Chapter 11 #2
Silence. Long. Heavy. The wind outside picked up, rustling through pine branches.
She wiped her cheek. “I don’t know.” Her voice fell.
“Some days I think yes. Some days I’m still sixteen and angry and wanting him to walk through the door and explain why being a hero mattered more than being my dad. ”
She wrapped her arms around herself.
And he just…he couldn’t stop himself. He lifted his hand. Touched her face, his thumb tracing along her cheekbone. Her skin was soft. Warm. She didn’t pull away. Just stood there, looking at him with those green eyes that saw too much.
“Daphne,” he said quietly. Voice rough. “I need to tell you something. I need you to know—”
She closed the gap.
Kissed him.
And Asher’s world stopped.
Her lips were soft against his. Tentative at first. Asking rather than demanding. Her hand came up to his chest. Fingers curled into his shirt. Held on.
He should stop this. Should pull back. Should tell her the truth before—
But no, he was kissing her back, his body, his heart taking over. His arm went around her waist. Pulled her closer. Solid and warm and real against him. Her body fit perfectly against his, just like it had at the dance.
He slid his hand into her hair. Soft strands between his fingers. The scent of her shampoo—something floral and clean—filled his lungs.
She made a small sound in the back of her throat.
Deepened the kiss. Her fingers tightened in his shirt, and then she arched her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.
The tentative exploration became something more.
Something certain. Something that tasted of three weeks of restraint finally breaking.
Like it was always meant to be.
Asher’s other hand came up to cup her face. Tilted her head, the angle better now. Deeper. Her lips parted under his. Warm breath mingling. The taste of her flooded his senses, sweet and addictive.
And all the pain in his body seemed to slide away.
He kissed her the way he’d wanted to kiss her in the barn. The way he’d wanted to kiss her while dancing under string lights. Maybe even the way he’d wanted to kiss her since the moment she’d helped him take down a couple of high kids in a diner.
This was Daphne. Guarded, careful Daphne, who never let anyone close. Kissing him with abandon. Trusting him with this.
And he was lying to her.
The thought tried to surface, and maybe she sensed it, because she pulled back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
“Asher,” she whispered. Breathless. Her fingers tightened in his hair. “We shouldn’t—”
“I know,” he said. Rough. His thumb traced her lower lip. She shivered. The tiny movement traveled through her whole body, pressed against his. “But…”
“Yeah. Me too.” She kissed him again. Softer this time. Sweeter. Her lips moved against his with less urgency but more emotion. A promise. A question and an answer all at once.
He finally pulled back, rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, his heart pounding.
“You were going to tell me something,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “Before I—what were you going to say?”
Oh. He lifted his head. She was looking at him with warmth in her eyes, and she’d just kissed him with everything she had.
And telling her the truth would destroy that.
Yep, he was a coward. “Just—” Asher stopped. His throat was tight. “Just that I care about you. More than I should. More than is professional. More than—” He paused. “More than anything.”
Not the full truth. Not the confession. But true enough.
Daphne’s expression softened. “I care about you too. Too much.” She searched his face. Her fingers traced along his jaw. The touch left trails of heat on his skin. “Were you about to kiss me out by the barn?”
He sighed.
“Because you didn’t, and I thought maybe I’d read it wrong.”
“You didn’t.” He took a breath. “I stepped back because I wanted to kiss you too much. Because I didn’t trust myself. Because—” He stopped. “Because you deserve better than me making promises I’m not sure I can keep.”
Daphne touched his face. “You’re not your dad, Asher. You’ve proven that. Over and over. You keep your promises. You protect people. You—” She paused. “You put yourself at risk for this case. For truth. For justice. You’re trying to do the right thing even when it’s hard.”
She believed that. Believed he was good. Believed he was honest.
“Daphne—”
“I know you’re keeping secrets,” she said quietly. “I’ve known it since the first day. Something you’re not telling me about the syndicate. I know.”
Asher’s heart stopped.
“But I trust you,” she continued. “Whatever it is—whatever you can’t tell me yet—I trust that you have a reason.”
He blinked at her. “Daph—”
A shout from upstairs. Female. Destiny’s voice. Sharp and panicked.
“You lied to me!” The words carried down through the vents, through the open stairwell. “All these years, you lied!”
Then Roger’s voice. “Get ahold of yourself, Mom.”
“Get away from me!” Destiny again. Louder. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare touch me!”
The sound of something hitting a wall. Hard. Glass shattering.
Asher was already moving, Daphne behind him.
They hit the stairs at the same time, taking them two at a time. The sounds from upstairs getting louder. More violent.
