30. The Misfortune of a King
The Misfortune of a King
Asher
Two Weeks Later
The tiny human I’m holding begins to emit a foul-smelling scent, and as I hold my nephew away from me, Ava reaches for him, wrinkling her nose.
“Someone has a dirty diaper,” she coos, cuddling Ezra close to her chest before walking him toward my guest room like it’s an honor to be dealing with baby poop.
I’m glad someone has parental instincts, because over the last few days, I have learned that I absolutely do not ever want kids of my own.
Ari is sprawled on my couch with a mug of coffee, one leg slung over the armrest, scrolling through something on her phone.
Maddox is in my kitchen, rearranging my fridge for reasons I still don’t understand.
But… taking care of people is his love language, so if he wants to organize my expired condiments, then so be it.
He mutters an expletive as he begins to wash out an old jar of pickles.
“This is my apartment, you know,” I tell him. “I’m more than capable of cleaning my own refrigerator.”
“That’s news to me,” he replies sarcastically.
“Fuck off,” I mutter, but I can’t help the small smile playing at my lips.
“I’m just saying, you’re doing a terrible job of stocking it,” he says without looking up. “No milk, no eggs, no actual food unless you count eight bottles of sparkling water and half a jar of Dijon mustard.”
“I like sparkling water,” I mutter.
“And clearly you were planning on surviving on it.”
It’s easier than I expected, falling into this rhythm with them again.
Ari’s sarcasm, Maddox’s bossiness—it used to grate on me in a way that made me want to keep my distance.
When they spontaneously decided to come visit me, I agreed to let them stay here.
It’s a large three-bedroom, which means Ava and Spencer also made the trip down from Boston.
Apparently my Tribeca apartment was the perfect place for a Clarke family reunion.
It’s funny, though. I was hesitant, but somehow… it’s been okay. Ezra is a good distraction. He’s nine months old and starting to pull himself up on my very-not-babyproofed furniture. I suppose he’s cute, and it’s been nice seeing my twin brother in his role as a dad.
Plus, things with Ari aren’t as awkward as I thought they’d be. She’s still the same feisty, little nightmare that I dated a couple of years ago, but I get it now. I can see the way she looks at Maddox, and the way he worships the ground she walks on.
Somehow, having them here feels like home in a way I didn’t realize I’d missed.
Minus Spencer, who is sitting in one of my armchairs, watching everything unfold with a scowl.
I don’t think he knows how to smile. I’m sure sleeping on my couch hasn’t been fun, either.
Maddox shuts the fridge and leans against the counter, watching me over the breakfast bar. “You’ve been quieter than usual.”
“I live alone. I forgot how loud you all are.”
Ari smirks from the couch. “I think you secretly love it.”
I don’t answer, because I do love it. And because silence right now feels dangerous—it gives my mind room to wander, to drift back to snowy cabins and the smell of cedar, to the heat of King’s breath against my skin and the way he looked at me like he was never pretending.
Truth be told, having them here has been the perfect distraction for me.
The bonus is that whatever fallout was left over from my breakup with Ari seems to have settled, floating away into dust. It’s… nice.
Plus, Ava convinced me to host everyone. I’m pretty sure this was all a part of some grand plan to reunite us all, even if she’d never admit it. Her and I have been talking on the phone every night before she arrived, and she’s basically my unpaid therapist at this point.
The first call, I ranted to her for four hours straight.
I told her about King’s ego, about how he blindsided me at the retreat, about how he didn’t fight me when I walked away.
She hummed in that maddeningly calm way of hers and finally said, “If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t sound this worked up. ”
The second call, she asked, “Are you angry because he lied, or because he told the truth you didn’t want to hear?”
By the third, I was pacing my apartment with the lights off, clutching the phone like it might give me answers. “I can’t stop thinking about him,” I admitted, my voice breaking in a way I hated. “It’s like he got under my skin, and I don’t know how to let him stay there without it wrecking me.”
She’d gone quiet for a beat before saying softly, “Maybe it’s not about letting him in. Maybe it’s about admitting he’s already there.”
That one gutted me… because she was right. Every time I tried to tell myself it was just sex, the lie burned hotter and hotter until I couldn’t escape it. I just had to give in to burning myself alive.
Every time I tried to forget, I remembered some small, stupid thing—how he knew my likes and dislikes without asking, how his voice sounded different in the mornings, how he looked at me like he already knew what I wanted before I said it.
How safe he made me feel.
