Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
JULIE
We're on the couch watching a Law and Order that neither of us is really paying attention to. Asher has my feet in his lap, his thumbs working into the arch of my left foot with practiced pressure. It feels good. Familiar. He’s still not all here mentally, but I think he’s trying.
"You're tense," he says, pressing harder into a knot near my heel.
"Long day at the shop. We’re finishing that huge order for the corporate event."
"That's good though, right? Business is good?"
"Business is great." I wiggle my toes and he switches to my right foot. "Jamie's talking about expanding the product line to include wax melts."
"You should do it. You're good at what you do."
I watch him. He's wearing sweatpants and an ultra soft t-shirt from college, his hair still damp from the shower. He looks like a man who wants his wife to believe he’s relaxed, but it’s not totally effective.
There's constantly something happening beneath the surface now. A shift in his behavior, a small distance between us. Nothing to worry about yet, but I know something is different and I’m watching.
Things haven't been the same since his father got married.
Now, Asher focuses a lot of his attention on that.
He hasn’t touched me in weeks. It's weird.
We used to have sex often. Now, nothing.
He's always tired, or stressed, or his mind is somewhere else.
Tonight, though, he's here. He's touching me.
He's making jokes about the detective on screen being an idiot.
He's trying to be normal. I appreciate it. I think it’s time for me to do some trying, too.
I pull my feet out of his lap and shift closer to him on the couch. He looks at me, surprised.
"What's up?" he asks.
I don't answer. I just lean in and kiss him. He hesitates for half a second, and then he kisses me back. His hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding up his chest, and he makes a sound low in his throat that I haven't heard in too long.
"Fuck, babe," he murmurs against my mouth.
I laugh, shifting so I'm straddling him, my knees on either side of his hips. His hands go to my waist, pulling me closer. The kiss turns hungry, urgent. I can feel him hardening beneath me, and relief floods through me. He still wants me. We're still us.
His hands slide under my shirt, warm against my skin. I'm reaching for the hem of his t-shirt when the doorbell rings. We both freeze.
"Ignore it," Asher says, pulling me back down for another kiss.
The doorbell rings again. Longer this time. Insistent.
"Asher—"
"They'll go away."
But they don't. The doorbell rings a third time, followed by a heavy knock.
Asher exhales sharply and shifts me off his lap. "I'll get rid of them."
He stands and adjusts his sweatpants, running a hand through his hair as he walks to the front door. I stay on the couch, my heart still racing, my body still humming with want.
I hear the door open. Then voices. Low, formal.
Male. I hear someone ask if he's Asher Stevens.
Something in my chest tightens. I get up and walk to the entryway.
Two police officers stand on our front porch, their uniforms dark against the porch light.
One is older, maybe in his fifties, with graying hair and a weathered face.
The other is younger, mid-thirties, holding a small notebook.
"May we come in?"
"Uh, sure." Asher steps aside, and the officers enter.
They glance at me.
"This is my wife, Julie," Asher says.
"Hello, ma'am. I'm Officer Daniels, and this is Officer Kwan."
"Um, hello."
“Is there somewhere we can sit?" the older officer asks.
"Living room," Asher says, gesturing.
We all move into the living room. The TV is still on, the crime show playing to no one. Asher picks up the remote and mutes it. The silence feels heavy.
"Mr. Stevens, We're here because there's been an accident."
Asher doesn't sit. He stands near the couch, his arms crossed, so I stand next to him. "What kind of accident?" he asks.
"Your father and his wife were involved in a collision earlier this evening. I'm very sorry to inform you that they both died at the scene."
The words hang in the air, and I feel the floor tilt beneath me. My hand goes to the back of the couch to steady myself. Asher doesn't move or speak. He just stares at Officer Daniels, his expression blank.
"What happened?" I hear myself ask.
Officer Daniels turns to me. "They were driving on the highway when another vehicle forced them off the road. The car went over the guardrail and fell approximately seventy feet. The impact was... not survivable."
"Forced them off the road?" I repeat. "You mean someone hit them?"
"Correct. It was a hit and run. Witnesses reported seeing a truck speeding away from the scene. We're investigating, but we don't have a suspect at this time."
I look at Asher. He's still standing there, arms crossed, his face unreadable. It’s like a bomb just went off and he’s in shock and isn’t really processing everything that’s happening.
"Mr. Stevens," Officer Kwan says gently. "Do you need a moment?"
