Page 114 of The Story of You

“Jesus fucking … I do. I want you to be inside with me.”

He came inside and it was a start.

When we weren’t fighting about the stupidest of shit, we were everything we wanted from each other.

That year, Oliver turned three. On both of my brother’s birthdays, I was hell to deal with. I kept to myself, thinking about them. Dad would come to mind, and I’d ruminate on that while I worked, shoveling manure, and feeding animals.

How dare he? It bothered me most that he could make the decision that separated me from them. I held steadfast to my belief that Silas would come, but it was the principle. Exiling me. It had been over a year and doubt crept in. I’d missed things. Oliver was probably inventing rocket ships by now.

Asher took the shovel from my hands. “Go sit over there.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? You’re in no condition. Go sit up there in the loft or something.”

I stormed off but then settled in, watching him work. He did all my chores for me while I sulked. The sun warmed my face but the inside of me was a cold desolate place.

Eventually, the sun changed places in the sky. A breeze blew across my skin and a sweaty body plunked down beside me, wrapping one of his muscle-toned thighs with one of mine.

“Done.” He breathed and panted; exertion heavy in his limbs. “You feel better?”

“What do you care? You’re the reason for half my fucking problems.” Looking back, I can see that yeah, I was part of those problems. He’d done a nice thing for me, and I’d just shit on him with words. He didn’t push me from the loft. Or leave. I wouldn’t have been that generous.

“You’re a real peach, Randall,” he said and remained right where he was next to me.

The day waned into evening. We lay there, silent, listening to the peeved horse snuffles and the cries from dueling farm cats. He threaded his fingers through mine and squeezed my hand to let me know he wasn’t going anywhere but understood my need for silence.

“Things were bad,” I said finally. “But we were going through it together. Being here should be better, but it doesn’t feel that way.”

“I get it,” he admitted. “I have two sisters.”

He’d never told me that before. It was a big deal that he had. Already I knew that if Asher didn’t like me being away from me that meant he was attached, maybe more than he wanted to be. Telling me about his family was a declaration. The only reason Jennings knew anything about him is because they’d arrived at the home around the same time. To everyone else, Asher was as elusive as an eclipse.

“I don’t know what my parents did with them.”

I nodded. “I’m still in shock. What I did was pretty bad, but I thought I’d just be punished, not banished.”

“Yep,” he said. “I don’t know if the shock will ever leave. Even when it’s bad, you have this fucking fairy tale in your head that your parents love you unconditionally. It never occurs to you that they would discard yah. Lowers your value to worthless.”

His kiwi accent was thick. He ran fingers through my hair that desperately needed cutting. I broke down. I thought of good times with Mama. I thought of Oliver learning how to walk and reaching for Silas—always, always reaching for Silas. I thought about my fearless, but way too fucking pure of heart older brother. He wasn’t tainted like I was—yet—and he couldn’t see the darkness I knew lurked within Dad.

I even thought of Dad. The one good memory I have. I was little. He’d bought me a stuffie. He let me climb into his lap and sit there with it while he watched TV. The major’s guess is that he was a psychopath and psychopaths aren’t supposed to love anyone. It would make a lot of sense and no sense at all. That memory fucks with my head. He loved me then—I was sure. Or maybe he tried. Or maybe it was blips of love.

Or… he was a good fucking actor for Mama.

Asher and I talked about everything. Somehow, I’d earned a pass into his life. I solidified within him. He told me about his home life. It was a helluva lot worse than what I’d been through, and I said so.

“No, we don’t play the game of whose life was more shit,” he said. “How can we know something like that? Besides, the result is the same—does it matter how the problem started?”

Tidbits of wisdom like that were fucking attractive. We were ancient souls with raging teenage hormones. I climbed on top of him. Enough sad bullshit.

“Do you think you could ever love me?” I asked him while trying to unbuckle his overalls.

He sat up and moved my shaggy hair away from my face. “Ari.Why do you think I need to see you next to me when I turn my head? I do love you and it pisses me the fuck off. You’re like the fucking plague.”

I should have punched him in the face for that, but I was too wild about him, so I beamed like goddamn sunshine. And kissed him. And finally got his overalls unbuckled. “Good because I love you too.”

Yeah, we did it, but I’ll leave that between us for once. It was unlike all the other times, which seemed weird. Clearly, we’d loved each other for some time, but declaring it paved the way for vulnerability like never before. We were too young and inexperienced to know that vulnerability is the bridge to loving another human and an opening for love to return.