CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Kaia
Iheld up the lopsided yarn rectangle that was supposed to be the start of a scarf for Asher. “Be honest—should I quit now?”
Across the couch, Alba giggled and closed her book. “No. Just undo it and start over. You should’ve seen my first pieces—worthy of an exhibition called Easy Things Nobody But Alba Screws Up. It took me months to learn and years to perfect.”
“But look at you now. So talented.” I tugged at both sides of the uneven midnight-blue rectangle, stretching it. “Where did I go wrong?”
She squinted, leaning in. “The foundation chain’s too tight. And I think you skipped a few stitches in the middle.”
“Awesome. At least it’s ten rows, not a hundred.” I dropped my creation onto my lap. “I’ll make some tea and try again. Need to learn while you’re still here to guide me.”
Her dad had accepted the job offer. He’d start coaching in June—way sooner than we expected. I was soaking up every moment with her while I still could.
The intercom buzzed just as I stepped into the kitchen.
“Did you stress-buy anything?” Alba called.
I chuckled, reaching for a mug. “No money for indulgence. Can you get that?”
“On it.”
The kettle whistled. I turned off the stove and dropped two bags into identical cat-patterned mugs. Alba liked to joke that if we couldn’t date twins, at least we could drink from the same cups.
“Kaia,” she sang out, “someone’s here to see you!”
It had to be one of the girls from work. I’d been distracted lately, and it wouldn’t be the first time someone dropped off something I’d forgotten at the studio.
I hurried to the foyer. My steps froze. Then I squealed and launched myself at Asher.
He caught me, laughing. “Careful, peque.”
He pressed me to his chest, fingers sliding into my hair. “Please tell me I’m the only one she greets like this,” he said to Alba, rubbing circles on my back.
In my peripheral vision, she shook her head slowly. “I get that treatment sometimes. And so does the pizza delivery guy.”
I laughed. That little shit.
“Should’ve brought pizza.” Asher kissed my forehead. “My bike’s downstairs. Want to go for a ride?”
Night rides with him were my favorite—but what was he doing here? He wasn’t due back for three days. I tilted my chin, studying his face. Pale under the foyer light. Worry pinched my stomach.
“Okay,” I said softly. “Let me grab a hoodie.”
I dashed to my room.
“Want me to wait up for you?” Alba asked from the doorway.
I pulled a warm black hoodie from its hanger and tugged it over my shirt. “No. Ash and I will probably be a while.”
Alba yawned. “Okay. Have fun. I’m heading to bed early.”
I shoved my wallet and phone into my pockets. “Buenas noches.”
Asher hugged me tightly in the elevator. “What happened?” I asked. “You must’ve flown here right after the race.”
“Yeah.” His long exhale warmed my temple. “We need to talk.”
My muscles stiffened. Asher gave me a quick squeeze, as if he felt my fear. “No, mi amor, we’re good. I promise. Shitty wording.”
The knot in my stomach lingered even after I climbed onto his bike and he slipped into the stream of traffic. I hugged him tight, drawing comfort from his solid frame and the steady rumble beneath me.
As he accelerated out of downtown Emerport, the blur of streetlights eased some of the worry clawing at me.
We stopped at a hilltop lookout. Three benches faced the guardrail, skyscrapers rising beyond it, the city glittering below.
Asher slid his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s sit.”
I tore my gaze from the winding road beneath us and followed him to the middle bench. Busy during the day—now it was only us.
“What’s going on?” I asked as we sat.
“I saw Miguel.” His voice carried the weight of more than the seven-hour flight. “He came to my race.”
“And?” I covered his hand on his knee with mine. “Did you talk to him?”
He brushed his thumb over my knuckles. “Yeah. He’s changed jobs a lot—now he coaches kids. Said he came to all my races in Spain.”
Anger flared. I remembered every time Asher opened his inbox to nothing. “But he couldn’t answer an email? That makes no sense.”
“He felt guilty, peque.” Asher dragged a hand down his face. “It’s so fucked up I don’t even know how to feel about what he told me. But I promised I wouldn’t keep anything from you.” His voice dropped, ragged. “Your father and my mother had been having an affair. For years. Before my dad died.”
My heart stuttered. “They what?”
“They dated once. Broke up. Then kept circling back to each other. My dad found out the night before the accident.”
An affair? All those business trips, all the times Mom was home alone with me—because of Sharon?
A shiver rattled through me. My chest clamped tight, air sticking in my throat. Shallow inhales. No release.
“Kaia.” Asher cupped my face, his eyes scanning mine. “Can you breathe?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled.
He pulled me into his lap, wrapping me in his arms. “I’ve got you,” he whispered against my ear. “Breathe with me. Uno… dos… tres…”
By twenty, I managed a deep inhale. My chest still ached, but I could breathe.
“Better?” He kissed my forehead.
“Your dad found out,” I murmured, toying with my sleeve. “And then he crashed?”
“Yeah. Miguel thinks he could’ve stopped it by keeping him off the bike, but come on.” Asher’s laugh was jagged. “Dad wouldn’t have listened. He always showed up. And he knew I’d be watching.”
“You were there?”
He nodded. I wrapped my arms tight around his waist, as if I could hold him together. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.
“Miguel thought I wouldn’t forgive my mother,” Asher said. “And he was right. I won’t.” His tone hardened, steel in every word. “I can’t understand hurting someone on purpose. She should’ve divorced him. I went to see them today—and they didn’t even have the decency to pretend they felt guilty.”
“Of course.” I swallowed the bitter tears and looked skyward. Mom was out there somewhere, probably worrying about me. So was Asher’s dad. They should’ve been here, thriving despite the two selfish people who’d hurt them.
“There’s something else,” Asher said, leaning his forehead to my shoulder.
More? How much more could we take?
“My mother isn’t one hundred percent sure who my biological father is.”
The words hit like a kick to my stomach. I stared at him, my pulse faltering. “No.”
“I know.” He bit his bottom lip. “But it’s ridiculous.
I know Russell isn’t my father. I look like my dad—always have.
But I made your father do the test because I don’t want them to fucking doubt.
” His rough palm cupped my jaw. “I’m not his, okay?
I love you. You’re my peace. My person. My fucking lifeline.
” His voice shook, the calm facade crumbling.
“I want a future with you, and I need those results to shut them up and get closure.”
Asher was right. He couldn’t be my father’s son.
“Come here,” I whispered.
I wound my arms around his neck, drawing my face to his. He took my mouth hard—hungry, desperate, mine.
Our tongues touched. The kiss eased from bruising to soft. Asher broke it, brushed my hair from my face. “We’ll get through this, peque. I promise. It’s going to be okay.”
I wanted nothing more than for him to be right.