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“I know.”
“Then say yes.”
My gaze drops to the iron between us. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yeah it is. Don’t make this complicated.”
A hundred reasons crowd my mind, most of them stemming from our parents.
“I wouldn’t even know what to do once I got there.”
“I’ll show you.” He shifts closer to the vent. “You can stay with me. We’ll figure out the rest when we get there.”
A strange ache opens in my chest. The possibility is too close. “And then what?”
“Whatever you want.”
I try to picture waking up somewhere no one decides what I wear or where I go. Walking out the front door simply because I feel like it. Having Asher close enough that I could call when I inevitably get something wrong.
“They’d never let me go.”
His expression hardens. “You don’t need their permission.”
I trace one of the iron curls with my finger. He makes it sound so simple. Step outside. Get in his car. Leave.
But the door could be wide open, and I’m not sure I could walk through it.
Asher watches me for another moment before his shoulders sink. “Just think about it. Promise me that much.”
I nod. It’s the closest I can get to yes.
He lets the silence settle before changing the subject. “You really spit on Toby?”
I almost feel bad gloating, but I can’t help smiling. “Yes. Right in his eye.”
Asher’s chuckle reminds me of simpler times. When we were still kids. Before he became someone special and left me behind.
“Hell yeah. Bullseye.”
Like throwing darts at the board on his closet door. He’d stand behind me and give directions while I missed spectacularly, both of us choking back laughter so Mother wouldn’t hear. The one time I stuck a dart in the wall, he took the blame.
His praise makes heat flood my chest until my pride folds in on itself. The truth settles back in its place. Toby provoked my unruly response. At some point, I’ll have to do things I don’t want to do. That might be easier than navigating my own desires after they’ve burned me before.
My head rests on my hands on the floor.
“I shouldn’t have done it. I could be engaged right now.”
“Jesus Christ,” he says too loudly. “You need to get out of this house. Not get engaged to that slimeball.”
“It’s for my own good,” I whisper to myself.
He shakes his head. “They’re brainwashing you too?”
I look down, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s just… easier if I don’t have to decide anything for myself.”
He curses softly, then reaches into his pocket.
“I have something for you. Open up.”
