13. Asher
THIRTEEN
ASHER
The wind whips against my face as soon as I step out of my helicopter. My feet drop to the landing pad, and I don’t even make it to the elevator doors of my penthouse building when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
The city sky is blanketed in black with the golden lights of New York stretching out as far as the eye can see. But all I can think about is the woman I watched walk out the door a week ago. Ten years ago, I was the one who left. Although I was a coward and didn’t give Charleigh the opportunity to watch me leave, instead, choosing to vanish on her like some sort of sick magic trick. Still, the ache I felt inside after watching her walk away only made me all too aware of how Charleigh must have felt the morning after I’d left her. The morning she’d found the last note I’d ever write to her taped to her window.
I’m a fucking idiot.
I ignore the growing pit of concern in my stomach and answer Janette’s call.
“Janette.”
“Oh, good, Mr. Egan.” She lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re back. ”
“I just landed,” I tell her, nodding to my valet, Hank, who holds the door to the elevator open for me. He pushes the button for my floor and waits patiently as the lift descends.
“How was your meeting upstate?” Janette asks.
“Fine,” I tell her, not caring to dive into the details of my meeting with another client who was interested in looking for properties up near Saratoga Springs. “Were you able to work on that research I asked you to do for me earlier?”
“Yes.” Her voice hitches, seemingly surprised with my abrupt shift in the conversation. “I have all the information pulled up and ready to email over to you now. Do you have another meeting or closing date you’d like me to put in your calendar for Saratoga Springs?”
“No. And don’t bother sending me the email. I want to know what you found. Read it to me.” I give Hank another curt nod as I step out of the elevator and into my apartment. My entryway and living room are blanketed in darkness aside from the under cabinet lighting my housekeeper leaves on for me every night before she leaves.
I loosen my tie and make a beeline for the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water and sit in the large, leather chair facing the window, overlooking Midtown.
“Okay.” A few clicks fill the silence while I wait for Janette. “I found a slew of articles, and it was a little difficult to sift through them, but I found one in particular that seemed to have the most accurate information. This one is dated July of 2015.”
Fuck. A few months after I left Connecticut.
“Go ahead,” I urge, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Trevor Keeler, former CEO of Biotech Pharmaceuticals, filed for bankruptcy this past week,” she reads. “Last summer, Keeler was fired from his position at Biotech due to a history of immense gambling debt and poor investments within the company, losing tens of millions for the large pharmaceutical chain. Through further investigation, it has been discovered that Keeler has been nearing bankruptcy for the past several years, alongside scathing allegations of sexual assault and multiple affairs. Keeler finally filed for bankruptcy this week, citing poor investments and lack of sufficient funds to keep the company afloat. Bridgeport Daily News has reached out to Keeler’s wife, Florence Keeler, and their legal team for further comment but have yet to hear back.”
I nearly allow the water bottle to slip from my grasp and spill to the floor. It’s as if all my oxygen has escaped, leaving nothing but the sickness still brewing inside my stomach. I knew Trevor was always a bastard, swindling his wife and Charleigh out of a happy life. I knew better than to assume Charleigh had it easier just because she had more money than I did. Our wounds may be two different kinds, but they run just as deep.
“Asshole.” Fire burns within me at the thought of Trevor’s bad dealings and how they affected Charleigh. Did that mean he didn’t pay for her to go to NYU? How was she able to pay for school, then?
“Is there any articles dated after that one?” I ask Janette, swallowing the bile in my throat. “An updated one?”
“There’s a small mention of him in an article eight months later, saying his company was seized by the bank and he lost all assets. A multi-million-dollar firm ultimately bought it, erasing Trevor Keeler’s stamp on the company.”
“Nothing about him or the family?”
“No, sir.” Janette gives a resigned sigh. “Would you like me to keep looking and see if I can find anything else?”
“No.” I clear my throat. “That’s all. Thank you, Janette. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She must be surprised by my kindness because she pauses before giving me a warm, “You’re welcome,” followed by, “Um, there’s something else. Your, um, your father called.” She stumbles over her words, and I know she feels sympathy for me because of the state my father is in.
My throat tightens. I haven’t talked to him in a few weeks. It’s not that I’ve been avoiding him, I’ve simply been busy. Especially with Charleigh back in my life.
