Chapter 11 #2
“It's never stopped you before.” My cheeks sting when I smile.
“I want to say yes, but then I kind of want to say no.” Because aside from superficial conversations, the good times and the tense moments we've shared, we've never dived deep into either of our personal lives.
As if we accepted each other for who we were and didn't need to know more about one another to decide whether we were worth it.
It took the drama out of our friendship, the ridiculous standard that so many hold against their closest friends.
Asher and I never had that because we took each other for exactly as the other was, nothing more and nothing less.
“Why kind of? Just tell me yes or no.” His collar drops, revealing his lips. “I know we've never spoken about our lives away from one another.”
His words throw me off a little, mainly because I didn't expect him to say it out loud.
A gust of wind curls around the nape of my neck and I shiver. “Because are you going to ask me what my favorite color is, or are you going to ask me something more complex like, 'Are you happy?'”
Clearing his throat, he angles himself back a little, yet turning his body into mine. He's close enough that I can feel heat emanating through my clothes.
“I know you're not happy, Venom,” he whispers.
Trees line the steep pathways in shadows, offering a false sense of safety.
“I don't like the word 'happy'. I think it holds too many expectations. Satisfied? Not quite. Placid? Yes. Happy?” I turn to him. “Are you happy?” I've not seen him touch her as much as she has him.
As much as he had me.
A deep chuckle leaves him. “I think you, of all people, might understand that sometimes, happiness doesn't have shit to do with it.” His words ring out in my head seconds later. “Do you want to be?”
No one has ever asked me that. No one. Mainly because it's irrelevant, and I've never been around people who don't already know me.
The sound of decks cutting through snow sounds in the distance.
“No,” I say softly. “I don't think that's in my cards for this lifetime.”
“Ivy.” Ivy, not Venom. “Look at me.”
I tilt my head back toward the stars. “Kind of don't want to.”
“Why?” His attention burns me from the inside out. Focus on the stars.
“Because I kind of don't like you right now.”
I turn to face him despite my words, and something primal stirs beneath his composure.
He pushes up from the ground and places his hand out to me.
I take it without a word and head back down the track.
He could ditch me in a heartbeat, carve down the slope and vanish.
Instead he shadows my line with every lazy arc.
The shadows of Veilarath are exactly like the secrets it keeps.
Dark, and always have you looking over your shoulder.
I come to a stop at the bottom of the house, where the entrance to the master “basement” is. Every second that passes, his presence crushes the air from my lungs harder than it did a heartbeat ago.
Unclipping my boots, I lower onto the concrete pavement and shove them both off my feet. From here, the basement looks like plain black glass hidden amongst a pillow of snow.
His feet carry him toward the window, pushing it open to dump his things. He doesn't turn, keeping his back to me. “Did you ever find out which of your distant family members left you this house?”
I remove my goggles and beanie, roughing up my hair. “Nope. Still trying to figure that out.”
“You don't know your family?” He buries his hands in his pockets but doesn't turn to me. If it were lighter out, I could see his expressions clearly, but since there's nothing but the ambience of the pool's neon, it's not enough.
“I do.” I make my way to where he stands until both our shadows become obvious in the window. He has to be a foot taller than me, and I'm not necessarily short.
“My father is in business but can never stay put long enough for me to catch him, and my mother died when I was a child.”
He nods slowly, shifting around to face me. It's the second time I've noticed him look at me this way, as if seeking answers that don't exist.
The corners of his lips turn up a little. “Hungry?”
My heart flutters. Fucking flutters. I've become a cliché.
“Sure.”
“You are?” He tilts his head to the side and my insides melt.
“Yes, but I don't feel like steak.”
He snickers. “Well, that's too bad.” Brushing my arm when he steps around, I follow him through the small garden path that leads to the back sliding doors. As if it's not my house.
He slides them open and reaches out for the light switch, turning them on.
“How'd you know the switch was there?” I joke, closing the door behind me and shaking out of my jacket before hanging it on a hook.
His footsteps don't hesitate when he continues through the open living room, where I ran into him just last night.
“Lucky guess?” He flashes me with a menacing smirk before he disappears through the archway of the kitchen.
I check my phone on the way through, opening a text from Lucinda.
Parker is drinking a tad too much and is hitting on Camille. I think.
My face falls and my footsteps stop. I don't realize I'm in the kitchen until Asher's voice interrupts me.
“You good?” Asher's question pulls me out of Lucinda's text.
“Yes.” I clear my throat and leave my phone on the counter, sliding out a barstool. “So we spent almost every weekend together for a whole year and not once did you tell me you could cook.”
He tears the cork off a bottle of whiskey, the motion sharp and deliberate. “Because then you'd get me to cook for you every night.”
“Would that be so bad?” I tease, scooping a handful of nuts and popping one in my mouth.
He holds me in place. “Not even a little bit.”