Roger shouting now. “Mom, please! Just listen! Let me explain!”
“Explain what—that you’ve known all this time? What game are you playing?”
Asher reached the top of the stairs. Turned left. Destiny’s and Roger’s bedrooms were next to each other, the sound coming from Destiny’s. Door closed.
He barreled into the room.
Shards of the bedside lamp lay on the floor—hey, that was expensive—and glass littered the carpet.
Roger stood in the doorway of the connecting bathroom, hands up. Defensive. Blood on his cheek where something had hit him.
Destiny stood in the middle of the room, holding another lamp. Ready to throw it. Hair wild. Eyes wilder. Face twisted, her chest heaving. Mascara running down her cheeks in black streaks.
She rounded on Asher, Daphne.
“Get out!” Her voice was raw. Broken. “Get out!”
“Destiny.” Daphne moved past him. “Put down the lamp. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” Destiny laughed. Harsh. Bitter. The sound scraped against Asher’s ears. “What’s going on is that my son is trying to kill us. He’s the mole. All this time, he’s the mole!”
“Everybody just stay calm!” Daphne didn’t know how to untangle Destiny’s accusation in her head, but maybe that didn’t matter right now. “Destiny, put the lamp down.”
Destiny froze, eyes blazing with fury and betrayal. The lamp still raised above her head, ready to throw.
Her arms trembled. The lamp wavered. Then she lowered it. Not setting it down, just lowering it to her side. Still holding it. Still ready.
“Roger,” Daphne said quietly. “What does she want you to tell us?”
Roger looked at them. “I’m not the mole.”
“Whatever.” Destiny rounded back to them.
“Draven wasn’t just Ralph’s business partner,” she said.
“He’s Ralph’s son. My stupid husband had an affair with his secretary.
Oldest story written. Eleanor Frost got pregnant.
Ralph paid her off, bought her a house, kept her quiet.
He never acknowledged Draven publicly. But he groomed him.
Brought him into the business. Made him his real heir while Roger was just…
” Her mouth pinched. “Just the adopted son who was never good enough.”
“Ouch, Mom.”
She turned back to him. “I’m sorry, Roger. But that’s the truth. And—” She set the lamp down. “And that’s why he’s been trying to draw Draven in. So he can kill me, then Roger can kill him and…well, Roger wants to be king, doesn’t he?”
Roger’s mouth opened.
And it seemed that something inside him snapped. His eyes darkened, and for a second, Daphne thought he might actually come to blows with his mother.
Sheesh, talk about family drama.
“Fine. Yes, Draven is my brother,” he said. “My half brother. Ralph’s only blood-related son. But Ralph didn’t abandon Draven. Didn’t pay off his mother and disappear. That’s the story my mother tells. Maybe what she believes. But it’s not true.”
Daphne glanced at Destiny, who folded her arms across herself, her eyes hard.
“What is true?” Asher said, beside her.
And she absolutely would not—at least right now—think about how it felt to have his hands in her hair, kissing her back like…like she might actually be the wife she’d been pretending to be. Honeycakes. Sweetums. Sugarpie.
Daph.
Later.
“Eleanor took Draven and ran when he was six months old. Changed her name. Changed his name. Disappeared completely.” His voice shook. “Ralph spent years looking for them. Hired investigators. Spent thousands. He didn’t abandon them. He couldn’t find them.”
“Why did she run?” Daphne asked.
“Because she was scared. Ralph was—” Roger stopped. Breathed. “Ralph was into dark things even then, starting to build the syndicate.”
“Ralph was the syndicate boss?” Asher said. “That doesn’t…” He frowned.
And Daphne saw him doing the math, ticking through the files in his brain. He must have landed on something, because his mouth pursed, and he glanced at Destiny. “Did you know?”
Her mouth opened. “Apparently, I don’t know anything.”
“How did you find this out?” Daphne asked.
“Three years ago, Draven found us. Showed up.” Roger’s voice turned hard. “And Dad was so happy. So relieved. He’d spent decades looking for his son. And his son had finally come home.”
“But it wasn’t a happy reunion.”
“No. Because Draven was angry. Furious. He’d spent his whole life believing his father had abandoned him. Believing Ralph had paid his mother off and never looked back. Eleanor had told him that story. Fed him that lie his entire childhood.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Dad tried to tell him the truth. And maybe Draven believed him—I don’t know. Dad tried to make it up to him. Tried to give him everything. Brought him into the business. Taught him. Groomed him.”
Daphne glanced at Asher. He was listening, but something more.