Page 72 of From Asher, With Love

“Dad,” Charleigh sobs. She’s still on the edge of the bed, her shoulders racking uncontrollably. “I love him. Don’t do this.”

He ignores her, and my heart breaks. Fear creeps in, and I know there’s no turning this around. Charleigh’s future is lost with me in it.

“Get outnow!” he screams in my face. Spit lands on my bloodied face, but I don’t say a word when I pull myself to a stand. Charleigh’s mom is kneeling on the floor behind Trevor, her hands covering her mouth. Charleigh’s leaning forward, and I can see it in her body, the way she wants to leap forward and follow me. But I just look at her with a blank stare, silently begging her not to.

“No, Asher,” she whispers, tears streaming down her beautiful face, pleading. “Please.”

Holding my hand to my jaw, I silently turn around and walk out of Charleigh’s room. It’s the first time I’ve ever left her bedroom through the door, and it takes me a moment to find the stairs. My heart shatters with every step, and I don’t breathe until I can no longer hear Charleigh’s cries coming from her bedroom.

I hold my hand against my face the whole walk home, wondering how many bones are left broken. But the closer I get to my trailer park, the deeper a chill sets in my bones. At first, I think I’m losing it. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Maybe it’s my broken heart. But a bright orange and red glow comes from the top of the fifth trailer into the park, and I know it isn’t either of those things. Clouds of dark gray smoke pour out, flames flickering toward the front.

I immediately sprint home, running as fast as my injured body will allow. My feet slide and kick along the dirt when Ireach my driveway. I don’t regain my footing until I land on the first of three steps leading to the door.

“Mom!” I scream.

Blood drains from my body, prickles making their way down my spine. I’m standing in front of the door, trying to turn the lock, but it doesn’t budge. Heat surrounds me when it shouldn’t. It’s fucking winter.

“Mom!” I shout again, pounding on the door.

She doesn’t answer. The flames have grown. The door is warm, not quite hot to the touch. I step back, then use every ounce of strength I have, slamming against it with my shoulder. It flies open, and I stumble forward.

Smoke slams in to my face, clouding my vision. My eyes sting, and a sharp pain hits the same shoulder I used to open the door. I struggle to get back to my feet, the pain reverberating down the top of my arm. I look down to see some of the fire has caught on the sleeve of my shirt. The acrid scent of burnt fabric and singed skin fills my nostrils. I slap my hand against my arm, trying to put it out. Luckily, the flames are relatively small. It doesn’t get past my shoulder.

I hold my hand against my arm, pinning it as close to my side as possible. It feels like pins and needles shooting up my arm with any attempt to move it.

“Mom!” I roar.

Smoke shoots to the back of my throat. I start coughing, covering my face with the back of my arm. It’s nearly impossible to see through the smoke, but I continue making my way back toward the kitchen.

My mother isn’t on the couch. The only other place she could be is in the kitchen. A brief sense of relief washes over me when my feet finally land on the linoleum floor. I’m headed in the right direction. There are flames lining parts of the floor, snaking their way up the curtains. It quickly eatsaway at the fabric, drawing closer to the ceiling. I rub my eyes, clearing the smoke a little. When I open them, I finally find my mother passed out. She’s lying in the middle of the floor. There’s blood pouring out from the side of her forehead, mixing with the pool of liquor around her. It shines, reflecting the flames surrounding her. Her eyes are closed and she’s lying on her side, her arms relaxed beside her. The flames are inching closer to her feet, the flickering edges dancing closer to her toes.

I frantically search for a way to break through the fire. The flames are circling her, creating a barrier between us.

“Mom! Wake up!” I cough again; the back of my throat engulfed in searing pain. I squint, trying to find a clear path that will lead to her. There’s none. “Mom!” I lunge forward, hoping to grab her. There’s a large group of flames blocking me from getting to her, but I don’t care. I need to grab her and pull her out.

“Get him out of here.”

Firm arms wrap around my waist, stopping me from getting to my mother.

“Stop it!” I yell, fighting against him. “I need to help her.”

He pulls me, ignoring my plea. “Don’t worry. We’ve got her.” His heavy, deep voice rumbles against my back, and he ushers me out, passing me off to the next firefighter. “Get him out of here. Make sure he gets checked by a medic,” he tells the other man.

After he hands me off, the man wraps his arm around my waist. The doorway is cleared more than when I entered my trailer. He helps me walk down the stairs and takes me straight to one of the ambulances. They ease me onto a stretcher, laying me back. I’m struggling to sit up, wondering if they’ve pulled my mom out yet. The paramedic pushes against me, holding me back.

“Stay still. We need to examine you,” the paramedic says, but I don’t care about me.

“Is my mom…?” I ask, choking on the words, forcing them out. I’m going to vomit all over this fucking stretcher.

“Their pulling her out now,” the paramedic says, examining the injuries to my face and head. They aren’t even from the fire. His eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry, but we don’t think she made it.”

With heavy-lidded eyes, I stare up at the raging flames quickly covering every surface of my trailer. My arm burns, and my skin stings, the pain spreading into my chest. My head pounds, and I know it isn’t from the fire. It’s from when Trevor’s fist connected with my face. It feels as if I’m getting stabbed by a million pins and needles. The pain expands across my skin, but I ignore it. I’m more worried about my mother, hoping to hell the paramedic is wrong.

I think about our last conversation. She blamed Charleigh for the reason I was leaving her. My mother was trapped, helpless, and unconscious in our burning trailer. I didn’t believe her when she said it, but my mother threatened to burn my acceptance letter. I wonder if she followed through on her threat and that was the cause of the fire. Guilt consumes me.

If it’s true—true that my mother spiraled after I left—I’m not sure how I’ll be able to handle it.

Being with Charleigh has come with repercussions. We’ve been fighting an uphill battle, defending our relationship to anyone who stands against it—my mother, her father—but at what cost?

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