Page 88 of From Asher, With Love

I look at him quizzically. “What’s funny?”

“When I was writing this, I was thinking you were probably going to read it, wondering how someone who claimed to never have the words suddenly had so much to say.”

I laugh, but the echo of heartbreak is intertwined with the humor. “I wasn’t thinking that at the time, but you’re right; it was a lot of words for you.”

He steps closer to me and cradles my face in his large palm. I lean into his touch and peer up at him.

“I never had the words until I gave my heart to you, Little Flower.” He leans down and kisses me.

I wrap my arms around his neck and rise onto my toes, pressing into him. I’m still kissing him when I lower my hand and grab the note, pressing it to his chest, over his heart. I hold it between us and pull my mouth away from his.

He keeps his forehead pressed to mine.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to read it again,” I whisper, pulling away. “Afterward, I tucked it into the back of my closet and didn’t pull it out again until after graduation. I buried it in a box with just that flower. I didn’t know it then, but I’d also buried my heart in that box, too.” I nod toward the mantle.

Asher doesn’t speak. He simply nods and places the letter back on the counter. The water in the kettle is no longer at a rolling boil. It simply sits, steaming.

Asher lifts his hand and wraps it around the back of my neck, urging me to look up at him. A tear slips from my eye. “And now?” he asks. “Is your heart still buried?”

I give him a small smile. “No.” I move to unbuckle his belt, untucking his shirt from his black slacks, too. My hands slowly work to undo each button. “And it feels pretty fucking amazing to feel the sun again.”

The echoes of pain I felt reading his letter dull, replaced byAsher’s renewed promise. The gold in his eyes spreads as he slips his hands around my back. He grabs onto the zipper, undoing my dress. His hand glides across my skin, and I feel lit from within.

“It does feel amazing, doesn’t it, Little Flower?”

TWENTY-NINE

ASHER

The scent of burning flesh isn’t easily forgotten. Neither is the taste of blood. It stays with you, sinking into your every memory. Over the years, I’ve found myself dreaming of that night. Flashes of Trevor Keeler’s venomous face hovering above mine, his red eyes piercing me. The metallic taste of my own blood on my tongue, filling my mouth. Then I’m standing in front of my trailer, emblazoned and burning. I stay where I am, grounded to the dirt, my feet unwilling to move. My mother is trapped inside, screaming my name to come and save her, but all I do is stand there, frozen against the glow of fire, breathing in the smoke.

Smoke fills my lungs, and I cough, unable to inhale a clean breath. I’m starving for oxygen, and it paralyzes me.

“Asher!” My mother screams from behind the thin, metal storm door.

My chest squeezes, and I try to lift my arm to reach out to her but can’t.

Suddenly, my eyes snap open.

Wide eyed, I find myself in Charleigh’s bed. She’s turned her back to me, and my arm is draped over her naked body.

I breathe in, but I choke. For a moment, I wonder if I’m still trapped in my dream but I’m not. Smoke floats over Charleigh’s body in the moonlight, and I cough again. I shoot up from the bed, shaking Charleigh in the process.

“Charleigh,” I choke. I cover my mouth with my arm and dart my eyes to the bedroom door.

A bright orange glow flickers at the end of the hall, toward the front of Charleigh’s apartment.

“Charleigh.” I shake her. “Get up.”

She stirs, and when she coughs, she shoots straight up. She twists in the bed to face me, waving her hand. “What is happening?”

“I think your apartment is on fire,” I say, a chill prickling down my spine. “Come on.”

The both of us hop out of bed, and Charleigh quickly slips into a pair of shorts and grabs my shirt off the floor, slipping her arms into it, only fastening the first two buttons. I hastily step back into my boxer briefs, not caring that I’m practically naked.

I’m stuck in this nightmare again. Panic sets in, and my chest feels hollow, slowly filling with smoke.

I swipe my phone from the nightstand and grab Charleigh’s hand, pulling her out into the hallway, only to stop when I see my mother lying in the hallway. She’s on her back, her eyes closed, caked in dried mascara. An empty bottle of whiskey rests in her hand, a puddle of brown liquid pooled underneath her. The flames coming from the front of Charleigh’s apartment dance across her lifeless body.

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