Page 54 of Keeping Promises

Tears fill my eyes as I try to find words, but instead, only jumbled words leave my mouth.

“When did… How did… What…” I’m flustered at my loss of words, and instead of continuing to blubber like an idiot, I lunge for him and wrap my arms around his neck, peppering kisses all over his face in appreciation.

As if being in Asher’s arms completed the missing parts that caused my brain to short-circuit moments ago, I finally find the words to say, “When did you do this? How did you have time to do all this today?”

I know it felt long, but I didn’t think I was gone that long. I laugh.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit.” He looks around the room. “Ben and Cal spent the day helping. Do you like it?”

I nod over and over. When I told Asher the color this morning, I never thought he would go and paint the entire room in a day. I know Brynn was texting Cal throughout the day. I wonder if she or Lexi knew about this.

“I do, I really do.”

One kiss turns into more, and before we know it, we are both panting. Suddenly, I’m no longer tired, a wave of energy bursting through my body.

I sink to my knees. Maybe it’s not as graceful as I hoped, but Asher doesn’t comment on it as I palm his cock over his gym shorts. I give him slow and steady strokes as he hardens under my touch. I drag my tongue over my bottom lip as I look up at Asher with my eyes full of desire.

“I thought you were tired,” he asks, thrusting his pelvis into my hand.

“I suddenly have a craving foryou.”My fingers fumble to grip the band at the top of his shorts and boxers and pull them down fast enough. His cock is thick and hard and begging to be licked and sucked. I grip the base of his cock and slowly draw him into my mouth.

He hisses when my lips brush his pelvis, his cock hitting the back of my throat. I work my mouth and hand in tandem to bring him to climax. The only warning I get that he is about to come is the swell of his cock in my mouth and his escalated breathing before the salty taste of him coats my tongue. His body jerks until I swallow the last drop.

A little while later, we are curled up on the couch watching a Netflix show recommendation courtesy of one of the guys in the Art Department at Maritime. It’s funny, but I have to admit that I’m not fully paying attention as I strum my fingers along his arm.

Asher is quiet, too. When I glance up at him, he looks lost in thought. He’s staring off into space as if he belongs in a Cheech and Chong movie.

I tug lightly on his shirt to gain his attention. “You okay?”

He startles slightly, further confirming that he’s distracted. “Huh? What? Sorry, I was…”

“In a galaxy far, far away?” He smirks at my sad attempt at a badStar Warsjoke.

“Yeah, I guess I just got a lot on my mind.” He seems so tense. His shoulders are tense, the vein in his neck taut.

I adjust myself on the couch to a sitting position and rest my hand on his thigh. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

“You know what, you’re right. I don’t want to keep things from you.”

He sinks further into the couch, takes my hand off his thigh, and links our fingers. It takes my breath away for a moment because it’s almost as if he’s drawing strength from me. I will be his rock, whatever he needs. He brings our conjoined hands to his lips, keeping them there a moment longer before placing them back in his lap.

Asher begins to explain his nightmare last night, from how it started as a memory of the night he learned that his parents died and transitioned into a new fear—losing me. He holds nothing back. By the time he finishes, I’m in his lap, clutching his shirt in my hands.

This is a massive step for him and us. Just yesterday, he said he only talks to Ben about his mom, and now he’s opening up to me.

We both suffered a significant loss of losing a parent, or in his case both, only two years apart, yet our grief is so vastly different. His parents’ loss sticks with him, but at least he has those memories from beforehand when they were still alive. Oliver and Samantha Harrington loved both their boys, and from what I know, they would do anything for their sons.

What do I have of Christine Kincaid? Photos, a letter from a woman that I feel like I never met after reading it, and third-party memories that my Grams told me about her. Before finding that letter, the last time I cried while thinking of my mom was her funeral, and even then, it was more because I watched everyone else doing it. Death is already confusing and complicated for the living to deal with; imagine being eight years old and trying to understand it.

Yet here I am, burying my face further into his chest, trying to hide my tears from the emotion his story invoked.

“Hey, don’t hide from me.” Asher pinches my chin and brings it upward toward him. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He drags his thumb over my cheek to catch the falling tears. We just sit there, soaking in the silence and the comfort of each other’s arms. I hold him tightly in hopes that he knows I’m not going anywhere.

He clears his throat to break the silence. “We should go out,” he states.

I wipe under my eyes as they nearly bulge out. “What? Now?” I shriek and quickly cover my mouth in shock at my volume. It just caught me off guard, though.

“No, like on a date. Let me do this the right way.” He rubs his chin back and forth nervously.

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