19. Asher
Chapter 19
Asher
T he clock reads 4:37 AM when I finally give up on sleep.
My brain won’t shut off, replaying last night on an endless loop. Every time I close my eyes, I see Isla’s face—the panic, the retreat, the walls slamming back into place.
I throw on my running gear and head out, choosing a route I rarely take. The familiar paths hold too many memories of Isla. Twenty years of friendship, and I’ve never felt this hollow.
The pre-dawn air bites at my face as I jog down Maple Street. My breath forms clouds in front of me. The town is silent, except for the crunch of my shoes against the pavement.
One hundred percent compatibility. Her algorithm confirmed what I’ve known for years. We’re perfect for each other. Then our heartbeats synced like something out of those romance novels she loves to read. Everything pointed to this being our moment.
And then she ran.
I pick up my pace, pushing harder as if I can outrun the memory of her slipping away.
I thought clearing up the misunderstanding and telling her I wanted more than friendship would open a new door for us.
I was wrong.
It feels like rejection.
But the way she melted in my arms? That wasn’t one-sided. I know she felt it too.
So where did I screw this up? What step did I miss? Did I just ruin our friendship on top of everything else?
My feet carry me toward the park. The old playground equipment stands like shadows against the brightening sky. I slow to a walk, my lungs burning from the cold air and exertion.
Isla and I used to have competitions here when we were kids. Who could swing higher, who’d jump first. She was always the first to leap—fearless and free.
Strange how things change. Now I’m the one wanting to risk it all, wanting to find out what’s waiting on the other side of this.
But now I don’t even know if we can still be friends.
My father might say I did it wrong, that I was being irresponsible. That I should have stuck to the plan, kept things safe and predictable.
I’m about to turn back toward home when I spot a familiar figure jogging along the path ahead. Victor Martinez, Isla’s stepdad. He’s in his usual running gear—black sweatpants and an olive windbreaker. His salt-and-pepper hair is hidden under a knit cap.
Great. Just what I need right now.
I consider cutting across the field or pretending I didn’t see him, but he’s already spotted me, raising his hand in greeting. Too late to escape.
“Morning, Asher!” Victor slows to a stop, his breath forming clouds in the cold air. “You’re out early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” I shrug, stretching my arms over my head to avoid eye contact.
Victor nods, studying my face for a beat too long. “Mind if I join you for a bit?”
Yes, I want to say. I’d rather run alone with my misery. But Victor has always been decent to me, and Christina would kill me if I was rude to her husband.
“Not at all.”
We fall into an easy pace, our footsteps crunching in sync on the pavement. Victor doesn’t push the conversation, which I appreciate. He’s always been the quiet type.
After a few minutes, he breaks the silence. “Beautiful morning.”
“Yeah.”
“Though most people don’t usually look this upset about beautiful mornings.”
I shoot him a sideways glance. Victor’s eyes are fixed ahead, but there’s a half-smile on his face.
“I’m fine.”
“Sure you are,” he chuckles.
Despite myself, I snort. Victor’s in good shape for his age, but he runs like someone who discovered exercise in his forties.
We reach the old gazebo by the pond, and Victor slows down. “Mind if we take a break? These old knees aren’t what they used to be.”
I nod, following him to a bench. The wooden slats are cold through my running pants.
Victor takes a long drink from his water bottle. “You know, when I first met Christina, she wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
This catches me off guard. “What?”
“Oh yeah. Took me three months just to get her to agree to coffee.” He caps his water bottle. “And another three before she’d call it a date.”
I don’t know where he’s going with this, but something about the quiet morning and Victor’s calm presence loosens the knot in my chest.
My shoulders tense. “Isla told you about last night?”
“Nope. But we have been watching you two falling for each other for years. And you’ve got that same look I used to see in the mirror—like someone who’s crazy about someone who won’t let them get close.”
I drop my head into my hands. “She ran, Victor. We were so close, and then she just . . . ran.”
“Of course she did.” Victor’s voice is gentle.
“I don’t know what to do.” The admission feels raw in my throat. “I’ve loved her for so long. I thought if I could tell her how I feel, everything would fall into place.”
