CHAPTER THREE
Kaia
An hour later, Asher was still missing. I sat on the bed with the book he’d given me, but anxious thoughts blurred the letters into a mess I couldn’t read.
He’d said he’d stay, but he’d taken his backpack and left anyway. Something must’ve upset him. I replayed dinner in my head but couldn’t pinpoint what changed his mind about living here.
Maybe it wasn’t one moment but the idea of seeing our parents acting like a couple. It had taken me years to stop feeling like my heart was sinking every time Dad kissed Sharon—or worse, when they had sex.
This house was big, but not nearly big enough.
Footsteps thudded in the hallway outside my room, followed by a knock. Dad and Sharon were already in bed.
Without thinking, I leaped up and opened the door. A tall, familiar figure in riding gear stood there.
Relief washed through me. “Asher.”
A smirk curved his lips. “You remember my name. I’m flattered. Can I come in?”
As if I could ever forget him. “Sure.” I stepped aside. “Your mom already went to bed. We thought you left.”
The door closed with a click. He leaned against it, cheeks flushed as if he’d been out in the cold.
“No. I just went to get this.” He held out a pink cardboard box. “You don’t turn eighteen every day. What they did was shitty.”
My fingers shook as I lifted the lid.
Right then, I knew no matter how many birthdays I had, this one would be unforgettable.
A small, heart-shaped chocolate cake sat on a golden doily. Tears fogged my vision. I blinked hard, but Asher’s sigh told me he noticed anyway.
He reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a small pink candle and a lighter. “I wanted one that said eighteen.” He frowned, as if not finding it was a tragedy—even though he was already more thoughtful than my own father. “But they didn’t have any.”
I swallowed the tears before they spilled. “This one’s perfect. Thank you. I’ll get plates and forks, yeah?”
He groaned. “Plates. Fuck. I knew I forgot something.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
Asher crossed his arms. “Really? I guess it’s also not a big deal they forgot your big day? Is this your version of normal, peque? And what about the party you didn’t have? Was that your choice—or because they didn’t bother?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, hot enough to melt the chocolate off the cake. I set it on my desk before I dropped it. “Forks,” I muttered, hurrying for the door.
Asher stepped aside with a loud exhale.
I bolted down the stairs, my face burning. Why did he have to be so damn observant? Dr. White never noticed anything, and he’d been seeing me for years. Asher had been in my room for minutes and already saw straight through me.
I grabbed the forks and plates, then paused in the dark kitchen, listening. Silence blanketed the house. Dad and Sharon were asleep. Good.
Mr. See-right-through-you was in my room. Not so good.
I loved that he cared. I just didn’t know what to do with it—with someone who cared being close.
It made me feel exposed, like the time Mandy and I went to a party in cheerleader costumes—tiny skirts and cropped tops—only to walk into a room of slack-jawed guys and girls in jeans and tees.
I’d been wary of parties ever since. Mandy loved them anyway.
Taking a deep breath, I headed upstairs. I really wanted that cake—and Asher’s company. When I walked in, Asher tore his gaze from the shelf above my desk where I kept my favorite paperbacks. “You’ve got books in Spanish.” His eyes flicked over me. “I would’ve brought more if I’d known.”
The change of subject siphoned tension from my shoulders. I’d rather talk about books than Dad.
“Some are gifts from my teacher.” I set the plates and forks on the desk.
“Your Spanish teacher?”
“Yeah. Mrs. Sanchez. She gave me those before she retired last year. Now I study on my own because the new teacher only teaches up to level two.”
Interest sparked in Asher’s dark eyes. “And you’re farther than that?”
“I’ve finished level four.”
“You can practice with me whenever you want.”
He sounded earnest, and I fought not to show how much that meant. Finally, something I didn’t suck at—and with him, it might even be fun. He’d probably be patient, if a little sarcastic and a lot cocky. Pro racer and all that.
Still, I wouldn’t tell him he was the reason I loved Spanish so much.
“Thanks,” I said.
Asher pulled the cake from the box. “Let’s celebrate before I pass out on your pink bed. Looks way more comfortable than the plane seat.”
“Want to try it?”
His lips twitched. “Your father would have a few things to say if I did.”
I shrugged. “He’s not here.”
Asher’s smirk faded into a frown. He stuck the candle in the center and lit it. “He’s still too close for my liking. Make a wish, peque.”
He held out the cake, and I grinned like a kid. This was starting to feel like a real birthday.
“A wish.” I shifted my weight. “Okay. I’ve got a few.”
“However many you’ve got,” Asher said softly. “I’ll wait.”
The flame flickered, shadows moving across his face. Ever since Mom died, I’d wished for the same thing—make her proud, since having another day with her was impossible.
I also wanted to score high on the PSAT. Go to college. Travel. Be happy. Mandy’s earlier words crept in, and I shook my head, inhaled deeply, tried to press everything into one clear wish.
Then I blew. The flame trembled before curling into a thread of silver smoke.
“Feliz cumpleanos, peque.” Happy Birthday, little one. Ash stepped closer and slipped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in.
My nose brushed his jaw, and his clean, fresh scent wrapped around me, clouding my judgment. I wanted other things—wrong things. Him holding me tighter. Me burying my face in his neck.
“Still not the big party you deserve, but hopefully better than nothing,” he whispered against my forehead. Then he let go, stepping back.
“Much better,” I agreed. Better than anything that had happened to me lately.
Asher groaned. “Fuck, a knife. I promise I’m less of a mess when I sleep.”
Giggling, I picked up a fork and started cutting into the cake while he winced like it physically pained him. “That’s slaughter.”
“For you.” I set the piece on a plate.
Ash shook his head. “You first.”
“So you can cut a better one for yourself?”
His smile slipped loose, easy. “What do you take me for? I want you to eat your cake first because it’s your birthday, not mine. Sit. I’ll cut mine after.”
I took my plate and sat on the bed, watching him. It was strange seeing him here, surrounded by my things—strange, but in a good way. For a second, the boy from the past flickered through my mind, but Asher wasn’t that fifteen-year-old anymore.
He’d grown into a gorgeous man who remembered my birthday when no one else did, and who handed me cake rich enough to make my mouth water.
Asher shrugged out of his jacket, and my eyes slid down his strong forearms, over the hard lines of his stomach, up to his broad, sculpted shoulders.
He caught me looking, one dark brow lifting.
I shoved a forkful of decadent cake into my mouth.
Shit. I was in trouble.