I’ve worked through more on the phone with her in the last two weeks than I have in the last decade by myself.
And I keep coming to the same ugly yet simple conclusion: I didn’t leave because I didn’t care.
I left because I cared too much, too fast. And even now, every realization still circles back to him.
Ava comes back in, Ezra freshly changed and already gnawing on her shoulder. She bounces him gently, eyes flicking between me and Maddox. “Are you going to tell them?” she asks, like she’s reminding me to take out the trash.
I blink innocently. “Tell them what?”
She gives me that look, the one that says she’s not buying it. It’s the same look she’d given me every night when we inevitably switch to video call.
We agreed I’d tell them today, and something akin to nervousness flutters in my stomach like butterflies.
Maddox frowns. “What’s going on?”
I glance between them, my pulse ticking faster. For years, I’ve been able to compartmentalize everything about myself, shoving inconvenient truths into neat boxes and sealing the lids tight. But lately… it feels like the lids are coming loose whether I want them to or not.
“It’s not a big deal,” I start, which is exactly what people say before saying something that is a big deal. Here goes nothing. “I’m… bi. I think.”
Ari’s eyebrows lift, but she doesn’t look surprised.
Maddox blinks, then sets his coffee down slowly. “You think?”
I rub the back of my neck. “It’s new. I haven’t really—” I break off, exhaling hard. “I just know that… I’ve been with men before, but it’s different now. I wanted to tell you guys. Officially.”
Maddox studies me for a long moment. “Okay.”
Ava shoots him a glare, but I just watch him digest the information. He can’t be too surprised. After all, he caught me hooking up with a guy once.
There’s a beat of silence, and then Ari leans forward. “Asher, no one here cares who you like. We just care if you’re happy. I’m sorry if we gave you any indication that we wouldn’t accept you exactly as you are.”
The words land heavier than I expected. Like I’ve been holding my breath for years and only just realized it. My throat goes tight, and I have to look away, blinking fast.
“You didn’t,” I manage. “It’s… not something I’ve exactly been ready to say out loud. And I’m still figuring it out.”
Maddox speaks up then, his voice softer than I’ve heard it in a long time, except when he’s talking to Ezra. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to know we’ve got your back. Always. Isn’t that what family’s for? Mom’s going to go berserk, in the best way,” he adds.
Ava reaches over and squeezes my knee. “See? Told you.”
Ari nods, and even Maddox, the brother I resented for so long, is giving me this small, steady smile.
It’s… a lot. In a good way. And for the first time in weeks, the pressure in my chest eases, just a little.
“If it’s a guy making you smile more than you scowl, then I’m on board,” Maddox adds.
From across the room, Spencer snorts, then quickly looks away, clearing his throat.
Ari grins. “Also, bi men are hot. So, bonus points.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, and for the first time in two weeks, it doesn’t feel forced. It’s such an Ari thing to say, and for the first time since we broke up, I feel like we might be okay.
Ezra squeals, waving a tiny fist in the air, and Ava presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You know,” she says lightly, “you could just call him.”
“Wait, you know the deets and haven’t spilled?” Ari asks her sister.
Ava shrugs, giving me a soft smile. “I made a promise.”
“You should call him,” Ari agrees, her voice resolute. “Whoever ‘him’ is.”
I don’t answer, because my chest is already too tight. But I can feel all of them watching me, and for once, it doesn’t feel like they’re waiting to judge, or condemn, or sigh with disappointment.
It feels like they’re waiting for me to let myself be happy.
Later that night, after everyone’s gone to bed, I find myself standing at my living room window, staring down at the city lights. My phone is sitting on the coffee table, screen dark, but my gaze keeps flicking to it like maybe it’ll ring if I look long enough.
It doesn’t, of course. Why would it? I ran away from Ambrose, from the retreat, from everything.
I tell myself it’s better this way, that space is what we both need. That whatever happened between us was a temporary lapse in judgment, a vacation fling, just sex , as I’d said.
But my reflection in the glass doesn’t look convinced. I look tired again—weary and… old.
Tomorrow, the merger meeting will put us in the same room again for the first time since he walked into those woods and I walked out of his life.
I should be thinking about contracts and leverage.
Instead, all I can think about is whether he’ll even acknowledge me, or if he’ll just look at me like I’m just another deal to close, another company to acquire.
Maybe he feels like he got his revenge.
He did promise to ruin me, so I suppose he got what he wanted all along.
I guess I’ll know tomorrow, whether I’m ready or not.