“It’s not just about that.” Victor leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You knew about Isla’s father, right?”
“A little.”
“He abandoned them completely. Chose a whole new family over them.” Victor’s voice grows serious. “That kind of hurt . . . it sticks. Christina was the same way. Terrified I’d walk out, eventually.”
“What did you do?”
“I stayed. Through every test, every wall, every time she pushed me away.” He smiles, a private sort of smile. “I proved I wasn’t going anywhere until she believed it.”
The sun peeks over the trees, casting long shadows across the park. In the distance, a cardinal calls.
“I don’t know if I risked too much,” I admit.
“We support you no matter what you decide.” Victor stands, stretching his back. “But if you want my advice? Show her you understand the difference between saying you won’t leave and proving it.”
As we start jogging again, my mind races faster than my feet. All these years, I’ve known about Kyle and the other jerks who hurt Isla. But I might never really understand how deep the wound went.
“Thanks, Victor.” The words feel inadequate.
He claps me on the shoulder. “For what it’s worth, Christina and I are rooting for you two. Always have been.”
As we part ways at the edge of the park, I’ve already made up my mind. I’m going to show Isla I’m not like her father. I’m not Kyle or any of the others who left. I’m not going anywhere.
And I’ll prove it every day if I have to.
“For the launch event of the Senior and Adaptive Program, I’m planning a community showcase. Demo some of the equipment, host a panel discussion.” I pull out my phone, scrolling to the rough draft of the event flyer. I slide the phone across the table toward Dad. “Wanted to get your thoughts before I lock it in.”
After my morning run, I stopped by my parents’ house for breakfast. We’re at the kitchen table, the scent of coffee and cinnamon toast in the air. Dad sets aside his folded newspaper, then picks up my phone and starts reading.
Dad studies the screen in silence. His expression is unreadable, as always. I’ve spent months planning, ever since watching him struggle through his own recovery.
The silence stretches long enough to become uncomfortable. Dad’s eyes stay fixed on the screen. My stomach twists with every second he doesn’t speak. Growing up, I learned to read his silence like weather patterns.
I shift in my seat, already listing all the ways this could be a mistake. Too soon. Too ambitious. Too expensive.
He finally sets the phone down and meets my eyes.
“Sounds like you’ve thought it through.” Dad hands back my phone. “The plan looks solid.”
That’s it? My brain scrambles to fill in the part where he tells me it’s risky, or too soft, or that I need to run it past someone with more experience.
“But do you think it’s the right move? The timing, the investment—”
“I think,” he interrupts, “that you’re a grown man who knows this business.”
I look up. For a second, something flickers—his mouth doesn’t quite set back into the usual line, and his brow doesn’t pull like when he’s holding back a critique. Just stillness. Calm. Almost like . . . approval.
He leans forward, elbows on the table. “I trust you, Asher. I’ve trusted you with my life’s work for five years now, and you haven’t let me down yet.”
Something in my chest loosens. He’s never said that to me. I’d always figured he handed me the gym because he had to. Because he was recovering, because there wasn’t anyone else.
“Nobody’s ever perfect. Not me, not you.” The hard lines on his face ease just a little. “You’re going to make mistakes. That’s just part of running a business—part of life. What matters is that you learn from them and fix what you can.”
“I just don’t want to screw up what you built.”
“You won’t.”
I’m about to respond when Mom breezes into the kitchen, already dressed for the day in one of her colorful cardigans. She’s wearing that particular smile, the one that means she’s got gossip or she’s plotting something.
“Good morning, boys,” she says, heading straight for the coffee pot. “Asher, have you checked The Frosthaven Buzz this morning?”
“No, why?”
Mom’s smile widens as she pours her coffee. “Oh, I think you should take a look. Right now.”
There’s something in her tone that makes me instantly suspicious. “Mom, what did you do?”
“Me? Nothing!” She puts a hand over her heart, looking offended, but her eyes are twinkling. “I’m just saying, there’s a very interesting post about a certain matchmaker and a certain gym owner that’s getting quite a lot of attention.”
“Mom—”
She slides into the chair beside Dad. “Just check it, dear.”