Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Kat
Three days have crawled by since I walked away from Asher, and every morning, I still catch myself peeking out my bedroom window toward the guest house like some sort of stalker. Subtle glances as I watch for movement, looking for signs of life.
I haven’t seen him in person since he came by that first evening to get his clothes and toiletries—all the stuff that had slowly migrated over to the main cabin as we spent more time together.
His toothbrush from the bathroom, his shirts from my closet, the book he’d been reading that ended up on my nightstand.
But I’ve caught glimpses of him through the window since then. I’ve seen him moving around inside the guest house, the lights turning on and off at odd hours as if maybe he can’t sleep either.
His rental car is still parked outside, a constant reminder that he’s still close by, still here on the property.
I meant it when I said he could stay in the guest house.
I would never have gone back on that part of our deal, would never have kicked him out with nowhere to go during the holidays.
But some part of me regrets offering now.
Being this near but so completely out of reach feels worse than if he’d just left entirely.
I’ve started to live like a ninja, moving carefully and quietly through the main cabin, timing my meals and coffee runs to the kitchen so I won’t risk bumping into him if he comes over to cook, and peeking out windows before I leave to make sure he’s not outside.
It’s exhausting, this constant vigilance.
Yesterday, I went alone to the doctor to get the stitches in my hand taken out.
I sat in the sterile room by myself, the antiseptic smell making me queasy as I tried not to watch as the doctor work, snipping the threads and pulling them free.
I got a little woozy from it, my head going light and fuzzy, and I couldn’t help missing Asher’s steadying presence.
The house feels… hollow without him. As if something vital has been sucked out of it, leaving just an empty shell behind. The rooms are too quiet. The bed is too big. Everything reminds me of him, of us.
This morning, after brushing my teeth, I nearly sprint to the kitchen. I make coffee with shaky hands, spilling a few grounds on the counter, then splash creamer in it and retreat back upstairs as quickly as I came, clutching the mug like it’s some kind of shield.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I glance down to see multiple texts from Samantha, who’s been checking in from Antarctica whenever the Wi-Fi at her research base actually cooperates.
She’s reached out almost every day since the night it all fell apart, when I called her crying so hard I could barely get the words out.
There are a bunch of pictures attached to the texts, mostly of penguins doing silly things.
SAMANTHA: For you, bestie. Because we could all use more adorable penguins in our life, right?
SAMANTHA: I love you and miss you.
SAMANTHA: You’re going to get through this.
The messages make me smile despite the heaviness in my chest. I text her back, wiping an errant tear away with the back of my hand.
ME: Thanks. I DO need more penguins in my life. I love you too. Miss you so much.
I haven’t told anyone else that Asher and I have split up.
I haven’t seen my family since I ended things, making excuses about being busy with work whenever Mom calls to invite us over.
But I know I’ll have to face them eventually.
I’ll have to endure all their questions, their sympathy, their well-meaning but unhelpful advice about fish in the sea and everything happening for a reason.
Staring at my reflection in the dark phone screen, I remind myself that I would’ve had to break that news to them at some point anyway.
The plan from the beginning was that this wouldn’t last long.
That it would end when the holidays ended and he moved to Denver, and we’d go back to being strangers who happened to share a few weeks together.
But deep down, if I’m being really honest with myself, I’d started to hope for more. Started to imagine what it might be like if this didn’t end. If maybe, just maybe, what we had was real enough to last.
That thought makes a flash of pain burst through my chest, sharp and hot, stealing my breath for a second.
I take a moment to try to get my emotions under control, breathing in slowly through my nose, counting to five, and then breathing out through my mouth for another count of five.
I haven’t been able to draw for the past several days.
Every time I sit down at my art station and pick up a pencil, my hand just hovers over the paper.
Nothing comes. No ideas, no inspiration, no desire to create. Like I’m numb to everything that usually brings me joy.
The pencils sit untouched on my desk, the colors mocking me. The illustration I started for Asher is still there, almost finished, but I can’t look at it without wanting to throw up.
