TRISTAN ARTHUR GRANGER
2001–2020
“SLEEP ON NOW, AND TAKE YOUR REST.”—MATTHEW 26:45
In the parking spot next to her, a car door shut. Ashley didn’t look at who it was—probably another person here to lay flowers for the victims. News had spread outside of Snakebite in crashing waves. Frank Paris’s face was on every news station in the state. Under his picture were always smiling pictures of Nick, Bug, and Tristan. People drove from all over to pay their respects and to see where it all happened.
“Can I come up?”
The voice wasn’t a stranger’s. Tammy Barton stood next to the Ford, one hand resting on the tailgate. Like always, she was the perfect portrait of what Snakebite was supposed to be. Her short blond hair was ironed into easy waves, her long lashes perfectly curled, her lips painted a subtle mauve. Before all this, when Ashley looked at her mother she had seen what she wanted to be in twenty years. She had seen the kind of woman who held Snakebite on her shoulders. She had seen the best parts of this town—the strength, the loyalty, the pride.
But Snakebite was wrong. Maybe Tammy Barton was wrong, too.
Ashley nodded and motioned to the space next to her in the truck bed. Tammy carefully climbed up and nestled against her in silence. She placed her hand gently on Ashley’s knee and looked out at the lake, the hills, the bright gold horizon. After a moment, she unearthed a thermos from her bag and passed it to Ashley.
Ashley unscrewed the lid and a cloud of hibiscus steam wafted out. Even here, even after everything, the scent was home.
“How’d you know I was here?” Ashley asked finally.
“I’ve known you for a while now,” Tammy said. She hesitated, then added, “Well, I’ve known most of you, I guess.”
Ashley’s stomach sank. “I don’t wanna talk about that.”
“Okay. We don’t have to.” Tammy paused. “But we can.”
Ashley hugged her knees tighter to her chest. In the two weeks since Paris’s basement, she and her mother had talked about a lot of things. They’d talked about what Snakebite would do now, what Ashley needed to recover from this, what Barton Ranch would do to stay afloat amidst the scandal. But they hadn’t talked about this. They hadn’t talked about the sinking feeling in her chest.
They hadn’t talked about the way Logan made her feel incredibly, impossibly alive. The way Snakebite had tried to kill her piece by piece, and Logan had put her back together.
A few months ago, Snakebite had been her home.
Now home was something else.
“You mind if I talk at you for a second?” Tammy asked.
Ashley said nothing.
“I’m not gonna pretend to get it. I didn’t get it with Alejo, either. But back then, I didn’t really try. You’ve been through a lot these past few months. More than I ever went through at your age. And I know that’s gonna change things for you.” Tammy squeezed Ashley’s knee. “If this is something you want, I can’t stop you. But I’ve never seen it make someone’s life easier. And after all this, I just want your life to be easy.”
“Yeah, well that’s kind of impossible now,” Ashley said. She didn’t want to snap, but anger boiled in her chest. For the last few weeks—last few months—it had been like she was trying to breathe underwater. “My friends are dead. How could it be easy now?”
“I lost my friends, too,” Tammy said. “One of my best friends broke up with me and left. The other one…” She gestured to the cemetery.
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s not. But I get it.”