Chapter Thirty One - Asher
“He said what?”
I pace across my room, gripping my hair like I’m trying to hold in the rage.
Scarlett’s voice crackles through the phone. “He told me he saw you take something. That you were holding the drink the whole night. He was the one who offered you lemonade to sober you up.”
I stop cold.
“I wasn’t,” I whisper. “I set it down. I remember that. I didn’t even finish the first beer I had, then someone bought me another.”
Silence.
“Wait…” My heart starts pounding. “You’re telling me, he handed me a drink, he was the lemonade man.”
“Yep, that’s what he said, right after he told me how hard he finds it to sleep. You know spoken like someone who takes sleeping pills.”
“Scarlett, I think I am remembering something more. At the party. Caleb handed me a drink before I left. Said something about celebrating, letting bygones be bygones over the position. I thought he was just being cool for once.”
Scarlett’s breathing quickens.
“Oh my God,” she says. “Asher—he drugged you.”
I lean back against the wall. My stomach flips.
“No one else knew about the drug test. That wasn’t in the press. Only my family knew. And now he’s claiming he saw me take something?”
“That’s not a coincidence, I saw a whole different side to him last night,” she murmurs.
The world narrows. One ugly truth tunnelling toward us.
He did it. He drugged me.
And Darcy, his girl—she wasn’t supposed to be in the car. All this time I’ve carried guilt that was his, not mine.
“Hold on what do you mean last night.” I ask trying to sound level headed.
“Well for the purpose of this investigation I let him believe we hadn’t made up, and the creep had the audacity to eye fuck me like he was next in line.”
“Scarlett do not fucking tell me this, I’ll give him something to send me to jail for.” I see red, my heartbeat is humming in my ears again.
“Don’t worry I’m telling Ted everything, Ted always knows what to do when it comes to this, and with your first proper season game in a few days I can’t say he will be happy to have one of his players drugging the other.” She says calmly, knowing exactly how to pull me back from the edge.
“You just focus on football, leave the rest to your manager” giggling down the phone.
There she is.
* * *
“Let’s try again,” my therapist, Dr Lawson says gently. “Start from the beginning of the night. I’ll tap the rhythm; you just breathe and follow the memory. No pressure to finish it. No judgement.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. My fingers clench the lounge cushion; I’m not usually one to try this new age bullshit but something’s got to give. Two soft taps on my thigh. Then two more. Left. Right. Left. Right.
It begins.
“It was the end-of-season party,” I murmur. “Back home. Someone’s house—Caleb’s cousin, I think. Everyone was there. The whole team. Darcy came late. She’d been working. Caleb wasn’t supposed to drink.”
Tap. Tap.
“I wasn’t planning to stay long. I’d just gotten my first call from the teams conditioning coach that day. I didn’t even tell Caleb. I just… wanted one night. No pressure.”
Tap. Tap.
“I had one beer. Then someone handed me another. A red cup. I didn’t think anything of it.”
My therapist doesn’t say anything. He just keeps tapping. I start breathing harder.
“It tasted sweet. Almost… off. Like something artificial. But I figured it was cheap lemonade. Whatever. I was already a little tipsy.”
Tap. Tap.
“Then things got… hazy.”
My throat tightens. I blink against the rush of light behind my eyes.
“I remember seeing Darcy. She was sitting on the porch steps. Crying. I asked where Caleb was. She said he’d gone inside—he was angry about something.”
Tap. Tap.
“I offered her a lift. She didn’t want to wait. Said she was tired. I could barely walk straight, but I wasn’t sure why. I remember thinking that. I said out loud, “Fuck I’ve not even drank much, hey.”
My voice cracks.
“She smiled. Said, “then let me drive” But I told her no. That I’d done it a hundred times. That it was fine. I didn’t want to look weak.” And I really thought I was fine.
Tap. Tap.
“That’s the last clear thing. Everything after is pieces. Headlights. Tires screeching. Metal. Her screaming my name.”
I stop. I can’t breathe for a second.
Tap. Tap.
“And Caleb,” I whisper. “He was at my side when I woke up. In the hospital.”
“What did he say?” my therapist asks softly.
“He said I was lucky. That I’d been trashed. He said I’d insisted on driving.”
I pause.
“But I didn’t feel drunk. Not like that. My body felt… wrong. My mouth was dry. My head was swimming. Like I was outside of myself. It wasn’t alcohol.”
Tap. Tap.
“And later—after the funeral—I had asked him about the drink. The solo cup if they had anything else they made up. He said, “Everyone had the same shit, bro.” But I remembered something.
My heart is hammering now.
“He never drank that night. Said he wasn’t in the mood.”
I swallow, hard.
“But I remember watching him touching cups when I went to the bathroom. He laughed and said it was Gatorade to ‘cut the taste.’
Tap. Tap.
“He wanted to leave early with Darcy. They were fighting. He was jealous of me again. He always was.”
“What do you think was in your drink?” my therapist asks gently.
I look up. Eyes burning.
“I think he drugged me,” I whisper. “So, I’d pass out. So, he could spin some bullshit about me not being cut out for the team.”
“And instead?” He asks.
“I got behind the wheel,” I rasp. “And I killed her.”
My breathing has gone ragged, I’m wheezing, sweat is dripping from my arm pits running down my torso. I’m panicking.
The tapping stops. The room is quiet.
I bury my face in my hands.
“He covered it up,” I say. “He let me carry it. He stood there at the funeral, crying, telling me, hating me—telling me I killed her. When I know it was his fucking stupid jealousy that did”
“You’re remembering now,” Dr Lawson says gently.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “But what the hell do I do with it?”