Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
KERIAN
I have no idea what the fuck my mother is doing standing in front of my apartment door, but it draws me up short. If there were any kind of actual security here, I’d tell them to make sure she wasn’t allowed in. There aren’t even cameras. This place isn’t a shithole, but it’s not fancy either.
My fingers clench in irritation on my backpack—running into her right out of class wasn’t on my agenda for the day. I wanted to take a shower, maybe call Zander and ask him to come over.
I wanted?—
“Kerian doesn’t live here.” Asher’s voice catches me off guard. It isn’t because he’s lying… It’s because the lie sounds so smooth . Usually I can tell when people are full of it, because I have to put on that bullshit mask myself more often than not so the world doesn’t see how empty I feel inside.
But…
If I didn’t know Asher, I wouldn’t have been able to tell. I glance around the corner at the expression on his face and I recognize it.
Fuck.
He’s a little too good at this.
“I know he lives here. I was just here.” Mom’s voice is that softer sound it takes on when Dad’s not around. Even a little apologetic. She’s probably here to try to talk me into coming back to them, and I know that she probably means it. It doesn’t matter.
I told her I was done, and I meant it. The weight that has lifted from my chest since that day, even with the pain that came with it…
It meant something.
I’m not going back.
Asher’s voice pulls me back to the conflict in front of me as he leans against the doorframe, his head cocked to the side so I can see his expression perfectly. “Listen, I don’t care where you’ve been before. And maybe I recognize you. Maybe I’ve seen you here a few times. Maybe I’ve seen the shit that Kerian went through whenever you and your husband showed up.” Her face falls at the same time my breath catches in my chest.
I didn’t think he was paying that much attention.
Guess I was wrong.
“My son?—”
“Doesn’t. Live. Here.” Asher cuts her off, and this time his voice has taken on a new tone.
Cold.
Uncaring.
Calculating.
My mom’s eyes widen the same way mine do. Whatever mask of indifference Asher had on before, it’s dropped now for an expression full of pure contempt and disgust.
“He…”
“Isn’t here. If you come back…” He leans in close, and his voice drops to a low whisper. It’s a damn near purr. “I can’t promise you’ll go home to that shitbag husband of yours. Now fuck off.”
My jaw drops.
Have I been living with a psychopath this entire time and didn’t realize it?
Hm.
“I… I should report you to the front office.” She says it in a weak voice, and a small part of my chest constricts.
Weak.
My mother has always been weak—she’s always been ready to roll over at the first sign of trouble. If I needed more proof, it’s here.
There was never a world where she’d fight for me—not against Dad, and apparently not against Asher either.
“What front office? There’s no one here but us.” Asher leans back, tilting his head and letting a slow smile cross his features. “Doesn’t that sound… safe?”
A threat with a smile on his face.
And my mother’s face goes slightly paler. I wait to see if it strikes something in my chest, some level of anger, or that need that kept me tethered to her for so long…
But…
No.
I don’t feel anything but mild amusement as she takes a step back and heads down the hallway. I push myself into the stairwell until she steps onto the elevator, so she doesn’t notice me. Once I hear the ding of the door closing, I make my way out.
Asher’s waiting for me at the doorway, and I can see the tension running through his body for the first few seconds he stares at me. When he realizes I’m not angry about what he did, his shoulders slump and he leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Didn’t you hear? You don’t live here anymore.” He manages to keep the serious expression on his face for another few seconds before a small smile spreads across his lips.
My head tilts. I’ve known Asher for almost a year, and it almost feels like this is the first time I’ve really seen him.
“Shit, if I knew you were such a good guard dog…” I gently bump into his shoulder as I walk past him, and the low laugh that spills from his throat as he closes the door lets me know he’s not offended.
He waits until I sling my bag onto the table and start rummaging through the kitchen before he speaks.
“I know that might have been stepping out of line…”
“It’s fine.” I fill in the silence as his words trail off, snagging a container of leftover pasta and throwing it into the microwave. “I honestly don’t care what you say to her.”
