Asher
Ioutstretched my arms, feeling a wave of exhaustion from the night’s sleep rippling through my body.
The tightness along my spine made the stretch ache painfully good.
When I finally opened my eyes, the sunlight cascading through my window felt different—not the crisp, early morning glow, but something closer to late afternoon.
I tossed the phone back onto the bed and rubbed my face with both hands, realizing the shit-eating grin plastered across my cheeks.
Lennon.
She was perfection. Everything and more. The very definition of quintessence.
Everything—from the way her body pressed against mine, to the way she latched onto me refusing to let go, to the way her rounded, emerald eyes locked with mine, finding the deepest parts of me and claiming them—was intoxicating.
But it wasn’t just that. Honestly, she always blew me away.
It was more about the way she lowered the walls she’d been hiding behind. The way she began living without the constant shadow of looming thoughts, without the weight of death pressing overhead.
She was the part of Lennon that deserved to shine, the part that had been dulled for far too long, hidden beneath the darkness.
I pressed a palm to my chest, realizing I had probably overexerted myself the night before; my body was still craving the oxygen it had missed.
I felt oddly tired, yet awake at the same time.
My internal clock insisted it was 6:00 a.m.—but clearly, I had missed the mark.
It had been worth it to be close to her.
Reaching for my phone, I considered texting her—but then decided against it. Instead, I dialled her number and pressed the phone to my ear. It rang twice before the subtle sound of her breath met me on the other end. A smile spread across my face.
“Good morning, Lennon,” I said, the smile evident in my voice.
“It’s the afternoon, Asher,” she replied flatly, clearly unimpressed with my antics already.
I chuckled. “Someone exhausted me last night, so this—my little siren—is my morning.”
“What do you want, Asher?” she asked, bluntly, clearly trying to end this conversation.
I was beginning to read her, starting to understand how her walls worked.
When she pushed, she wasn’t always ready for me to back away.
She needed someone to fight for her, to make her feel worthy of the fight.
I almost craved that challenge with her, as if I had to prove myself worthy enough to be with her in return.
I think I was starting to figure her out.
“Well, I want you to be mine, for starters,” I shot back, hoping to catch her off guard.
She scoffed and hung up the phone. I laughed to myself—she was such a wildcat. Unpredictable as all hell.
Deciding it was time to get moving, I shot up and made my way out of the bedroom, down the hallway. I peered down the stairs, careful to avoid my dad, not wanting my mood squashed before it even got started.
I’d been avoiding him for a while. Spending time with Lennon had been my priority and avoiding the shit show that was my household was second to that.
“Asher?” a familiar voice called from in the kitchen just as I attempted to slip out unnoticed.
I sighed, allowing my shoulders to drop. Pinching my eyes shut for a moment, I forced my voice into normalcy. “Yeah, Dad?”
“Got a minute before you head out?” His voice was practically a waving white flag. He knew things had been off between us for a while, but discovering his affair had driven a deeper wedge into our relationship.
I turned and walked toward the island where he stood in the kitchen. Resting my elbows on the cold marble countertop, I sighed and met his eyes. He looked defeated, almost fragile. If he had treated me differently over the last couple years, I might have felt sorry for him.
But I don’t.
“I know you think I’m the bad guy—” he began.
“You are the fucking bad guy, Dad,” I interjected sharply.
He bristled, making a conscious effort to avoid escalation. “I guess you could say I am, but watch your language under my roof.”
It took everything in me not to scoff or roll my eyes at his request, but I refrained.
“My choices over the years haven’t always been the best,” he continued, “but I did try my best. Your mother is the most important, most incredible person in my life, so when I say I’m learning not to self-sabotage—to destroy my world, and hers—I mean it.”
He wasn’t about to get emotional, but I could tell this conversation was difficult for him by the way his hands fidgeted at his wrists and his eye contact was nearly non-existent.
“I’ve known about Mila since her mother was pregnant with her.
Then when I came clean, I really did start working on myself.
I know from your perspective it probably doesn’t feel that way—I know that.
And maybe I didn’t deserve your mother’s grace and forgiveness, but damn it, she gave that gift to me.
