Page 47 of From Asher, With Love

Pressure builds behind my eyes, and my chest tightens. The threads of the rope that feel as though they’re around my ribcage curl and tighten, squeezing the oxygen from my lungs. I lean forward and rest my head in my hands. Closing my eyes, I see Charleigh beneath the sheets of her bed… but not as the woman she is now. I see those eighteen-year-old round eyes looking up at me with every ounce of love she had. I feel her warmth under my touch as I drag my finger over her collarbone after our first time. The sound of her breath hitching as I memorize every inch, relishing in the way her heart thrashes in her delicate chest whenever I whisper in her ear.

I made her mine that night, and swore I would never let her go. But somewhere along the way, she slipped between the cracks, and I let her.

Something in Charleigh’s text doesn’t feel like a tepid sting. It’s a sharp, burning torturous bite. It’s an unexpected pain, and one I don’t know what to do with. Her words are a hammer to the heart.

Fuck.

Lifting my head up, I watch the rain for precisely one second before I’m swiping my phone from the coffee table, snatching the keys to my BMW from the hook by my front door, and heading for the parking garage.

FOURTEEN

CHARLEIGH

Asher is an arrogant asshole.

I haven’t spoken to him since last week. I’m still reeling from the stunt he pulled. I spent most of my week going through invoices, filling my wedding calendar for the rest of the year, and ignoring phone calls from my parents. Work has always been my escape. It’s a reminder of the beauty that still exists in a world so easily clouded by tragedy.

By the time I make it home from my store, I’ve finally come to terms with the decision I need to make. I try not to beat myself up too much, but when I’ve washed my hair and begin the task of shaving my legs, I’m reminded of every reason why I knew hiring Asher was a bad idea.

My trust in him dissolved years ago, yet I was stupid enough to put my trust in him again. I run the razor up my leg, thinking back to him standing in that old restaurant space that was terribly out of my budget. The smirk that appeared on his ridiculously gorgeous face, and the way he slithered in like a snake hunting its prey. It was as if he began circling around, asking vague questions before landing on the one topic I knew he genuinely wanted to talk about.

My father.

The scars and wounds that were caused by my father are internal, settling in right alongside the ones Asher left when he disappeared. Flashes of the night my father nearly broke him come back to me. He was the one to tip the first domino of all the events to come after that night.

My breathing becomes shallower, and my hands begin to shake. I try to calm myself down, counting to ten, scared I’m going to accidently cut myself while shaving, but even when I calm my breathing long enough to finish my shower, I still haven’t stopped thinking about Asher.

The thought of him persuading me to hire him, then deciding to make a complete one-eighty and show me a place he knew I couldn’t afford still irritates me. Part of me wants to believe Asher was convinced four hundred thousand over my budget wasn’t a deal breaker for me, but as soon as he brought up the subject of my father, he made his intentions clear. Perhaps it had to do with our almost kiss in front of the mantle. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to remember what it felt like to be touched by him. If I’m honest, I wanted him to fuck me right there, with the replica of the flower I’d shown him on Christmas Eve sitting in front of us. I wanted him to take me and demand I remember what it was like to be with him all those years ago. But now, I wish I’d never agreed to working with him in the first place. The pain is too great. Asher and I are a complicated web. A tangled, sticky mess we can’t seem to stay away from.

After I slip into my robe, my phone rings. “Hey, Julianna.”

“Hey, are you busy?” she asks.

“I just got out of the shower. I texted Asher and told him I can’t work with him anymore.” I breathe out, wringing out the rest of the water in my hair. “He broke my trust when I was eighteen, and he’s done it again, Jules. There’s too much historybetween us. Ten years obviously wasn’t enough time for us to forget our past. We’re finished.”

“Shit, really?” She sighs. “I’m sorry, babes. What did he do?”

“Acted like a complete asshole.” I scoff, the sting of what happened between us still prevalent. “Wait, I take that back. Hewasandisa complete asshole.” The words spill from my mouth, but I’m not completely sold on them because, despite the person he’s become, I know the man I fell in love with is still somewhere inside him.

But that doesn’t change the bitterness I feel for the way he left, and how I apparently haven’t been able to let it go since we’ve come back into each other’s lives.

“Oh, no,” Julianna croons. “I’m so sorry I’ve been out this week for the interior designer workshop. What happened?”

I resist the tears stinging the corners of my eyes, keeping them at bay. “He brought up my dad and assumed I could just ask him for money.”

A sharp hiss leaves Julianna’s mouth. She knows the ins and outs of my parents’ tumultuous marriage and how I was always caught in the crossfire. She knows about my father’s infidelity and how his failure to keep his dick in his pants bled into every aspect of our lives, forcing my father to declare bankruptcy.

“Men can be such dickheads.” Julianna clicks her tongue. “I swear, I don’t know why we bother.”

I nod, feeling my chin wobble as I inhale an unsteady breath. “In all fairness, everything that happened with my father and him basically making our entire family broke wasafterAsher left. He didn’t know.”

“He still left you, Charleigh. He didn’t even have the decency to tell you to your face. He left you a note taped to your window along with all the shattered pieces of your broken heart. Men tend to do that, no matter what age.Apparently.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask, sensing there’s more to her statement.

Julianna pauses. “I don’t want to hear you gloat or kick your feet in excitement when I tell you.”

I frown, continuing to make my way toward my kitchen, thankful we’ve shifted the topic away from Asher. “I wouldn’t do that, Jules.”

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