Chapter Twenty #3
In the morning, Asher wakes me with his mouth on my neck, his fingers trailing lazy circles up my thigh, but it's not sex he wants. He just wants me awake in his arms, not lost in a dream.
We lie there for a while, neither of us saying anything. The room smells like us—sweat and skin and the trace of orange blossoms from my shampoo. His heart is steady beneath my ear, his chest rising and falling slow, like he could stay here all day and never need anything else.
I know better. By the time I untangle to go to the bathroom, he's already checking email on his phone, drafting replies in that take-no-prisoners way that made him famous and infamous at the same time. It's not just me or us or himself that he's been trying to fix. It's his company, too.
He left a lot of destruction in his wake. It'll take him time to repair all the damage, but he's doing it, with the same painstaking focus and ruthless determination that catapulted his agency to the top in the first place.
It's different this time. He knows humility now. He apologizes. He listens to opinions. He doesn't just snap his fingers and expect the whole world to obey; he asks nicely. At least the first time. After that, the old monster rears his head, demanding obedience.
It's a slow climb up a steep hill, but he's climbing. Before long, his company will be back on top, his sins and transgressions forgotten by everyone, even if he never forgets them.
I watch him from the doorway, clutching the frame for balance, still dizzy from the way he fucked me last night. The diamond on my finger is so bright it looks like costume jewelry. But I know better than that. It's real.
He glances up when he senses me watching, his face softening the way it always does, like he's never quite prepared to see me standing there. Like he still can't believe I gave him another chance.
"Come here," he says, his voice still gritty.
I don't hesitate before crossing to him. When I'm at his side, he reaches out, pulling me into his lap, and presses his lips to the curve of my shoulder.
"You're perfect," he whispers, as if it's the truest thing he's ever said.
I want to laugh because I just saw myself in the mirror, and I know damn well that I'm nowhere close to perfect right now. I'm marked up, used, covered in his bruises and love, wildness in my eyes. But I've never felt more like myself. I've never felt more perfect.
"We have breakfast with Liam in an hour," I remind him, even though I'd rather die than leave this room.
"I know." Asher grins, his eyes dancing. "Think he'll notice the ring?"
I snort, sliding off his lap. "They'll notice the ring from space, Asher. It's massive."
"Are you complaining?" He arches an eyebrow.
"Absolutely not," I say, and head for the closet to find something that doesn't look like I spent the night being fucked six ways to Sunday.
The restaurant is the same one where we had dinner months ago, when Asher slid me his card, and everything started to change. There's a huddle of paparazzi outside, but they're mostly focused on a B-list celebrity in a corner booth who just got caught fucking her director, not on us.
With new scandals and salacious gossip every day, we're old news now. At least until Asher has to go back to California to face his punishment for attacking Miles.
His lawyer is trying to work out a plea deal—community service and probation. Since he issued a public apology and is putting in actual work to change, the prosecutor will probably accept. The only thing really left to work out is the details.
Liam is already at the table when we arrive, coffee in hand, his sunglasses perched on top of his head.
He looks every inch the movie director—expensive black t-shirt, artfully messy hair, a stubborn tilt to his jaw.
He gives us a once-over, clocking the marks on my neck before zeroing in on my left hand.
"Nice rock, asshole," he says to Asher, not even bothering with hello. He lifts my hand, examines the ring. "Looks like it cost a goddamn fortune."
Asher smirks. "She's worth it."
"Damn right she is," Liam mutters, waving the waiter over for more coffee.
The silence is tense, but that's not unusual these days. Liam loves Asher, but he's holding a grudge. Asher isn't pushing for forgiveness because he knows he deserves it. But I know they'll work it out eventually. For my sake, they will.
Asher orders black coffee and toast. I can't remember what I order. It doesn't matter. I'm too busy watching the two men who have shaped every part of me that matters.
Eventually, Liam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Those fucking bruises aside, you look good," he says to me, his eyes locked on Asher like he wants to leave a few bruises of his own across his face.
"Liam, stop," I say quietly, shaking my head. "You don't get a say in my sex life. I don't ask about yours."
"Jesus Christ," he mutters, sinking lower on the banquette. We both know he's into some kinky shit, but that's his business, not mine. I don't ask, not even when he showed up on some gossip site a few weeks ago, with an up-and-coming actress sandwiched between him and his oldest friend, Connor.
"I'm happy. I'm safe. We're good. That's all that matters," I say.
He grunts, his eyes narrowing on Asher. "Don't fuck that up again."
"I won't," Asher promises, not flinching.
"Good." Liam leans forward, his voice dropping. "But if you ever even think about it, I will end you, Blackstock. You have no idea how much damage I can do."
"Oh, I'm aware," Asher says dryly.
My brother sets down his cup, his expression deadly serious. "You need to get into therapy," he says. "You fucking need it. You've needed it for a long goddamn time, and two weeks in rehab won't solve it."
Asher nods, not even defensive. "I know." His gaze flickers toward me. "I've been seeing someone ever since I left rehab." He licks his lips like he's nervous. "I wasn't trying to keep it from you. I just didn't want to say anything until I knew if it was working."
"I know," I whisper, reaching for his hand. He's been fighting his way back to me every single day.
"I can't keep hurting you," he says, clinging to my fingers. "I can't keep hiding from what I did, or who I am. I have to face it, or we'll just end up right back where we started. I won't survive that, princess."
I want to say a million things, but my throat closes up. Liam is watching me, his face soft.
"I don't blame you," I finally whisper, meaning it. "Not for the accident. Not even now."
"Maybe not, but I blame me," Asher says. "I always have. Now I need to learn to let it go."
I squeeze his hand as something shifts between us, a knot untangling.
No one says anything as waiters appear with breakfast, but the silence isn't tense this time. It's…hopeful. Peaceful.
When the wait staff vanishes again, we don't talk about the past or our pain again. Instead, we talk about my plans for my agency, the one Asher is helping me build. We talk about Liam's movies, about LA, and about all the gossip and rumors that replaced us in the news cycle.
It's almost…normal.
When Liam's phone rings an hour later, he finishes his coffee, stands, and ruffles my hair. "You're going to be okay," he says, like it's a fact. Then he hugs me, quick and hard, and heads out, already on his phone, already moving to the next thing.
I watch him go, feeling lighter than I have in years.
Asher leans back, draping an arm around my shoulders. "You know what I'm most looking forward to?" he asks, pressing his lips to my temple.
"What?"
"Never having to pretend with you again."
I smile, burrowing into him. This is what it means to survive, to be broken and put back together, to be loved so fiercely it burns away all the old scars.
His hand finds mine, his thumb stroking over the ring he gave me. I slide my free hand over my belly, where something new and fragile might be growing. I don't tell him yet. I want to let it be mine for a while longer.
But for the first time, I feel hopeful—not just for myself, but for all of us.
Maybe that's the point. Maybe, after everything, we were always meant to build something beautiful from the ruins, something whole, and new, and perfect.
Something just for us.