32. Asher
Chapter 32
Asher
ISLA
Went to my father’s place yesterday.
I’ll be there today. I’m sorry.
Can we talk?
ASHER
Yes. Drive safe.
“N ow remember, it’s not about how far you can stretch—it’s about how it feels in your body,” I demonstrate the modified seated twist, keeping my back straight as I guide Mrs. Henderson’s hand to her opposite knee. “For those recovering from shoulder injuries, this variation keeps the strain off while still giving you the benefits.”
Mrs. Henderson, seventy-three years young and dressed head-to-toe in hot pink workout gear, gives me a mischievous wink. “I was doing the splits well into my seventies, dear. Don’t you worry about my flexibility.”
The small crowd of seniors gathered for my demonstration erupts in laughter. I step aside, grabbing my water bottle for a quick sip.
The gym is buzzing with activity. Exactly what I’d hoped for the Senior and Adaptive Program launch. Gavin’s leading a gentle mobility demonstration in the corner, while Winnie, one of my best yoga instructors, demonstrates chair yoga near the windows.
Conner and Xander stand near the water cooler with my dad. All three of them look serious, Dad nodding along while Conner talks, probably about the program or some town development plans.
Hopefully not about how I kissed his sister yesterday and scared her off right after.
I scan the gym entrance for the fifteenth time in twenty minutes.
Still no Isla.
Her text from 5:47 a.m. is burning a hole in my pocket and my brain. No hint of what “can we talk?” means after she literally ran away from me last night.
From the best kiss of my life.
“Earth to Asher!” Connie waves her bedazzled water bottle in front of my face. “You’re a million miles away, young man.”
“Sorry.” I turn and smile at Connie. She’s wearing her matching teal tracksuit and the rhinestone-encrusted sneakers that perfectly coordinate with her water bottle. Her silver curls are tucked under a headband that reads “Fitness Queen.”
She and Fred have been front and center all morning, enthusiastically introducing the senior-friendly equipment I specifically ordered after Dad’s recovery.
“Just thinking about how much you two have helped get this program off the ground,” I say, nodding toward Fred, who’s proudly showing another senior how to adjust the resistance bands. “How do you think everything looks?”
“I think it’s perfect, darling,” she says, patting my arm with surprising strength for someone her size. “But where’s your girlfriend?”
The question hits like a medicine ball to the chest.
“She’s, uh—she had some personal business to take care of.” Not a lie, technically. Driving five hours to confront your long-lost father definitely counts as personal business.
Before Connie can pry further, Mrs. Henderson struts over, moving with the kind of confidence that can only come from seventy years of knowing you’re fabulous. “Well, tell her she’s missing quite a show,” Mrs. Henderson says, as she comes to us, giving me a slow once-over, one perfectly penciled-in eyebrow raised. “Though I suppose she gets private demonstrations.”
I’d give private demonstrations every day if that would change Isla’s mind.
“Mrs. H!” Connie smacks her arm. “That’s not appropriate!”
“Oh, please,” Mrs. Henderson waves a dismissive hand. “I survived three husbands. If I want to admire a fine specimen, I will.”
The group erupts into laughter. I shake my head, adjusting the towel around my neck. Dad finishes with Conner and Xander, then heads my way. My grip on the towel tightens.
“Can I have a second?” Dad asks, gesturing toward the quieter corner.
“Sure,” I nod, following him.
My stomach tightens as we step away from the crowd. Dad looks sharp and serious today. His salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed, shoulders straight despite the slight limp he still carries from the accident. The same commanding presence I’ve always admired, always tried to live up to.
He surveys the gym, taking in the modified equipment, the adaptive benches we installed last week, the new ramp by the stairs, and the seniors chatting excitedly with my staff.
His eyes linger on the wall where I’ve hung before-and-after photos of our first success stories—people just like him who found their strength again after injuries or setbacks. I can see him processing it all, calculating the investment, the risk I took to make this happen.
Did I get it right? Did I finally do something he could be proud of?
Dad’s expression is hard to read, that careful mask he’s worn since I was a kid—the one that never quite tells you if you’ve measured up. My heart pounds against my ribs as I wait for his verdict.
“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “This is what you’ve been working on.”
I shift my weight, suddenly feeling like that sixteen-year-old kid who accidentally ran the gym into debt with his half-baked summer discount idea. “Yeah. What do you think?”
Dad takes a deep breath, and I brace myself. Whatever constructive criticism is coming, I’ll take it. I’ll improve the program. I’ll—
“I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you, Asher.”
