Page 25

Charlee

After my shower, I sit on the bed and hug my knees to my chest, letting the hours pass in a blur.

My fingers dance along the edges of my bracelet as I watch more dark clouds roll in, an apt reflection of my current mood.

My only saving grace is that my ankle feels back to normal.

It looks like a bigger storm is preparing to roll in, which is only one of the reasons I didn’t attempt to make another run for it.

I probably could have gotten farther this time because Asher and his brothers are distracted, but I don’t have it in me to move.

It seems the news of my father’s murder is messing with them as much as it is me.

Emotions weigh heavy on me. I’ve lost my dad and been treated like a whore all within the span of a few hours.

I should run, but where would I even go? I’m all alone; I have no one else.

No way in hell would I go back to the house and risk running into Marco, or worse, the she-devil herself, Lola.

My body cringes at the thought.

That’s definitely not an option.

I need to stay in here, take the time to figure out what I’m going to do and form a new plan, one that will get me far away from all of this bullshit.

The door opens and I know who it is without looking.

If I weren’t somehow already attuned to him, the light scent of whiskey would be a dead giveaway.

He sighs from his spot against the doorjamb, but I don’t take my gaze off the window.

I’m still both hurt and pissed as hell at what he pulled with me earlier and don’t trust myself not to punch him in the face.

After a few beats, he moves further into the room and sits down next to me.

The heat of his body radiates against mine, but I still don’t look at him.

A pile of clothes is tossed on the bed between us.

“I brought you these.”

“Thanks.”

I keep my body facing away from him. The way I’m feeling he’s lucky I don’t punch him in the face instead.

“You’re pissed at me and I don’t blame you. You’re going through something, too, and like the bastard I am, I thought of me and my shit first, but I’ll make you a deal, Charlee.”

Now he wants to make deals? Despite his words, hurt is still shining through front and center.

There’s no way in hell I’m making it that easy for him.

Whatever he wants he’s going to have to work for. When I crane my neck ready to tell him exactly where he can shove his deal, the bruises on his face kill all my resolve.

“What happened to you?”

The question’s out before I can remember I’m mad and not speaking to this jackass.

“It’s nothing. Just a slight disagreement with my brothers.”

When I don’t say anything, he continues, “Anyway, like I said before, I want to make you a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

My head cranes to the side as I study him for any signs of deception.

“You deserve an explanation about this morning and if you put these on—”

he motions to the untouched pile of clothes “—I promise I’ll explain everything.”

Indecision wars inside of me. I’m torn between being my stubborn self and satisfying my curiosity. In the end, the latter wins out. I grab the clothes he’s offered and stomp into the bathroom to change. Going quietly is against my nature and I don’t want him to think it’ll be that easy to win me over.

A smile spreads over my face when I see that this time, instead of another one of his t-shirts, I’m given a brand new pair of black yoga pants, along with a dark green tank top. I’ll take the fact that there’s a matching bra and thong set in the same dark green color as another one of his peace offerings. Still no shoes or socks, but it’s a start. I should be shocked they’re in my sizes, but it’s Asher. The man studies every single detail to the letter.

Once I’m dressed and look in the mirror, I feel like a bit of the dark cloud that was hovering around me earlier has been lifted. It’s amazing what a new set of clothes can do for one’s mood. I leave the t-shirt in a heap on the bathroom floor and walk back out toward the bed.

The mattress dips from my weight, but Asher doesn’t move. It’s like he’s lost in his head. My hands rest in my lap as I toy with my fingers and fight to keep still. I know he’ll tell me when he’s ready. I just hope I am.

He clears his throat a couple of times, like speaking to me is painful, and it only digs the knife in deeper. Then he does something that surprises me. He talks. “Six years ago, I lost everything.”

“What do you mean you lost everything?”

The pain I see in his eyes has my heart aching for him.

“Her name was Lauren.”

His hands clasp together between his legs as he leans against his thighs. “I got home from work one night and found a couple of…intruders inside. They shot and killed her. She was…she was eight months pregnant.”

I put my hand over my mouth to fight back the bile of vomit creeping its way up my throat. Then my eyes glance down to his green t-shirt as if I can see what’s hidden underneath. “The lily tattoo on your shoulder.”

I knew it meant something to him.

“Her favorite flower.”

“And the fallen leaves?”

I ask, already knowing the answer.

“For Lauren and our baby—the two lives that were stolen from me that night.”

“Oh, Asher.”

Just when my heart couldn’t break anymore for him, he tells me more.

“They found me covered in her blood and thought I did it. I was convicted of the voluntary manslaughter of Lauren and our unborn child. They gave me seven years. Seven years for killing my wife and son.”

He shakes his head in disgust. Before I realize what I’m doing my hand is on his thigh, squeezing for support, and encouraging him without words to tell me more.

He’s so lost in the memories that he doesn’t even notice my touch. “Because I was a cop and had no other records, I was out in six.”

“I’m so sorry, Asher, for all of it.”

An inkling in the back of my mind has me putting the pieces together, but I need to hear him say it. “Did you ever find the men responsible?”

The muscles in his throat contract as he takes in my watery eyes, but what he doesn’t do is answer my question.

Instead, his eyes glance down to the hand that’s squeezing his thigh as if my touch burns him, and his eyes narrow.

Feeling foolish, I move to pull my hand back but he stops me.

His fingers lace through mine as he stares down at our joined hands.

He sighs and leans in until his forehead is pressing against mine.

We sit connected like this, enjoying the silence.

Neither one of us makes a move to take it any further.

In that moment it’s just he and I. All the other bullshit fades away until the sound of his brother’s voice shouting from downstairs breaks it.

“Yo, I’m starving! Y’all coming down here or what?”

“Give us a minute, Ax!”

Asher shouts back and then asks me, “You hungry, Princess?”

Right on cue, my stomach growls loud enough for him to hear. I want to die of embarrassment.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Asher’s hand squeezes mine one more time before he’s pulling me to my feet and leading me out the door to an unexpected fate.