” He turned away, giving me his back as he tried to compose himself.
“Dad—” I started, but he turned back and raised a hand, stopping me.
“No. I need to get this off my chest. I need you to hear it. I—I’m not as good as your mother.
She has this way of seeing the world so clearly.
It never came as easily to me, and it still doesn’t.
When I found out about Mila, I hunkered down, stuffed everything inside, and did what I thought I was supposed to do.
I paid child support, offered care when I could, and eventually she didn’t need my presence anymore—but I never walked away from my responsibility. ”
He paused, swallowing hard.
“Then the years passed, and you got sick. Terminal. My boy—who had the world at his fingertips—had everything stripped away from him. And you know what? I didn’t handle that well.
I had bragged to my friends about how you were going to be the next Wayne Gretzky, the next big thing.
You were so damn talented, so set up in life, that I thought I didn’t need to worry.
And now?” His voice faltered. “Now I don’t know how to pivot into the dad you need.
I don’t know how to pivot into being the dad Mila needs, either. ”
He dropped his head, exhaling a breath he must have been holding back, barely keeping himself from falling apart.
Silence settled between us, thick and heavy.
And in that quiet, I started to understand pieces of him.
He didn’t know how to relearn a skill he’d never known.
My grandfather had never been part of our lives—I assumed that had something to do with how my dad had been raised.
According to my mom, he’d been a harsh man.
Maybe this was my moment to show him some grace.
I sighed, allowing my vulnerability to show. “I thought you were ashamed of me,” I said quietly. “Ashamed of my sickness. Ashamed of your dying son.”
My throat cracked on those last words, the fear and hurt finally surfacing—feelings I’d never shared with anyone.
He shook his head, disappointment written across his face—but not directed at me. It was directed at himself. “I have only ever been proud of the men your mother and I raised. And I’m proud of the daughter I missed out on. I’m trying to be better—for all three of you. I really am trying, Asher.”
I could tell he meant it. My father—not the sentimental type—was trying. It wouldn’t be enough forever, but for now, it was all I needed. I stood as he approached me, holding out his arms. The hug he offered was one I hadn’t felt in years.
I squeezed into him, and he patted my back. When we pulled away, we still carried our emotions, locked down inside as best we could.
“So,” he started, attempting to clear the air, “who’s the girl?”
* * *
When I arrived at Lennon’s apartment, I knocked on the door and straightened my shirt, a wave of unease washing over me as my nerves bundled into knots. Maybe they already were. She had a way of stirring emotions I hadn’t realized even existed.
I was ill—but this was the first time I was truly living. Lennon was breathing life back into me. It was invigorating, and maybe this was exactly what I needed to survive, if surviving my prime was ever even possible.
The door swung open, and there she stood with her brows furrowed, a scowl tugging at her pouty lips.
She wore an oversized tie-dyed t-shirt and black biker shorts, her messy blonde locks pulled into a top knot that slouched to the side in the most adorable way.
I realized then that I wanted to see her like this more often.
If I didn’t already have heart issues, I might have been concerned by the way my heart was fucking beating out of chest right now. She was breathtaking.
“Lennon,” I said, the words tumbling out of me.
“I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about how fucking right we are—every part of it.
I can’t see you with anyone else. That guy flirting with you almost sent me over the edge.
It made me realize I needed to tell you, you know?
I want to be with you—not just for some fucking group assignment. I want you, Lennon. All of you.”
By the time I spit out my declaration, I was out of breath. The air felt sucked from my lungs, dizziness creeping in as I teetered on the brink of fainting. I braced myself against the nearest wall just as Lennon reached for me, wrapping her soft arms around me to keep me upright.
She chuckled gently, guiding me toward the couch. “Easy, tiger. Let’s just take a seat, yeah?”
As I sat down, Nova bounded toward me. That perfect puppy was a light all on her own, and I smiled as I scratched behind her ear. When I looked back at Lennon, my blood seemed to run cold throughout my body, even as heat radiated down my spine and sweat beaded across my body.
Studying her face, I saw it clearly now. She wasn’t feisty. She wasn’t ready to fight me. She just looked sad—defeated, lost.