Asher #3
Asher it was a joke.
You could be with her right now. What do I know?
I shouldn’t have said that
Her clear panic softens me. Jocelyn has some sorcery in her blood. It weakens even the firmest resolve.
It’s fine.
I’m tired though. Going to sleep.
Asher.
I anticipate another text, but nothing comes, so I prod her.
What?
Pre-sleep wonderland steals my awareness for several minutes while waiting for her to answer. The light from my phone jolts
me awake.
Are we going to be okay?
Her text holds me enthralled. Can’t pinpoint why exactly.
Perhaps it’s the we. That word is a tether.
Verification that I’m not in this alone.
That I’m not the only one experiencing pain.
Jocelyn cares about me, too, even if it’s not the way I want.
It’s a balm, but it’s also a dreary reminder of the truth. We might not be okay.
I don’t know.
The next day, pool waves lap at my waist while I pretend to watch the water-volleyball match before me. Can’t help but monitor
the conversation happening behind me. Skeezy bit of eavesdropping, if I’m honest. Hopeful for information I probably don’t
want.
“How you holding up?” Yayoi asks.
“I’m fine,” Joss whispers. “You know me.”
“Yeah, which is how I know you’re not fine.”
Exactly. Score one, Yayoi.
Joss snorts. “What do you mean?”
“Well, for starters, your smile looks like Willem Dafoe when he played the bad guy in Spiderman.”
Ha. Don’t laugh! I rub my mouth, hoping that will stifle the snicker.
“What does that even mean?” Joss asks, all offended.
Yayoi’s tone turns thoughtful. “Sort of . . . deranged.”
Joss huffs. “There’s nothing wrong with my smile.”
“Smile like a normal person is all I’m saying.”
Luckily, Talia swims over to me before I burst into laughter. “You hear about this hurricane, Doctor F?”
“Franklin? Category one now, right? When are they saying it’ll hit?”
“Landfall Tuesday morning.” Her mouth spreads in that impish grin. “You know what that means?”
She wins a chuckle from me. “Office will be closed?”
“Office will be closed,” she says with a wild hoot of a laugh and a shimmy in the water.
“We aren’t even in the cone.”
She sighs. “I know. Anyway, I got to get home. Been three hours, so my boobs are about to explode.”
I jiggle her shoulder. “Your oversupply is out of control. You have to stop pumping after you breastfeed, dollface.”
She brandishes her hands at me, shooing me away. “Quit doctoring me.”
I shoot her a look. “I’m your doctor.”
“Mind your business.”
She struts away through the water as I boo her. The conversation behind me has turned from interesting topics to hair products,
which . . . No, thanks. Not interested. Instead, I hop out of the pool and head to the porch, where a lively argument over
hospital hurricane policies takes place.
“It isn’t fair,” Kevin says. “The Team A people have to stay in-house until the all-clear. That could be forty-eight hours
or more if the storm is bad.”
Cassie splays her palms over the table, full on serious mode. “We can’t expect people to drive in for their assigned shifts
in the middle of a hurricane. That’s ridiculous.”
I slip into the only empty chair, the one beside Geoff, who leans onto the table. “That’s not what he’s saying.”
Cassie crosses her arms. “Then, please, enlighten me.”
“Team A and Team B should both be in-house,” Geoff says, “and they can switch on and off until the all-clear.”
She throws her hands up. “That’s preposterous! We’d have to pay both teams disaster pay the entire time. That’s double the
amount of salary.”
Defeated, Kevin slumps in his chair. “It’s not fair.”
Cassie rolls her eyes. “You’re only mad because you were Team A last time.”
“It sucked.” Kevin takes a sip of his beer. “So boring, and the food was shit.”
“I put everyone’s name in a hat. It’s luck of the draw.”
Hmm. Pretty fair.
Kevin perks up. “Can you leave my name out, since I had to do it last time?”
She cocks her head, silky black hair flowing over her shoulder. An ebony river. “I’d have to do it for everyone on Team A,
though. Not feasible.”
“So how was last night?” Geoff asks under his breath, referring to my date.
I shrug. “Fine.”
“Did it help?”
“No.”
He sucks air through his teeth. “Have another drink, then.” He glances over as his wife approaches with Jocelyn. “And, hey,
go cook my cheeseburger.”
