Chapter 35 #2
“Please. Nothing so desperate as that. I was in my car on the phone after I dropped you off that morning and I saw her come out and get into her car.
Her parking spot said reserved for 3A, so I knew it was her.
I realized I had an opportunity, so I pulled out ahead of her.
Waited until she was close. Then I hit the brakes and let her hit me.
" He says it simply, like he's describing a business transaction.
"She was so desperate for love she didn't even question why I was so eager to take her to coffee.
Why I was so charming. Why I moved so fast."
My vision blurs at the edges. What he’s saying is sick. "You engineered a fucking accident.”
“It was barely a tap. It’s not like she was in danger.”
"Why?" The word comes out strangled. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I needed to get married, and my father gave me a deadline.
And Julie was perfect. Pretty, sweet, innocent, exactly the kind of woman he'd approve of.
" He pauses, his eyes locking on mine with something that looks almost like satisfaction. "He always liked your women. Be more like Ryan, he’d say. So when I saw her… I knew what I had to do.”
The implication hangs between us, heavy and suffocating.
"You’re saying you targeted her because I liked her."
He chuckles. “She was available, and the fact that you liked her told me dear old dad would approve.
Two birds, one stone." He spreads his hands, a magician revealing his trick. "I got a wife who made me look good, and I got to take something you wanted in the process. It didn’t hurt that she was fucking clueless.”
I feel sick, actually sick, my stomach roiling with the kind of vertigo that usually precedes vomiting. "You married her. She trusted you. She loved you, Asher. She built her whole life around you."
"And soon she can move on." He leans against his desk, casual as a man discussing the weather.
"She'll be fine. She has her shop to focus on, and she never shuts up about it.
She has her bitch of a sister to carry her through and get her back on her feet.
She'll cry for a while, then she'll move on and find some other guy to take care of her.
Maybe you, if you play your cards right. "
If he told me he was a goddamn alien I couldn’t be any more surprised than I am right now. "You're a fucking sociopath."
He pushes off the desk, coming toward me with slow, deliberate steps. "And you're a fucking hypocrite."
"Excuse me?"
"You stole Jessica from me."
I stare at him, the name not connecting to anything I can think of. "Who?"
"Jessica Miller. From high school."
The memory surfaces after a few seconds. Prom, junior year, my neighbor who needed a date because hers canceled. "Jessica Miller? Are you serious?"
"You went to prom with her. After I'd been fucking her for months."
I jolt. Jesus Christ. "You were going to prom with someone else! I didn't even like her. We went as friends because she was my neighbor and her dress was already bought and she was crying in her driveway when I got home from practice."
“You always had to be the fucking good guy and it fucked everything up.
She liked anal," Asher says flatly, no emotion, no humanity in his voice at all.
Just clinical observation. "And I liked having her on my fuck list. But I couldn't touch her once you took her to prom.
Everyone knew. It made me look weak, like you could just take what was mine. "
The blood drains from my face, leaving me cold and lightheaded. "You're holding a grudge from high school? That's what this is about? Losing a piece of ass?”
"It's about my father always thinking you were better than me.
It's about him letting me do shit as long as you were there too, like you were my handler or my conscience.
It's about how you've always been in my business, always judging my choices, always standing there like you're morally superior. It’s about my wife running to you to blab about something that’s none of your fucking business.”
His voice rises. “You think you're so good, Ryan. So noble. But you're not. You're just as calculating as I am. You just hide it better."
That’s bullshit. "I don’t hide shit. All this time, I thought I was your best friend." The words come out a little broken. I’ve spent two decades with this guy as my closest friend. And he didn’t even give a single fuck about me, clearly.
"We were friends because our mothers went to college together and my father thought you were a good influence.
" He says it with finality, like he's closing a book.
"But you haven't been my best friend in years.
Maybe not ever. And you know why you stuck around?
Why you're here right now, playing the white knight? "
I shake my head. “Go ahead and tell me why, I guess.”
"Because you want to fuck Julie. That's it. You're half in love with her, have been since before I even met her, and now that my marriage is falling apart, you're circling like a vulture, waiting for your chance to swoop in and comfort her."
He steps closer, eyeing me like a fucking lunatic. "Admit it. That's why you're really here."
The accusation lands like a physical blow to my chest. "That's not true."
"Isn't it? The second I'm out of the picture, you'll be there with your shoulder to cry on and your dick to ride. It's pathetic, Ryan. Predictable."
The room spins. He's wrong about me and my intentions, but he's so committed to the lie, so certain of it, that he’s using it as a weapon.
"I hate to burst your bubble, but she's not even a good lay," he continues, his voice dropping to that cold, clinical register again.
"Willing, but boring. Vanilla as fuck. She's no Jessica Miller, that's for sure.
I counted money in my head and fantasized about other women just to finish with her. "
My jaw drops, horror and rage warring in my chest. "That's your fucking wife. The woman you promised to love and protect."
He shrugs. "It's the truth. And soon enough, she'll be someone else's problem. Maybe even yours, if you can stomach mediocre sex in exchange for playing house with my leftovers."