know if I made a conscious choice to stop walking or if I was still making my way to Tyler and didn’t realize it; all I could focus on or see was the guy standing about ten feet from me. He was tall, taller than Tyler’s six-foot frame, and had on loose, dark tan cargo shorts and a white button-up shirt, completely unbuttoned, revealing a tan, toned chest and abs. His arms were covered in muscles, but he didn’t look like someone who spent hours in the gym or taking steroids. The only way I can describe them is natural, and labor-made. His jet-black hair had that messy, just-got-out-of-bed look, and my hand twitched just thinking about ru