Right. I can take a hint. I rise from my chair. “Okay, okay.”
“You need help?” Cassie half stands, eyes hopeful.
“Nah, sugar. I got it.”
Jocelyn’s gaze snaps to me, but I won’t look. Refuse to look. Must make myself busy with food. The grill was pre-warmed, so
I pull the tray of meat from the outdoor fridge. The sizzle is a comforting cadence for my frazzled nerves. Grilling is simple.
Easy. Soothing. And the aroma is unbeatable.
Well . . .
In a contest, the fragrance of Jocelyn’s skin would probably win. It thoroughly distracts. Enraptures. Both seductive and
edible.
Ugh. The girl has taken over my mind.
I still bought her pineapple White Claws. I was at the store, and they were there and . . . habit. Sort of hate myself for
it. When she appears at my side fifteen minutes later and thanks me, gazing at the can like it’s a diamond tennis bracelet,
the regret is overwhelming. Don’t want her thanks. Don’t want her praising my favors. Don’t want her near me, looking like
that.
She’s in the black bikini.
Beautiful. Glistening. Torturing me.
Maybe the tantalizing expanses of skin wouldn’t bother me if I didn’t know how they tasted. Did she wear the black bikini
on purpose? Maybe not. Maybe she doesn’t care and isn’t even trying. Maybe I’m a milksop.
“It was really nice,” she murmurs, so no one else hears, “to buy these for me.”
“Sure.” I swallow against a knot in my throat. A bit painful, that. Do emotions clog there like hair in a shower drain? “Why
wouldn’t I?”
Her stare pelts my face. “Maybe because you can’t even look at me right now.”
Behind us, the others laugh and screech as they jump in the pool. The group at the table is now in the midst of a rowdy discussion
regarding the merits—and vast degrees of evil—of social media.
I set down the spatula and face Joss full on, giving her a fake, bright grin. “I’m looking. What do you want?”
Her hair is messy, her eyes hollow. She wears no smile, no expression at all. “I just . . . I hate this, Asher. This isn’t
us. You’re drifting away from me, and I want you back.”
Back? I’m not the one who turned her down. My voice lowers. “You rejected me, remember?”
She drops her gaze to the ground and says nothing.
“Jocelyn, that’s not how things work. You can’t have it both ways. If you want me, you have to be mine, too. You can’t turn me down, then expect things to go back to how they were. You can’t sleep with other men and expect me to be waiting for you with open arms. It isn’t fair, and it’s selfish.”
She flinches. “I’m not sleeping with other men.”
I go still. What? She . . . Did she just say . . .
“I didn’t do it,” she says. “I went there, but I didn’t sleep with him.”
Uhhhh. What is this new tingly sensation, sprouting up through the pain? Is this more hope? I thought it had been murdered irrevocably. Maybe hope is a vampire. Immortal. Dangerous.
“Why not?” I ask.
She rubs her nose and looks away. “You know why.”
The dying organ in my chest thumps hard against my ribs. “I don’t. Say it. Be specific.”
Warm brown eyes turn toward me. “Did you sleep with Gabriela?”
Oh, no. She isn’t getting out of this so easily. “Would it bother you if I did?”
Her mouth opens to answer, but Geoff yells, “Yo, Foley! You burning my burger?”
Shit. I grab the spatula to scoop up the smoking burgers. Meanwhile, Jocelyn tries to slip away. My hand darts out and grasps
her wrist before she leaves.
“Would it?” I ask.
A beat passes, the cinnamon in her eyes turning glassy. When she speaks, her voice is barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”
The desperate, scared look on her face has me pulling her closer. “Where is your head, Joss?”
A tear splashes over her cheek. “I’m drowning, and I can’t find my way to the surface. Let me go.”
Does she think I’m an anchor?
“Foley!” Geoff rises from his chair. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I glance down at the smoking mess on the grill, and Jocelyn’s wrist slides from my grip. By the time I’ve trashed the food
and turned off the grill, I’ve been subjected to another annoying lecture from Geoff—“That girl’s going to kill you”—and Joss is nowhere to be found.
When I peek out front, her car is gone. She doesn’t call, doesn’t text. She chooses the path of least resistance, just like
I knew she would. She ignores it all. For the first time in over two years, she doesn’t spend Saturday night at my house.
