Chapter 12
Asher
Christmas evening, I found myself too wired to even think about calling it an early night.
The day had passed in a strange, sluggish haze, every hour dragging by in a way that made it feel like time itself had stretched thin.
After opening presents that felt a little emptier without Gage there, Greyson and I had made sure to take plenty of pictures to send to him with the hope of lifting his spirits while he sat by Xavier’s hospital bed.
It wasn’t much, but it was all we could do—small reminders that he wasn’t alone, regardless of him being in a completely different state.
He’d been appreciative, which had been enough for the both of us to quietly pack everything back up and push it back under the tree for the time being.
After that, the morning had bled into an afternoon that felt practically suffocating.
Neither of us had the energy to pretend like we wanted to celebrate by ourselves, despite what our pictures to Gage portrayed.
The usual excitement and easy laughter that was supposed to come with Christmas had been dulled by the uncertainty still looming over us while Xavier remained unconscious on the ventilator.
It felt wrong anyway.
So we spent most of the day in silence with the TV droning quietly in the background, more for noise than entertainment. Checking my phone constantly for any updates nearly sent me mad until finally, finally, the call came.
Xavier had woken up.
The relief was instant; a sharp, breath-stealing thing that left me feeling dizzy, like my body didn’t quite know how to handle the sudden shift from waiting to knowing.
I was happy. God, I was so happy.
But more than that, I was exhausted.
The emotions I’d spent the entire day shoving down, keeping at bay with distractions and forced normalcy, were finally breaking through the dam.
It wasn’t just relief—it was the slow unraveling of the tension that had been coiled tightly in my body, the weight of that uncertainty was finally beginning to peel away.
The fear, the helplessness, the aching worry, it all came crashing down into a single, overwhelming wave that left me drained in a way I didn’t have the energy to fight.
The only annoying part?
Despite feeling like I had just run an emotional marathon, my body refused to let me sleep.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts still buzzing even as my limbs ached with the need to sleep. It was like my mind hadn’t gotten the memo that it was over. That I didn’t need to be on edge anymore. That for the first time in a day and a half, I could rest.
But no matter how many times I tossed and turned, sleep refused to come.
God fucking damn it.
I supposed the only silver lining in all of this was getting my own bed and room back. No longer forced to share with my brother, I had the space to exist without feeling like I was constantly invading someone else’s space.
And, most importantly, I had the freedom to pace.
I could roam the room in restless circles, let my thoughts run unchecked and wear a nice path into my carpet until exhaustion finally caught up to me and forced me back into bed to sleep.
Or, what was far more likely, dawn would eventually break and I’d still be awake, watching the sky shift from inky black to soft shades of violet and gold from behind my window.
By now, I was used to waking up at the ass crack of dawn anyway.
A year and some change of working on a ranch had done wonders in rewiring my circadian rhythm, forcing me to have an almost instinctual connection with the rise and fall of the sun. Late nights were a luxury I hadn’t indulged in for a long time. And sleeping in? Practically unheard of.
Not that it mattered much tonight, because whether my body liked it or not, sleep wasn’t coming.
With a sigh, I finally gave up.
Pushing the covers off, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and padded across the room to grab my phone from where it was plugged in on my desk. The screen lit up, momentarily casting the dark room in a pale glow as I unlocked it.
No new messages.
Not even from the ranch.
As much as that disappointed me, I couldn’t say I was surprised.
It was Christmas, after all.
Those who didn’t go home for the holidays like I did, were most likely celebrating together at the bunkhouse. Hazel had probably set up an entire buffet, her famous honey-glazed ham and buttery rolls taking center stage while the rest of the spread filled every inch of the long dining table.
I could almost hear the clatter of plates, the scrape of forks against them, the murmur of conversation that would rise and fall in waves as everyone settled into the easy comfort of each other’s company.
Laken would no doubt be tuning up his guitar after finishing his meal, fingers plucking out a few idle notes before launching into one of those old country songs he swore he wasn’t sentimental about.
I bet someone was already calling for him to play Silent Night, and knowing him, he’d roll his eyes and make a show of it before giving in like he always did with requests.