“Yeah, but she’s your mom?—”
“That didn’t seem to stop you from threatening her.”
His cheeks go pink, and I’m actually a little thrown. Is this Asher, or was he the man threatening my mother like he would happily have gutted her? Which is it? I usually have a read on people, but he’s thrown me for a loop.
“I’ve just… I’ve seen you a few times after you had a run in with them. And I’ve… I mean, I’ve heard your phone conversations sometimes? I noticed bruises.”
And he’d been in the apartment when I’d shattered my phone and taken his, so it makes sense that he’d put two and two together.
“It’s fine.” I say it again, and I really do mean it. The lightness in my chest is still there—the knowledge that I don’t have to deal with my parents ever again.
That I don’t feel the need to deal with them.
And…
“As long as you’re not upset. I… You matter to me, you know?” Asher’s voice comes out soft, and I throw a glance over my shoulder at him. He’s standing there with his lip caught between his teeth and a half-pained, half-exasperated expression on his face. We fucked a few times, but I didn’t think it meant that much to him. I just thought he was obsessed with my dick. And like he can read my face, he adds, “Not like that. Not anymore. Just… I don’t have many friends, Kerian.”
Friends.
I’d never really thought about what it meant to have friends, or how that might be normal or important.
But shit, Zander has friends. I’ve seen him with them… I’ve occasionally thought about skinning them alive for taking up his time… but…
“Okay.” I come to the conclusion without realizing it, and the word actually seems to take Asher aback.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” I pull the bowl out of the microwave and toss it onto the counter. “We’re friends. So the fact that you threatened to kill my mother so she’d leave me alone is… good.”
His blush goes deeper, but he comes to the opposite side of the counter and leans in, looking at me.
“It is?”
Some part of me realizes that since I opened up to Zander about my past, it’s not as hard to look at Asher now and tell him a little bit of the truth. Friends . Hm. Is that something I need, to be the kind of person who can make Zander happy?
“Yeah. You said you’ve been paying attention, Ash, so… I’m sure you’ve noticed the times I’ve come back with cuts and bruises. I didn’t run into the wall.” The words are deadpan, and I see a flash of something on his face again—that same coldness I’d noticed when he was looking at my mom. That anger.
Not directed at me, but for me.
“I never thought about it that much because you really don’t seem like you’d let anyone do anything you didn’t want.” He doesn’t sound judgmental, and there’s a fondness in his words that I can’t ignore.
I just shrug. “I didn’t… let… or not let. It was just normal for me. It took me a while to realize that it didn’t have to be.”
Asher’s expression goes soft, and his eyes flick to the jacket Zander draped on the back of my couch the last time he was here.
“I get it.”
My gaze lingers on the jacket, on thoughts of the guy who left it here.
On exactly why I realized that my life didn’t have to be just taking a hit and dealing with it so I could prove to people who didn’t care that I was worth more than they would ever be.
“Took me a while to get it, if that helps.”
Asher loops around the counter and snags two forks from the drawer, then hands me one while he scoops up some of the pasta and pops it into his mouth.
“It doesn’t, but I’m glad you know now.” His shoulder gently bumps mine. “Don’t worry, though, I think I scared her off.”
Scared her off and threatened her to stay away are two different things… but I wasn’t going to point that out. Instead, I abandon the pasta and walk across the room, grabbing Zander’s jacket and sliding it on over my shoulders. The scent of him floods my nose, and I feel the last lingering bit of tension leave my body as I settle on the couch and throw a look at the man standing at the counter, fork still in hand, eyes watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Yeah, seems that way.” And then, with my fingers rubbing the fraying threads of Zander’s jacket sleeve, I add, “Thanks.”
Asher’s expression is still unreadable, but the smile that crosses his face seems genuine when he waves me off. I guess if I’m going to be friends with anyone, the man who can blush at a compliment one second and threaten to kill a woman the next is probably the right pick.