The words hit me like a physical force. Did he actually just say that?
“What?”
Dad’s eyes soften as he looks at me. It’s such a rare thing that it catches me off guard.
“I’m proud of you, son. What you’ve built here . . . It’s exceptional.” The corners of his eyes crinkle, deep lines etching into weathered skin.
My throat tightens. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this my whole life, like the redemption I’ve been chasing since I was sixteen, wondering if I will one day be good enough to carry on the Collymore name.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I mean it.” He gestures toward the gym floor. “When I started Collymore Fitness, it was just about getting people stronger. But this—” he nods toward Connie, who’s now showing off her bicep curl form to an impressed Fred, “—this is about giving people their lives back.”
I swallow hard, unsure how to respond to praise I’ve waited decades to hear.
“I know I wasn’t always . . .” He pauses, his mouth pressing into a line before he exhales. “I put a lot of pressure on you growing up. After the accident, watching you step up, seeing how you handled everything—it made me realize something.”
“What’s that?”
“I spent so many years worried you’d not understand responsibility that I never told you how impressed I was by all the things you did.” He shakes his head. “That summer program disaster? I held onto that for far too long. Made you think that one failure defined you.”
I exhale slowly, the tightness in my chest finally easing.
Dad sighs, his shoulders dropping slightly. “When I started Collymore Fitness, I was obsessed with doing everything perfectly. And somewhere along the way, I started treating your mistakes the same way.” His eyes meet mine, the hard lines of his face easing.
“Watching you these past few years, holding back more than you needed to . . . I realized I pushed the idea of responsibility so hard that I might’ve made you believe there wasn’t room for anything else. That’s on me.”
“It wasn’t until I handed over the gym that I saw what I’d done,” he continues. “But you showed me what true responsibility is. It isn’t about never making mistakes. It’s about having the courage to try anyway and the strength to make things right when you fail.”
Something loosens in my chest, a knot I’ve carried for years slowly unraveling. I’ve been chasing his approval, measuring every decision against what I thought he would do, terrified of disappointing him again.
“I didn’t know if I was doing it right.”
Dad’s laugh is low but gentle. “None of us do, son. We just do our best and hope it’s enough.” He looks around the gym again. “But this? This is more than enough. You saw a need and you filled it. That’s what matters.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, the words inadequate for what I’m feeling.
He reaches out, squeezing my shoulder.
Movement near the entrance catches my eye. An auburn flash and a familiar smile that could light up the darkest room. My heart stops.
She came.
Isla stands just inside the door with Elaine and Roxanne, her hair tumbling in those soft waves that always make my fingers itch to touch them. Her eyes find mine immediately across the crowded gym. She gives a little wave, hesitant as if she’s not sure she should interrupt. Every part of me wants to cross the room and pull her into my arms.
Dad follows my gaze, and a knowing smile crosses his face. “Go on,” he says, patting my shoulder. “Don’t keep her waiting.”
Time seems to slow, the distance stretching impossibly long as I cross the gym toward Isla. But she’s moving too, weaving through the crowd, drawn toward me the same way I am to her. My heart pounds with each step, like I’m walking through water instead of air. She looks exhausted and beautiful and somehow different than when she left yesterday. There’s something in her eyes I haven’t seen before.
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something’s shifted.
“Hey.” Isla’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her gaze flickers over the crowd before landing on me. “Looks like the event is going great.”
“Thank you.” I hold her eyes, letting the warmth in my chest spill into my voice. “Better now that you’re here.”
She exhales, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Before I can react, she steps forward and wraps her arms around me.
I freeze for a beat. Isla isn’t someone who does things like this, not casually, not in front of an audience, especially not after she ran away from the kiss.
I hesitate for half a second before my arms fold around her. She’s warm, soft, and fits against me like she belongs there.
Over her shoulder, Elaine’s eyebrows lift in that exaggerated way she has when she thinks she’s being subtle. A few feet away, Isla’s mom whispers something to Victor, looking in our direction. I’m sure half the gym is watching, but I don’t care.
“Everything okay with your dad?” My hand finds her waist, steadying her as if she might slip away.
“Yeah.” She pulls back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes. Light glints off the gold in her gaze, like the sun breaking through leaves. I could get lost in them, spend a lifetime memorizing every shifting shade, every unspoken thought hidden in their depths.
“Can we talk when you’re done?” she asks.
But before I answer her, the gym door swings open again, and Kyle walks in with the Pilates instructor.
Perfect timing. As always.