Unable to take the idea of being trapped in the suffocating loneliness of the cabin all day, I grab my keys from the hook by the door, pull on my coat and boots, and drive to my grandmother’s house.
The big Victorian is a familiar, welcome sight as I pull up…
but it also stirs up memories that make the pain worse.
Last time I came here, Asher was with me, charming my family and friends at the Christmas party, fitting in so easily it seemed effortless.
This was the place where he made me come with just his voice in that upstairs bedroom, whispering filthy things as he gazed into my eyes.
Where we talked in the dark afterward, sharing vulnerable parts of ourselves.
I try to push those thoughts aside as I get out of the car and head up the walkway.
My grandmother opens the door a few moments after I knock, her face lighting up when she sees me. “Kat! What a wonderful—”
But then she really sees my face, and her excitement shifts to worry, her smile dropping away. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
I open my mouth to speak—to say something normal and fine, to pretend everything is okay. But instead of words coming out, all that emerges is a sob, loud and ugly, breaking free from my chest.
My grandmother lets out a soft, empathetic gasp, then pulls me into a hug, wrapping her arms around me as if she can shield me from whatever’s hurting. We stand in the doorway for a long moment, me crying into her shoulder while she rubs my back in slow circles.
When we finally separate, she gestures toward the living room. “Come in, sweet girl. Let’s talk.”
She settles me on the couch, then puts coffee and Christmas cookies on the coffee table in front of me. She sits down beside me, reaching over to take my hand. Her skin is soft and papery with age, but her grip is strong as she squeezes my fingers. “Now, what happened? What’s going on?”
I swallow hard, my throat raw and tight. I should’ve known she’d have questions, should’ve prepared some kind of explanation, but I didn’t really think ahead about how I would answer them.
“It all happened so fast,” I say slowly, speaking around the truth as well as I can while still summing up where I’ve found myself now.
“Things… developed between me and Asher really quickly. This spark of chemistry between us, you know? It was intense and overwhelming. But then it all fell apart just as fast.”
It’s not entirely a lie. The feelings developed fast, even if the relationship itself was built on a foundation of pretending. But it’s nowhere near the full truth either.
My grandmother winces, sympathy clear on her face. “What happened? You two seemed so good together.”
I shake my head, fresh tears threatening to spill over. “We’re just from different worlds. It was never going to work long term.”
“What do you mean?”
Alexis’s words flash through my head again, as sharp and cutting as when she first said them. They’ve been on repeat for three days now, a constant loop that I can’t seem to shut off no matter how hard I try.
“Asher is a pro athlete.” I shrug, gesturing helplessly.
“He’s about to join this successful team in Denver.
A major NHL team with millions of dollars and media attention.
He’ll be surrounded by glamorous women who fit that world, who know how to dress and act at fancy events.
Who look like they belong there.” I swallow hard, the words painful to say out loud.
“But I’ll never fit in there. I’m not that kind of woman. It will never be my place.”
More tears seep out, hot on my cheeks, and I brush them away.
Sadness crosses my grandmother’s face, but it’s mixed with something else. Something that looks almost like frustration. She squeezes my hand tighter. “First of all, that’s not true. Your place is any-damn-where that you choose to make it.”
The sass in her voice, the firmness of it, catches me off guard, and I let out a watery laugh despite the pain crushing my chest.
Then she gets more serious, turning to face me more fully. “Did you know that your grandfather came from money?”
I frown, shaking my head. I knew my grandfather’s family was well off, but the way she’s describing it makes it sound like a bigger deal than I was aware of.
“Well, he did.” She purses her lips. “Old money. The kind with trust funds and country clubs and expectations about who you marry. His family had been wealthy for generations. I was a secretary when we met, working at his father’s law firm in Richmond, typing up contracts and making coffee and answering phones. ”
I stare at her, my eye brows rising. “I never knew that. You never told me.”