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“Mom,” Asher said louder. “Mom.”
Each second felt like a lifetime. Asher should have everyone here. His family. All his people. But he refused to call the people who loved him most. The only person he called was his father, who answered his cell phone completely inebriated. He’d shown up to the hospital after driving drunk to get there, made a spectacle of himself, and then was arrested. Remy wished so hard she could cut the man from Asher’s life, as much as wished she could have given his mother the strength she never had.
The beeping slowed and slowed until his mom flatlined.
Remy closed
her eyes and let the tears fall. For his mother. And for Asher.
A second later, the nurse turned off the monitor. “I’m sorry.” She pressed a hand to his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Asher. I’ll give you a minute with her.”
When the nurse left the room, Asher dropped his face into his hands. His body shook with his silent cries. Remy shot forward, wrapping one arm around his neck, the other hand threaded through his hair. He turned into her, gripping her so tight. And she held on, pressing her lips to the top of Asher’s head as he cried into her shirt.
She blinked out of the memory, staring into the same eyes, and yet they were so different from back when they were younger. Harder. Darker. Wiser. They’d been through so much. Gains. Losses. Death.
Asher’s brow furrowed as he took her hand, tugging her forward into his warmth and strength. “We don’t need to overthink this. I can be what you need right now.” He tucked a finger under her chin. “Let me be that for you.”
Maybe this was a big mistake. Maybe Asher was trying to fix walking out on her by being there for her now. But what Remy knew for certain was that she didn’t want to become the woman she was after Asher left. A shell of what she once was. Broken and shattered into a thousand pieces. She couldn’t fall into that depression again, hiding under the blankets, refusing to live. She stepped back. “Right now, I need to think about me, and figure out how I got myself into all these messes.” Most of all, she couldn’t get hurt again.
And her heart felt unsteady with Asher. Her body, obviously not so much.
“Whatever you need, Remy.” He gave a sweet smile that touched places that her heart didn’t want him touching, then headed down the stairs. “Lock the door behind me.”
She followed him, watched him slip back into his boots, then he was gone.
She dropped her head against the locked door and breathed deeply. She needed to call Kinsley and Peyton to get her head straight, but first, she had to figure out how to word all this exactly. I slept with Asher. Asher and I kinda did it. We totally had hot sex all night long!
With a deep sigh, she moved away from the door. There was no way that she told them and it wouldn’t have a huge impact. Even Remy couldn’t quite wrap her head around last night. She couldn’t even blame it on the booze. Her desire for Asher had never left; the booze simply made her heart shut up with all the warnings and red flags.
Needing the only thing that made her feel better, she hurried back into her bedroom, fell back in bed, and then promptly hid under the blanket. Salem meowed, then instantly joined her under the sheets, climbing onto her chest. “How do I always seem to make things messier?” she asked the cat.
Salem yawned as his answer.
She slowly stroked his head, half thinking she made life more complicated, and half thinking a good night of hot sex might be the best thing she ever did for herself.
Though her heart still remembered Damon, even if anger lived there too. Was it all lies? Every smile, every gentle kiss…was none of it true? She guessed if she looked back throughout their year together, Damon never kissed her like Asher kissed her last night. With heat and passion. Damon held her hand on long walks, said all the right things to make her feel special, but he never set her body on fire and made her laugh like Asher did. With Damon she felt safe and content. With Asher she felt alive.
She sighed as Salem began snoring, and now she contemplated if anything she felt for Damon was truly real. Could it be real if Damon wasn’t real? Or did she make herself believe everything was rainbows and sunshine so that she could move on from Asher and salvage some sort of happiness in her life?
Truth was, she didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure she ever would.
She stared up at the white sheet with the sunlight flickering outside and felt her body relax as she stroked Salem’s soft fur, when her mind traveled back to Damon and all the messiness going on there. His odd request yesterday came to mind again and what I’ve got something at your house and need you to do a favor for me meant. There had to be something there that he wanted. The only question was, what?
* * *
After a hot shower and a quick breakfast, Asher grabbed his car keys off the kitchen counter in his two-story redbrick childhood home. His mother had paid for this house with blood, tears, and hard work at a diner downtown after she got medically discharged from the military for mental health when he was young, and from the money left to her from her parents when they passed away. His father had never come back to Stoney Creek to claim any part of the house, though Asher knew he wouldn’t. His father was a drunk coward. The house remained unchanged. The cherrywood table still sat in the dining room. The dark green countertops and oak cabinets were still ugly. The only thing Asher changed was the furniture in the living room. Brown leather couches, with a big-screen television to watch the game, and he was good. The rest felt like home.
He locked the front door behind him, hopped into his black Chevy Camaro, and made the ten-minute drive to the police station. He parked next to Boone’s motorcycle and then hurried out. Fall was officially here, and he zipped up his black leather jacket, wearing his black beanie, fighting off a chill. He headed down Main Street in desperate need of another coffee. The one at home didn’t cut it today. And it was also his day to bring in coffees for the team.
Most of Main Street was original; the buildings, including the police station, had been there since the 1800s and had been restored to showcase the charm of the small-town village. The shop owners had done their best to modernize the town too, making their signs a bit flashy. There were a few coffee shops in town, but none better than Flaming Pie. Set in between a chocolate store and an art gallery, the shop was busy most times of the day.
Asher entered through the front door, finding the place stuffed full of customers. Some people settled into casual conversation. Others were working on their laptops, already well into their workday.
“Asher, buddy, what can I get ya?” Danny, the owners’ son, asked as Asher reached the front counter.
“The team’s usual,” he said, his gaze sweeping the glass display of every pie imaginable.
“Heard about Remy,” Danny said, drawing Asher’s focus back to him. He poured the first cup of coffee. “Shitty deal.”
