Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Asher
As Daniel’s question hangs in the air, I shift a little on the seat, my mind racing to process what the hell just happened.
I flew into this tiny regional airport that serves Maplewood and the surrounding area—the kind of airport that’s impossible to get lost in because you can stand in one place and see pretty much every gate.
I’ve never been to Maplewood before and wasn’t exactly looking forward to this trip, but I sure as hell didn’t expect to get swept into some stranger’s elaborate lie within minutes of collecting my luggage.
Then this woman—Kat—materialized out of nowhere, called me babe like we’d been together for years, and threw herself into my arms with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for natural disaster survivors.
Not that I’m complaining about the contact.
She’s all soft curves and nervous energy, her thigh pressed lightly against mine.
When she brushes her hair over her shoulder, I get a whiff of some kind of spice—cinnamon, I think—mixed with almond, and I’m tempted to inhale deeper to find out whether I’m right.
I’m still trying to figure out why the hell I went along with her lie.
As a hockey player, even a currently unemployed one, I’m used to reading situations quickly and executing plays exactly as planned.
I study opponents for weeks, memorize their patterns and tendencies.
But this is off-script, and I have no strategy for navigating whatever chaos I’ve just been dragged into.
When this Daniel guy offered us a ride with a sort of aggressive friendliness that immediately raised my hackles, I found myself saying yes before I’d fully processed the decision.
Plus, there’s the undeniable fact that I’m curious as hell about what just happened and why this woman felt driven enough to accost a stranger in an airport.
Beside me, Kat clears her throat. She hasn’t answered the question yet, and the silence is starting to stretch uncomfortably. I don’t even know what she does for work, so I have no idea exactly what Daniel was getting at with that subtle dig, but I decide to speak up anyway.
“She spilled tea on me at a café in Philly one day,” I say, cutting a sideways glance in her direction. “Then insisted on paying for my dry cleaning. We got to talking, and I asked her out.”
It’s vague enough to be believable but specific enough to sound authentic, and the relief that radiates from her is so strong I can practically taste it in the air.
“That sounds exactly like our Kat,” Daniel says, and there’s something about his tone that immediately irritates me, as if he’s cataloguing her flaws for public consumption. “Always so wonderfully clumsy. But wait…” He frowns. “Kat, you don’t drink tea. I thought you hated it.”
Well, shit.
Thankfully, Kat jumps in this time, finding her voice as she shakes her head. “I don’t drink hot tea. It was iced. Otherwise I would’ve given him third-degree burns.”
“Oh. Right.” Daniel flicks the turn signal before changing lanes, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel in a rhythm that suggests barely contained smugness.
“Iced tea at a café, though? I suppose not everyone appreciates the complexity of a proper espresso. I have to admit, I’m surprised you found a decent café that even bothers with tea anymore. ”
The casual dismissiveness delivered with a practiced smile makes me grimace. I don’t know Kat’s ex—hell, I don’t know Kat—but I’ve seen this particular brand of condescension before, and I don’t like it.
“I’ve always thought the best places are the ones where you can get whatever you want,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Besides, it was a cool place. Very laid-back atmosphere.”
“Oh, which café was it?” Maya asks, turning in her seat to face us.
I grimace a little. I know exactly nothing about Philadelphia’s coffee scene. My routine consists of grabbing whatever’s fastest from whatever drive-through sits between the rink and my next obligation.
“It was a small place in Old City.” Kat speaks up before I can fumble through a non-answer. “I was actually showing some work there, part of an emerging artists program, setting up displays in local businesses. Asher was there checking out the exhibition.”
Hm. Now I know she’s some kind of artist, which explains the career condescension from Daniel.
“Right, of course. Still pursuing the…” Daniel waves his free hand dismissively. “What do you call it again? The comics?”
The way he pronounces ‘comics’ makes it sound silly and childish. Kat’s shoulders curve inward, her entire posture shifting into something smaller and more defensive.
“Illustration,” she says, and her voice has lost some of its brightness. “I specialize in children’s books, mainly. Some editorial work.”
