I want to scream and punch. I want to cry.
But I just stand here because I’m too tired to do anything.
I search his blue eyes, which have not changed. He always spoke volumes and a million stories with one look. If Asher is one thing, it’s honest, and he wears his heart on his sleeve. He makes himself transparent for everyone. He doesn’t hide himself.
Seeing him breaks something inside me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a friend. A sob breaks free when reality hits me. My knees buckle, and I fall toward him because all of my strength to fight vanishes. His arms wrap around me, cupping the back of my head with one hand as I lean my cheek against him.
“Yeah, everything is okay, here,” Sebastian says from my left, and his footsteps echo down the hall in his departure.
“I got you, Heather,” he whispers, kissing the side of my head. “I have you.”
“Ash…er,” his name breaks in my throat. I’m sobbing so loudly, I know I’m going to wake everyone up, but I can’t stop. The dam broke, and the water won’t stop rushing.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
I clutch my fingers into his shirt, tugging them to bury my face further. He smells…he smells like breakfast? The odd scent has me pulling away from him and staring at him oddly.
He brushes my tears away with his fingers and bends his head down to peer into my eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You smell like muffins and it surprised me.” I take a step away from him, away from his arms and embrace so I can think.
I cross my arms over my chest and cage myself in.
He notices the action and respects the space I need by taking a step back, leaning against the wall, and waiting.
I hate that about him too.
Always so damn patient.
“Muffins have been my go-to lately. Blueberry are my favorite right now.”
The moment of weakness is gone, and now when I stare at him, all I see is the seventeen-year-old boy who was taken away in cuffs who didn’t deserve it. A man who didn’t fight hard enough for his freedom. A man who never wrote me back.
And a man who used women.
The haze of undeniable irrationality blinds me when all I see is a man. Without thinking, I lift my hand and slap it across his face. His head turns suddenly, and the feet echoing down the hall come to a stop, then quicken back.
Heaven doesn’t do anything. He straightens and stares at me in acceptance, which only makes me angry because he is so damn calm. I slap him again, a whimper leaving me, and his cheek turns a brighter, angrier shade.
He stands there.
I want to fight.
I want to punch. I’m ready. I’m so fucking mad. Someone fucking fight me.
“Don’t just stand there!” I scream at him, a tear dropping onto my cheek.
His eyes soften around the edges, accepting my anger.
I shove his chest, pushing him against the wall harder. “Say something! God, you never say anything. It’s how you ended up in jail for six years because you never said anything.” I slap his chest, still crying uncontrollably as I let the pent-up aggression unleash. I punch, slap, and yell, pretending he is my abuser. “I hate you. I hate you! Why did you do this to me!? Why? Why!” My throat hurts as I push my voice to the brink.
Arms wrap around my waist and pull me away from Asher. “Why did you do this to me? I hate you. No! Put me down. Put me down!” I kick, trying to get free of the hold, but the more I fight, the tighter they squeeze.
“Sebastian, put her down. It’s okay,” Asher says, which only makes me angrier.
It’s okay.
It’s okay!
Typical Asher, shrugging everything off like it doesn’t matter.
I stretch my arms out, wanting to wrap my hands around his throat, but I can’t reach since Sebastian is keeping me at a distance. I hate him. I hate his stupid good looks and his charming personality. I can’t stand the patience he has for life. How did he make it through prison? A place he didn’t belong but seemed to take in stride. Why? Did he believe he deserved it? Maybe I’ve been naïve the entire time, and maybe he did kill my sister.
My problem is, I have too much faith in humanity. I trust when I shouldn’t and love when I’m not meant to.
“Let me go. I said, let me go!” I rear my elbow back and plunge it into Sebastian’s core, hoping it bruises a rib so he can let me go.
The bastard.
He holds on tighter.
What is it with these people?
“I deserve everything she’s given to me, Sebastian. Let her go,” Asher says calmly, tucking his hands in his pockets. He acts as if this is just another day, but it isn’t. We are face to face for the first time in seven years, and the least he could do is yell at me.
After all, it’s my fault he served six years in prison because I stood trial and said I believed Asher Haven was the man who killed my sister, who beat her senseless, who raped her. I was angry. I was so angry, and it wasn’t right what I did. I know that. I tried to appeal the judge's decision; I tried to make it right, which is why I wrote him in prison, but nothing worked.
My appeal got denied.
And so did any hope of making things right for him.
Yet here is my chance and the last thing I want to do is make it right.
“Let her go,” he orders Sebastian.
“Your funeral,” Sebastian sighs in discontent, lowering me to the ground. “I need you to relax,” he whispers into my ear. “You’re safe here.”
Safe.
What a misconstrued concept. What’s it mean? What am I safe from?
“No one is here to hurt you.”
My feet hit the ground, and I lean against the wall, completely spent. I’m exhausted. I couldn’t fight anymore even if I wanted to.
I give up.
I concede.
“Heather—”
“—Don’t,” I warn Asher, my chin wobbling from the threat of another outburst. God, I want this all to end. Why can’t I feel anything other than complete devastation and anger?
“Do me a favor?” he asks, pushing off from against the wall. He lifts his hand to my face, and I flinch, rearing away from him when I think he is going to hit me. He frowns, drops his hand a few inches, but decides to go for it. His massive, calloused hand cups my jaw, his thumb landing on the apple of my cheek, brushing the heated and wet flesh with the pad of his finger.
As much as I want to enjoy it, I’m scared.
I’m frozen in place, locked in a trance. I know I should jerk away, slam the door, lock it, and crawl back into bed where it is safe, but I can’t move.
My mind is yelling not to trust him or anyone in this house, but my heart is saying something else: to give an inch to someone, so I can feel a small amount of peace.
That tiny headway should go to Jolie, and while I can relate to her, I don’t have the same history as I do with Asher. After everything he and I have been through, trust is the last thing on the list that I need to worry about with him. That’s going to take forever to build. The thing with Asher, or at least it used to be, was trusting him with your life was simple. No question. If you needed someone, he was there.
Was he ever the person to trust with your heart?
Absolutely not.
And I doubt things have changed.
I take a step back, crossing the threshold of the bedroom, and the space causes his hand to slip away from my cheek. I stare at him from the other side, peering through an invisible barrier that separates us. What is it about a bedroom that makes it seem forbidden? He could easily walk into the room; it’s his house after all.