“Did he say why he called?”
“He said he’s tried to reach you on your cell with no success. He’s not doing well.”
I rest my elbow on the arm of my chair and pinch the bridge of my nose. My head pounds and the backs of my eyes sting. The urge to drink is calling me, and while my reasons for being sober aren’t because I’m an alcoholic, they’re just as important all the same. Curling my fingers into a fist, I swallow down the urge and the pain inside. “I’ll take care of it, Janette. Thank you.”
This time, I don’t wait for Janette’s response. I hang up.
My thoughts swing like a pendulum. My father. Charleigh. Her father. Charleigh.
The cycle repeats as my finger hovers over her name on my phone screen.
But what could I possibly say to fix the damage I’ve done? What could I say that would erase the pain in her eyes I left, not only last week, but ten years ago? Especially now that I know about her father and the tsunami of torment he waged on his family in the months after I left.
I ache with a pain I haven’t felt in a long time.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how close we got last week. The scent of her hair. The heat coming from her mouth. I wanted to devour it. I wanted to devour her . I’ve started questioning every decision I’ve made since meeting her at the bar that first night, from visiting her floral shop and noticing those fucking paper hearts she uses as her signature on every bouquet, to the entirety of our moment of weakness last week. It was as if I would push Charleigh away only to pull her back again just to gauge her reaction to me.
Who the fuck have I become?
I think back to who I was at eighteen. The hopelessly, maniacally in love Asher. The one who would have done anything for her.
But there was a reason I left Charleigh ten years ago. It wasn’t because my love for her had faded or simply disappeared. It was because I knew after the fire that everything I touched, I destroyed. I had the potential to destroy everything that was good about Charleigh.
Now the reason I left Charleigh in the first place is staring me straight in the face.
She’s happy with her life, content and successful, just as I hoped she would be after I left. But that’s all tainted again simply because I am back in her life . Falling for her… again.
Sheets of rain pour down across the city. Thunder rumbles in the distance, vibrating through my empty apartment. Loneliness can only be ignored for so long. Until you find it staring you straight in the face.
I’m about to close out my phone screen without calling Charleigh when I get a text from a number I don’t recognize.
(646) 555-7402: I spoke with Holt earlier today. Sorry we couldn’t schedule a meeting this week. He invited me to his sister Julianna’s birthday party next month. I’ll see you then and hopefully we can have a chat about what works best for both of us. Looking forward to it! – Weston Knigh t
Dammit. I’d forgotten I was supposed to set up a meeting with West this week after we were introduced at his bar opening. I type out a reply to him, then a thank you to my best friend for coming to my rescue. But just as I hit send, I get a text from Charleigh that feels like an anchor plunging into the depths of my stomach, knocking the life out of me.
Charleigh: I was right that night at the beer garden. Working with you has been a mistake. I was a fool to put my trust in you again. I think it’s best we end this before we get in too deep. Wishing you all the success in the future. Goodbye, Asher.
“Fuck!” I yell, tossing my phone onto my mahogany coffee table. The sound echoes through my apartment but is quickly drowned out by the storm brewing over the city.
Pressure builds behind my eyes, and my chest tightens. The threads of the rope that feel as though they’re around my ribcage curl and tighten, squeezing the oxygen from my lungs. I lean forward and rest my head in my hands. Closing my eyes, I see Charleigh beneath the sheets of her bed… but not as the woman she is now. I see those eighteen-year-old round eyes looking up at me with every ounce of love she had. I feel her warmth under my touch as I drag my finger over her collarbone after our first time. The sound of her breath hitching as I memorize every inch, relishing in the way her heart thrashes in her delicate chest whenever I whisper in her ear.
I made her mine that night, and swore I would never let her go. But somewhere along the way, she slipped between the cracks, and I let her.
Something in Charleigh’s text doesn’t feel like a tepid sting. It’s a sharp, burning torturous bite. It’s an unexpected pain, and one I don’t know what to do with. Her words are a hammer to the heart .
Fuck.
Lifting my head up, I watch the rain for precisely one second before I’m swiping my phone from the coffee table, snatching the keys to my BMW from the hook by my front door, and heading for the parking garage.