“Right, the cartoon animals.” Daniel glances at Maya like they’re sharing some private joke, although Maya seems more interested in the Virginia countryside rolling past her window. “Remember that phase when you thought you’d work for the New Yorker?”
I can feel Kat withdrawing, pulling her hand from mine to clench both fists in her lap. Jesus. This guy is clearly trying to get under her skin, systematically dismantling her confidence, for no fucking reason other than to be an asshole.
“She’s talented,” I say, even though I have no concrete evidence to support the claim. But I’ve met enough creative professionals through endorsement work to know that anyone making a living in the arts has to be great at what they do. The competition is brutal. “Her work is amazing.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is.” His tone suggests he’s sure of precisely the opposite. “It’s just such a challenging field, you know? So unstable, so unpredictable. But hey, good for you for sticking with it, Kat. That’s very… brave.”
He stretches the word out like it actually means “foolish” or “unrealistic” or “destined for spectacular failure.”
I’ve heard that particular inflection before, usually from people who measure success exclusively by bank account size and business card prestige.
“It’s working out well for her,” I say, letting a hint of steel creep into my voice. I’ve dealt with enough media vultures to know how to make my point without raising my volume.
“Is it?” Daniel meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Because when we were together, she was barely scraping by. Remember that month you couldn’t afford groceries, Kat? I had to help you out.”
Irritation prickles under my skin. Jesus. What kind of person broadcasts someone’s financial struggles to strangers? The kind who needs everyone to understand how generous and indispensable he is, apparently. The kind who gets off on being the hero of every story he tells.
I glance at Kat and see her face has gone pale, her hands twisted together so tightly that I worry for her fingers. She looks like she wants to disappear, to melt into the leather upholstery of the car.
“Everyone has rough patches when they’re building their career,” I say, reaching over to uncurl her clenched hands and pull one back into mine. “The difference is having someone who supports you through the challenges versus someone who doesn’t.”
The temperature in the car seems to plummet several degrees. In the rearview mirror, I watch Daniel’s jaw tick, his grip on the steering wheel going tight.
Good. Message received.
Beside me, Kat’s fingers curl around mine. She shoots me a quick look, something soft and surprised in her green eyes, as if she can’t quite believe someone just stood up for her.
I don’t know this woman. I have no idea what her story is or why she felt driven enough to drag a stranger into her relationship drama. But I’m not the kind of guy who’ll just sit back and watch an obvious asshole talk down to his ex without speaking up.
“So,” Maya interjects after a moment that stretches like taffy. “How long are you planning to stay in town for the holidays, Asher?”
“A while, probably. We’re still working out the specifics,” I reply, which is true in the most technical sense. “Depends on several factors.”
“The holidays are always so hectic,” Kat adds weakly. “So many family obligations to coordinate.”
“Right.” Daniel glances at us in the rearview mirror again. “Actually, you know what? Why don’t we drop you at your parents’ house, Kat? You can grab your old car. They still have it, right? I figured that’s how you were planning to get around while you’re in town.”
She hesitates for a second, and I almost get the feeling she’s being pulled along by this chain of events the same way I am.
“Um, sure,” she says after a beat. “That sounds good.” She glances at me. “Is that okay with you?”
The smart play would be to thank her ex and his fiancée for the ride, extract myself from this car, and let her handle whatever fallout comes from her impulsive airport deception.
I have my own complicated shit to deal with—finding my father, figuring out exactly what kind of help he needs, and avoiding any local media attention until I can get back to focusing on salvaging my career.
But that thing that’s pulling me along keeps tugging at me, and instead of shaking my head, I find myself saying, “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Perfect.” Daniel takes a left turn, and I catch his satisfied smile in the rearview mirror, as if he’s won some game that only he is playing.
As we head toward what I assume is the Sanders’ family home, I realize I’m more curious about where this is all headed than I probably should be.
But it’s nice, in a way. After the disastrous year I’ve had, I was starting to feel a little too numb, losing myself in my daily routines, my life turning dull and colorless.
But whatever I’ve inadvertently become a part of, it’s anything but dull.