“Well, don't be too cocky. You might suck.” I meant the joke to lighten the tension between us.
He fills two glasses with whiskey. “Go get changed and shit. It'll be ready when you're done.”
It's my turn for my head to tilt, as I swipe the glass. Neat. Always paying attention. “Impressive, Jameson.”
His hand stops just shy of his mouth before forcing a smile again and swallowing the entire contents. “You have no idea.”
I slide off the barstool and make my way up to the bedroom I share with Parker.
I scrub up in the shower and throw on lounge pants and a long sleeve shirt that is probably a little too tight to be wearing no bra.
Releasing my hair, I run a brush through it and slide into my slippers before heading back downstairs, just in time for Asher to be closing the front door, Uber bags in hand.
I cross my arms in front of me. “Uh huh, so cooking?”
He laughs, nudging his head into the sitting room.
“You weren't supposed to shower that quickly…” I try not to think into the double meaning of his comment as I drop onto the sofa.
Out of all the chairs, he takes the spot closest to me.
In the time I had a shower, he managed to order Uber and light the fire.
It's like a repeat of last night, only no one is home.
“Thai?” I ask, plucking the container from him with a smile.
“Was kind of hoping you were a fan. Also, it's the only place serving at this time.” He shrugs, leaning back against the sofa.
Shower. He also managed to shower himself. Water droplets fall from his dark strands, and I stab my fork into the noodles, twisting it around as he pours another drink.
“So is Camille's hatred toward me because of the Ashvy fandom, or because she just hates older women in general?” I bite the noodles off my fork with a smile. I don't want him to think I'm trying to start drama.
He chews, swallows, and then clears his throat before resting his arm behind the back of the couch. The tattoo on his neck and chest crawls beneath his arm too, and I quickly bring my eyes back to him to stop myself from getting lost in it. I swear he's had more added in.
“Camille has gotten confused along the way.
I think between a small portion of the public gassing up her ideas that she's the one to finally make me settle down, the competitive need to out show you to mine,” he pauses, “and your fans, along with me fucking her when I'm bored, it has all contributed into this massive clusterfuck.”
My chewing slows. “So you're a fuckboy?”
His head jerks back with a scoff. “Mmm.” He changes his mind, shrugging. “Maybe. But I never give anyone any promises.”
“Yup!” I point my fork at him. “That's what a fuckboy would say.”
Dimples sink into both cheeks when he smiles.
He shakes his head and looks away. “I fucking missed you.”
My smug smile burns my cheeks, before slowly resting to one more genuine. “I missed you too.”
When his eyes land on mine, the room shrinks around us.
“Anyway!” I clear my throat. “What else has happened lately?”
“Ah, a lot,” he teases, placing his dinner on the small table in front of us and widening his legs to sink farther into the couch. “Nothing worth mentioning.”
His head falls back against the cushions, muscles slackening.
“When was the last time you had a good sleep?” I lean to the side, putting my container beside his and crossing my legs.
They open lazily as he turns his head to me. “About three hundred and forty something days.”
I shuffle in closer until he has to lift his arm for me to snuggle underneath. Silence. For as long as I've known him, we've never had to fill the silence with any unnecessary chatter. I think it's one of the reasons why I admire his friendship so much.
My finger finds its way onto his tattoo, and I trace the lines of it crawling up his neck. “You didn't have to ghost me to date someone.”
His lips brush my forehead. “I did if I didn't want her to know I wished it was you.”
My breath catches and my fingers ball into a fist. “Asher…”
“…Ivy…” he teases, the curl of his smirk pressing warm against my scalp.
I brush my nose against his chest, my heart thundering behind my ribs.
The front door opens and I go to push away, but he locks me in place.
I glare up at him. “What are you doing? You know this looks intimate.”
“Yeah?” He holds my stare. “And I don't fucking care.”
Parker's muffled voice carries upstairs and I shuffle out from beneath Asher, my skin still warm where his body had been.
Atlas sings the lines to a song slightly off-key, and Camille slows behind him, her arms crossed, the corners of her mouth pulled down like she's trying not to cry.
When she sees me, something flickers over her face — before hardening to anger.
“What are you two doing!” Luce asks, darting her attention between us, a half-smile playing on her lips. “Were we interrupting?”
Camille takes this moment to round the sofa. She lowers onto Asher's lap, her movements uncertain, like she's afraid he might push her away.
“I need bed,” she murmurs, voice small.
Asher hesitates, then sighs. “Yeah, I'll take you.”
He lifts her, and for a moment, I catch the gentleness in how he cradles her head against his shoulder. Each of his footsteps up the stairs feels like a tiny betrayal, though I have no right to feel that way.
My chest aches with something I don't want to name.
“Hey.” Luce's fingers snap in front of me, her brow furrowed with genuine concern.
I force a smile, knowing she can see right through it.
I know she can see right through it.
I just hope she’s the only one.