I nod. And I brace myself. For the yelling. The crying.
Ella runs to me and throws herself into my arms. She wraps her legs around my waist and clings to me, shaking with sobs, and I squeeze my eyes closed, circling my arms around her and holding her tight to me.
“Where have you been, you asshole?” she mumbles into my shoulder, still crying.
Something in my chest loosens. My shoulders dip, and for the first time in months, this static in my mind, the constant screaming reminders that Asher’s death is all my fault—it stops. It quiets. I squeeze her, breathing her in, gripping the back of her T-shirt like holding onto her might turn back time. “Close.”
She pulls back, but I don’t let her go.
“You’ve been close this whole time?” I nod, and she punches my chest.
“Ow!”
“You couldn’t say hi? Asshole!” She hugs me again. “You stupid prick.”
“This is not a nice welcome back.”
“What did you expect?” she grumbles into my shoulder, and she’s right.
What did I expect? Even the best-case scenario would lead to some verbal abuse from Ella. This is how it always was with us and always will be.
She unwraps her legs, and I place her on her feet. She stays close, reaching up to tug on my hair gently.
“You grew your hair.”
“Not by choice,” I say. “Hard to go for a trim when you’re on the run.”
She runs her fingers through it. “I can do it.”
I snort. “Not a chance. You and scissors?”
“I can cut hair!”
“Not mine, you can’t.”
Ten minutes later, I reluctantly sit in a kitchen chair as Ella cuts my hair. I complain the entire time that I don’t trust her, and she snaps at me that she’ll bury the scissors in my neck if I complain once more, only finally keeping me quiet by shoving a box of Oreos in my hands.
It feels strangely normal. Like we’ve rewound time and we’re back in the city, arguing over pointless stuff. I expect Asher to walk in any minute.
“Don’t kill each other, okay?”
“You’ve really been close the whole time?” Ella asks from behind me.
“Yeah.” I shove another Oreo in my mouth. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’ve been fine,” she says, her fingers still in my hair. “Nothing has happened since …” She pauses. “Since I last saw you. I guess they lost interest.”
My bruised ribs and the knife wound that still hasn’t healed say the opposite, but I’ll wait before I tell her about that. I don’t want to scare her—not unless I have to.
“I saw Monty today,” she says.
“I know.”
She pauses. “You were there?” I nod, and she seizes my head. “Don’t move your head, numb nuts!”
I huff. “Yes. I was there. I’ve been everywhere you have for the last six months; I told you.”
“Everywhere?”