My grip tightens instinctively around Isla’s waist as Kyle strolls through the door. Beside him, the Pilates instructor—Claire, I think her name is—surveys the gym with the practiced disinterest of someone who believes they’re above it all.
Isla goes rigid under my hand. Her spine straightens, shoulders tensing as if bracing for impact. She breaks away from our embrace, and I feel the sudden chill of her absence against my chest.
“Long time no see,” Kyle says, his voice carrying across the gym with unnecessary volume, like he’s making sure everyone hears him.
The bustling energy of the room shifts. Conversations quiet as heads turn toward the entrance. Even Dad, who is in mid-conversation with Connie and Fred, pauses to assess the newcomer.
Kyle’s expensive cologne reaches us before he does, that overpowering scent that always reminded me of trying too hard. His tailored blazer and pressed slacks look ridiculously out of place among the workout clothes and casual attire of our guests.
“Kyle. What are you doing here?” I step forward.
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Community event, right? Last I checked, I’m part of the community.”
I resist the urge to tell him to leave. It might seem too territorial, but honestly, nothing feels too rude when it comes to Kyle.
Betty appears at my elbow, her keen eyes missing nothing. “Oh my,” she stage-whispers, loud enough for half the gym to hear. “Isn’t that the cheater?”
Kyle’s face tightens, his practiced smile faltering for just a second. Claire shifts uncomfortably beside him.
“We just came to check out the new program,” Kyle says smoothly, recovering. “Heard there was quite the buzz.”
“Is that what they’re calling it when your house is covered in sticky notes these days?” Connie pipes up from across the room, earning a few poorly concealed snickers.
Kyle’s jaw clenches. His gaze darts between me and Isla, lingering on my hand at her waist.
“So the rumors are true,” he says, nodding toward us with a smirk. “Funny how quickly you moved on, Isla. And with your childhood friend, no less. How . . . convenient.”
I feel my hands curl into fists at my sides. Isla hasn’t said a word, seemingly calm as she faces Kyle, but I can feel the tension radiating off her. The subtle stiffening of her shoulders tells me everything.
Kyle smirks. “Isla’s always trying hard to make herself useful.” He lets the word hang, then shrugs. “Shame she was never all that useful to me. Or to herself, really.” He turns to me. “Hope you’re ready to spend your life fixing her problems, man. It’s a full-time job.”
Claire laughs, a sound like nails on a chalkboard. “Kyle said you tried so hard to turn yourself into what he wanted.” She looks Isla up and down. “All that effort, and you still couldn’t keep him interested.”
My blood boils. I’m about to say something I’ll probably regret when I spot movement across the gym. Elaine and Roxanne are barreling toward us like two pissed-off torpedoes, fire in their eyes.
“You condescending piece of—” Elaine starts, already rolling up her sleeves.
Conner appears out of nowhere, catching Elaine around the waist. “Whoa there, killer.”
“Take your stupid arms off me. Let me at him. Just one punch,” Elaine growls, struggling against Conner’s grip like a wildcat caught in a trap.
Roxanne isn’t far behind, looking ready to commit murder with her bare hands.
Xander steps in, blocking her path. “Assault charges might put a damper on the event.”
Roxanne glares at Xander, her eyes blazing. “Move it, rich jerk.” She tries to sidestep, but Xander shifts with her. One arm wraps around her waist, holding her firmly in place.
“Back off.” I step between Isla and Kyle. “Funny how people always think they’re qualified to judge others when they have nothing of their own to show. Especially for someone who cheated and sabotaged someone else’s business because your ego couldn’t handle being called out?”
Kyle’s face flushes. “It was you putting all the sticky notes on my house, right?”
“Don’t forget about the inflatable men.” Mrs. Henderson shows him the picture she took.
“You know what’s actually sad? You had someone who saw the best in you. And instead of rising to meet her, you dragged her down to make yourself feel bigger. You have no right to say something like that to Isla.”
Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, ready to spring. I’m not usually the guy who loses his cool, but seeing Kyle standing there, smirking after everything he’s done to Isla . . .
“And I warned you last time—If I ever see you near Isla again, we’re not talking.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides, knuckles going white. I take a step forward, close enough that Kyle has to tilt his head up slightly to meet my eyes.
I lean in a fraction closer, satisfaction flickering through me when Kyle takes a half-step back.
A small hand presses against my chest. Isla’s sliding between Kyle and me. She’s tiny compared to both of us, yet somehow, she fills the space completely, her spine straight and shoulders squared.
Her voice is barely audible as she whispers, “This one’s mine.”