The Number Seven (bxb) - Birds of Prey Series: book 1

The flight back to New Hampshire was silent and painful.

Casey had tried to initiate a conversation with Asher several times, only to be met with icy silence. Asher spent most of the ride with his hood over his head and his gaze outside the aircraft window—trying with everything he had to sleep away his motion sickness.

It seemed the rest of the team hadn't been told about his exile yet. Asher didn't feel like being the one to publish his own obituary. So he said nothing to any of them, and assumed they'd find out over the remainder of the weekend.

The next day, Jessy came into his room to ask if he was coming to the celebration party at the cove. "Coach paid for drinks and catering," he said. "Noah's gonna hook up some speakers to his Chevy so we'll have music and everything."

"I'm good," Asher said.

And Jessy lingered there in the door frame in a moment of unsureness. It was clear he wanted to ask what was wrong—but he settled for a slap on the door frame and left.

Paul wasn't as hard to convince. He stopped in Asher's door, took one look at him, and went on his way.

There was no hiding his volatile mood. Not from himself, not from them, and not from the things that would surely be watching him sleep tonight.

Once they were gone, Asher started to pack. He didn't have much to bring with him—his books, some clothes, a few precious items here and there.

He thought about leaving some things behind, but Coach would probably need the room for whoever was coming in to replace him for the rest of the season. So, he gathered everything he could into his suitcase and tossed out the rest.

When he was finished, Asher took one last look around the apartment—memorializing all of his favorite things to mind. The living room where he binged horror movies with Jessy every weekend, the kitchen, still stained green with Izzy's margaritas. The window that he spent every morning staring out of while he waited for Paul and Jessy to get ready for practice.

He couldn't bring himself to return to his prison cell of a dorm room, so Asher stepped out into the pouring rain and started the five-mile walk back to Rodger's house.

He was only a few blocks down the road when a car came to a skidding stop beside him. Deja stuck her head from her white Beetle and laid on the horn. "Hey, get in! It's pouring!"

Asher could hardly hear her over the hard, angry rain. He was hesitant to take her up on the offer. He had been hoping the walk would take his mind off of things, but his shoes were sodden down to his socks, and his jacket was starting to feel too heavy on his shoulders.

He threw his things into the back of the Beetle and climbed inside.

"You headed to the cove?" Deja asked.

Asher shook his head. "My dad's place."

"Your dad?" Deja shot a glance to the back seat, where Asher's luggage sat, dripping with dirt and rain water. "Did something happen?"

He didn't feel like explaining. Didn't feel like going over every momentary fuck-up in his head, so he stared out the window at the hard-falling rain and said, "I quit the team."

"Why?" Deja asked.

Asher didn't have an answer. He hadn't thought that far ahead. He was too tired, and his thoughts were jumbling together more and more by the hour. He was afraid that soon, he wouldn't have room for them in his own head.

"Screw the cove," Deja said, cranking her shift into gear. "You need some of Izzy's Mojitos and a warm meal."