Chapter 22 #2
He looks like he wants to argue, probably not used to accepting help. But when he lowers himself into the chair with obvious relief, I can tell his leg is bothering him more than he wants to admit.
I move around the kitchen under his guidance, finding mugs and spoons and putting water on to heat. He apologizes for only having instant coffee, his voice carrying a note of embarrassment.
“Don’t worry, that’s perfect,” I assure him, pulling down the jar he indicates. “I’m not picky about coffee. As long as it’s hot and has caffeine, I’m happy.”
I don’t mention that I usually don’t drink it black, not wanting to turn down his hospitality.
When the water is ready, I make two mugs and bring them to the table, settling across from him.
Through the window, I can see Asher outside in borrowed boots and a coat thrown over his suit jacket, shoveling snow with powerful movements of his arms and shoulders.
There’s something about the contrast that gets to me—the expensive, tailored suit paired with everyday winter work, the formal and the practical colliding.
Edward follows my gaze, watching his son work.
“He’s always been like that,” he says softly.
“Just does what needs to be done without being asked, without complaining. Even as a kid, he was like that. If something was broken, he’d fix it.
If something needed doing, he’d do it.” There’s guilt in his voice, heavy and obvious.
“Sometimes I wonder if he became that self-sufficient because he felt like he had to be. Because I wasn’t there to take care of things. ”
My chest hurts as I listen to him. I can’t help being a bit angry at Edward on Asher’s behalf for all those years he wasn’t there, for the hurt he caused. But I also can’t help feeling a bit sorry for him. He clearly regrets what happened, regrets the distance between them.
“You guys haven’t talked much?” I ask, even though I already know the answer from what Asher has told me.
“No.” He shakes his head, staring into his coffee. “Not in a long time. Years, really. This is the most I’ve seen him since…” He trails off. “But I’m glad he’s here now. Glad he came to Maplewood, even if he won’t be here long.”
I nod, my own emotions confused and tangled. “Me too.”
We make small talk after that, carefully avoiding anything too personal or heavy. He asks about the party last night, about my grandmother. I tell him about Beverly’s annual gathering, making it sound less dramatic than it was. I don’t mention Daniel or the weird tension or any of it.
At one point, Murphy jumps up onto the windowsill to watch Asher work, pressing his face against the glass. He looks so much like he’s pining, so focused on tracking Asher’s every movement, that I can’t help but laugh.
“He really loves Asher,” I say.
“Yeah, he’s been a bit obsessed from the first time they met. He doesn’t like most people, but Asher…” Edward shakes his head with a small smile. “I guess Murphy’s a good judge of character.”
Asher comes back in after about twenty minutes, his cheeks flushed from the cold and exertion as he shrugs off the borrowed coat. Murphy launches himself from the windowsill immediately, winding around Asher’s legs and purring so loud it fills the small kitchen.
“Looks like I’ve got some competition here,” I say teasingly, watching the cat practically worship at Asher’s feet.
Asher looks at me, and something in his expression makes my pulse skip. “There’s no contest.”
Heat floods my face. I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face, even though I’m very aware of his dad watching this whole exchange.
Asher crouches down to scratch Murphy under the chin, and the cat practically melts. “The driveway is clear and salted,” he tells his father, straightening up. “The walkway too. You need anything else while I’m here? Any other help with the house?”
“No, I’m fine.” Edward’s voice is careful, like he’s trying not to ask for too much. “But thank you. I really appreciate you coming by.”
“You should take advantage of the help while you’ve got it,” Asher says, and there’s a stiffness to his voice. “While I’m here.”
Something flashes across Edward’s face. Pain, maybe, as if he doesn’t like the reminder that Asher will leave eventually and possibly go back to cutting off contact like before.
“We should probably head out,” Asher continues, already reaching for his coat.
We gather our things and head for the door. Murphy trails behind us like he knows his favorite person is about to disappear, meowing plaintively. Edward stands in the doorway despite the cold, leaning on his crutches as he watches us walk to the car.
I glance back at him, then at Asher’s profile. There’s clearly so much unresolved between them, so much hurt that neither of them seems to know how to bridge.
In the car, as we pull away, I say quietly, “That was good of you. Checking on him, clearing the driveway. I know it’s not easy.”
Asher blows out a long breath, his hands tight on the steering wheel. “I don’t even know what being a good son means anymore. Would it mean forgiving him for everything? Letting go of all this anger I’ve been carrying around?” He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’m ready to do that. But…”
“But what?” I ask softly.
He glances at me, and there’s something vulnerable in his expression that I rarely see. “I’m tired of carrying it around. This weight. This anger. It’s exhausting.”
I swallow hard, empathy filling my chest. “It’s hard to let go of the things that have been part of us for so long.
They start to define us and become part of our identity.
But maybe they don’t have to.” A wry smile tugs at my lips.
“I mean, I used to let my relationship with Daniel define me, but I’m learning not to anymore. ”
Asher’s jaw tightens, and he scowls. “I’m really glad I set that fucker straight this morning. Watching him storm out after I told him you used to fake it with him was satisfying as hell.”
I can’t help but laugh at the reminder and the memory of Daniel’s face turning red. But then other memories flood my mind. Last night. The darkness. The sounds we made. The way Asher looked at me, the things he said. My pulse skips and my body heats up just thinking about it.
The words come out before I can stop them, blurted without thinking. “I was faking it with you too, you know. Last night.”
I don’t want to admit that I actually came, and this feels like an opening to make it clear I didn’t, to hold on to some dignity. Even though it’s a complete lie.
The atmosphere in the car changes instantly.
Asher goes completely still beside me, his breathing shifting.
Then, without warning, he pulls over onto the snowy shoulder of the road, the car sliding slightly as he brakes.
He puts it in park and turns to look at me with an intensity that steals my breath.
“Were you?” His voice is low, rough, almost a growl.
My heart lurches in my chest. But I can’t tell the truth. There’s no way I can admit to him that I came so hard I saw stars, that the fantasy he created with his words affected me more than any real sex I’ve ever had.
I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. My chin moves up and down jerkily as I nod.
Something in his face says he doesn’t believe me. He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine like he’s trying to read the truth there.
“If things were real between us, bright eyes,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper but somehow filling the entire car, “you’d never have to fake anything. You’d scream louder than you did last night, and it would all be real. Every sound, every breath, every fucking second of it.”