"No." Asher's voice is flat. "I’m just… I'm fine. What do you need from me?"
Officer Daniels exchanges a glance with his partner. "We'll need someone to make a formal identification. And there are arrangements that will need to be made. The medical examiner's office will be in touch."
"Okay."
The officers then hand Asher a card with contact information before expressing their condolences again, and then they're gone. The front door closes behind them, and the house falls silent. Asher walks back into the living room and picks up his phone from the coffee table.
"Asher," I say softly.
He doesn't respond. He's scrolling through his contacts, his thumb moving quickly across the screen.
"Asher."
"I need to call Richard from legal and Karen from PR," he says. "We need to be prepared for what happens when the press finds out."
I frown as I look at him, stunned at how he’s reacting. Or underreacting, I guess. "Your father just died."
"Fuck, Julie," he snaps, "I know." He presses the phone to his ear. "But if we don't control the narrative, someone else will. And stock prices plummeting isn't going to help anyone."
The call connects. Asher's voice shifts into something professional, detached.
"Richard, it's Asher. The police were just here.
My father died tonight in a car accident.
Caroline too. I need you to draft a statement and have it ready to go out first thing in the morning.
Keep it simple. Tragic accident, family requests privacy, the company will continue operations without interruption. "
He listens for a moment, then continues. "No, I don't have all the details yet. Just say it's under investigation. And make sure the board knows before they hear it from someone else. I'll call them individually tomorrow, but I need you to give them a heads-up tonight."
I watch him pace the living room, his free hand gesturing as he talks. He shifted into business mode.
"The funeral will be massive," he's saying. "This is going to be a media circus."
He's talking about logistics. About optics. About managing the fallout. He hasn't cried. He hasn't mentioned Devon. Shit. Devon. I forgot her between telling the police about her and now. Jesus. I’m a mess.
"Asher," I say, my voice firm.
He holds up a finger, still listening to Richard on the other end.
"No. Listen to me. We need to tell Devon, now," I say.
He glances at me, distracted. "What?"
"Devon. We need to go get her. She can't be alone right now."
He blinks, like he's just remembered she exists. "Right. Yeah. Devon."
"Asher, her mother just died. She's a teenage girl who has now lost both of her parents and her stepfather. She's all alone. We need to go."
"I know. Just—give me a second." He turns back to the phone. "Richard, I need to go. We need to deal with Caroline's fucking teenager. Just get that statement ready and I'll call you in a bit."
Calling her a fucking teenager doesn't sit well with me, but it's not like I'm going to start something about it now. He ends the call and sets the phone down on the coffee table. Then he just stands there, staring at nothing.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"I'm fine."
"Honey, your father just died."
"I know."
"You don't seem?—"
He turns his head and glares at me, his expression venomous.
"What do you want me to do, Julie? Fall apart?
That's not me, and it’s not going to help anyone.
" His voice is sharp now, cutting. "Someone has to handle this.
Someone has to make sure the company doesn't implode and the press doesn't turn this into a spectacle.
You knew what you were getting into when you married me. We're not an average family."
Jesus. What the hell? "I get that. But Devon?—"
"I fucking heard you, goddammit. I understand. We'll go get her." He runs a hand through his hair. "Where is she? At the house?"
"I would assume so."
He picks up his phone again and scrolls to her number. The call goes to voicemail. He tries again. Voicemail.
"She's probably asleep," I say. "We need to just go."
Asher nods. He looks around the room like he's trying to remember what he's supposed to do next. Then he grabs his keys from the table by the door. "Let's just fucking go," he says.
I follow him out to the garage, my mind spinning.
Dean is dead. Caroline is dead. And Asher is acting like an asshole.
There's no doubt in my mind he's spiraling, and I'm worried.
In the car, he's silent. His hands grip the steering wheel, his eyes on the road.
I watch him, trying to understand what's happening behind that blank expression.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask.
"I'm fine."
"You don't have to be fine right now."
"Fucking goddammit. Sometimes you just don’t listen! I told you I’m not going to fall apart, and I mean it. But apparently, you need me to. Sorry. Not happening. Let me make this crystal fucking clear so you really hear me. I don't want to talk about this. Let. It. Go."
I don't like his tone. Not one bit. But this isn't about me and loss can make people act out in ways they otherwise would not.
So I don't push. I just sit there in the passenger seat, watching the dark streets pass by, wondering how we're going to tell a seventeen year old girl that she’s an orphan now.