My chest ached, a small pinch of bitterness curling low in my stomach—something that tasted a little too much like envy.
Not in a malicious way. God, no. I was happy for them.
Happy that Xavier had woken up and happy that Gage got to be with him, that they could spend the rest of Christmas together.
But at the same time, it was hard not to want that, too.
To be somewhere where the warmth of the holiday wasn’t just a memory I had to pull from years past. Where I wasn’t just sitting in a dark room, staring at the dull glow of my phone screen, waiting for sleep that refused to come.
I exhaled sharply, raking a hand through my hair.
Maybe I should go find Greyson.
We could be in piss-poor moods together.
It wasn’t even that late. If I was going to be wide-awake, trapped in my own head, I might as well do it with someone who understood.
Pushing off the bed, I padded toward the door.
The soft glow from the Christmas tree spilled its faint light into the hallway. The tiny bulbs flickered in uneven intervals, casting shifting shadows against the walls while I made my way toward Greyson’s room.
I pushed open his bedroom door, half-expecting him to be sprawled across the bed, earbuds in, lost in whatever podcast he had been ranting about during our last dinner with Dexter and Xavier that I hardly cared to pay attention to.
Strangely enough, though, his room was empty.
Frowning, I turned my attention back toward the hallway.
“Grey?” I called.
Silence.
A frown tugged at my lips as I headed for the living room.
The couch sat empty, the cushions slightly indented where someone had been not too long ago.
The tossed remotes lay haphazardly across one of the cushions, one of them dangerously close to slipping between the cracks.
A half-empty can of soda rested on the coffee table, beads of condensation glistening in the dim light.
Where the hell did he go?
Lifting my phone, I scrolled through my recent calls, my thumb hovering over Greyson’s name for a second longer than necessary.
The hesitation was pointless—he was my brother; I had every reason to call him if I wanted to see where the hell he’d run off to without telling me. However, something about this situation was making my stomach twist into weird knots.
If he was going out, why didn’t he let me know?
With a quiet exhale, I tapped the screen and brought the phone to my ear.
The line rang once. Twice. Each second that passed only deepened my unease.
Finally, he picked up. “Yeah?”
The noise on his end was immediate, a cacophony of sound crashing through the speaker—music pulsing, voices overlapping, the sharp clatter of glass against wood. Laughter, distant but unmistakable, drifted through the chaos.
A bar.
Jealousy curled low in my stomach, uninvited and sharp. Not the petty kind, not even anger, really. Just that dull, sinking feeling of being left behind.
“Where are you?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“Downtown,” he said casually, like it was nothing. “Why?”
Why didn’t you take me with you?
The words rose to the tip of my tongue, bitter and heavy, but I swallowed them back before they could slip out.
Did he think I wouldn’t want to go?
That I’d rather sit here in this too-quiet house, drowning in my own thoughts on Christmas while he was out having fun?
I sighed. “Just wondering. Didn’t see you in your room.”
“Oh.” A beat of silence, then another burst of laughter in the background, louder this time. Like someone had leaned in close to him. “Yeah, I left about an hour ago.”
I gripped my phone a little tighter.
An hour ago.
So while I had been here—restless, wired, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling of something missing—he had already been gone. Left without a word, without asking if I wanted to go with him.
Maybe he hadn’t even thought about it.
Since when was that ever a thing?
Since when did we stop including each other?
We were twins. It had always been us.
From the moment we were born, from the time we could walk, talk, and think for ourselves, we had been a team. It was an unspoken rule, a silent understanding woven into our bones: where one of us went, the other followed.
It had never mattered what it was—birthday parties, afternoon hangouts, skipping class, or sneaking out at midnight just to drive aimlessly with the windows down and our music blasting.
We had always belonged together.
Had something changed?
Had I missed it?
Some slow shift between us, some moment where we’d stopped reaching for each other?
The realization settled like a rock in my stomach.
Maybe our year apart had done irreparable damage. Maybe we had gotten so used to being separate that the space between us had stretched into something permanent.
“Ash?” His voice cut through the spiraling thoughts, grounding me just for a second.
“What?”
He paused for a moment. “You good?”
It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t even suspicious. Just a simple question—a brother asking his twin if everything was fine.