By Monday afternoon, the weather has turned gray and windy. Rain spits just enough to make everything cold and moist. Franklin
was upgraded to a Category 2 hurricane an hour ago, but we’re hovering at the edge of the cone. Still, Jocelyn’s probably
freaking out.
At least she’s texting me back now—unlike yesterday, when she ignored me until late at night, pretending like she’d forgotten
to charge her phone.
Yeah, right. The girl never forgets her phone. It’s her lifeline. She just didn’t want to deal with me. Deal with any of it,
more like. Kind of annoyed with her. Hot-and-cold thing isn’t my favorite. Wish she’d make up her mind.
You team a or b?
B again.
I’m sorry.
You’re welcome to come to my house.
It’s okay. I’ll be fine.
You sure? It’s supposed to get bad overnight.
I’m sure.
Sitting in my truck in the parking lot of the hospital, I glare at my phone. This is getting tiresome. Jocelyn hates these
storms. Is Operation Avoid Asher really more important than that? She’d rather be alone and terrified than be subjected to
my company?
You’re staying at your house then?
Yeah. We aren’t even in the cone.
Did you buy water and food?
I spent a large portion of Sunday performing hurricane chores—purchasing water and non-perishables, filling gas cans, topping
off the propane tank, pulling all my loose outdoor furniture inside. Jocelyn isn’t a planner. Did she even remember to buy
bottled water?
I’ll be fine.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” I scream at my phone and throw it to the passenger seat.
Irritating woman.
For someone so concerned about me drifting away from her, she’s certainly doing her best to run full tilt in the opposite direction. Guess she didn’t like that little admission I pulled from her.
Whoops.
Sorry not sorry.
Still don’t know what to make of it, though. She’s jealous at the idea of me with other women, yes, but whatever other emotions
she’s harboring in there make her feel like she’s drowning. The dichotomy is somehow promising and also exceedingly bleak.
Jealousy isn’t enough to build a relationship on. It’s a disease that spawns on itself. A cancer that makes people behave
in strange, pathologic ways.
But hey. At least it’s proof she cares a little.
A small airborne branch smacks against the windshield, startling me. All right, then. Time to get home. All outpatient offices
closed at 1:00 p.m. Talia’s enthusiasm for a day off had dimmed substantially in the face of the reality heading toward us.
Franklin is slowing and strengthening, and even if he doesn’t hit us, there will be damage. But unlike Talia, who has a type-A
husband, Jocelyn has no one to look out for her. Her decision to remain alone in a house that hasn’t been updated since the
1960s during a Category 2 hurricane could hurt her.
The very male portion of me has a strong inclination to kidnap her. She can kick and scream all she wants, but she’ll be safe
doing it. Can’t freak her out, though. Just barely have her speaking to me again.
And there my mind goes, right back to Saturday.
I went there, but I didn’t sleep with him.
That’s just . . . fan-fucking-tastic, even if I don’t know why she couldn’t go through with it.
You know why.
Wish I did. God, I really want to know why.
This hope is hazardous to my health. Potentially lethal.
Can’t believe I let it blossom amidst the scorched earth she left behind.
Fully aware this makes me weak. Keep committing the same mistakes, like an insane person.
Can’t seem to stop myself, though. The optimist in me is hard to kill.
I’m certain if I push my luck now, she’ll flee again.
But she’s being stupid AF.
I’ll be fine.
How does she know?
I drive home through congested roads strewn with debris. The wind whips the palm trees lining the streets, their fronds dragging
the trunks sideways. Lines of cars clog the gas stations, most of which are now empty of fuel. With the truck housed safely
in my garage, I enter the house and settle in. By evening, the storm tracker on my app is far more optimistic than the doomsday
weathermen on the local news. The cone has shifted south a bit, but the storm is still Category 2.
To distract myself, I start a match on Fortnite. If the storm turns out as bad as they say, I’ll lose internet at some point.
May as well enjoy it while I have it. Before the match begins, I make one last pass at Jocelyn.
Storm is getting closer.
I don’t care what’s going on between us. I’ll always be here if you need me.
It’s gonna be okay
Promise me you’ll call if you need anything
I will. I promise.