“I don’t know what I think. Two years is a long time. A lot could’ve changed. It’s not like he promised he’d stay single.” We’d broken up for real—a messy, jagged break with hurt feelings and shattered trust.
He hadn’t texted. Hadn’t called. For all I knew, I never crossed his mind. Maybe he hadn’t been looking for me at all. Maybe he’d just stopped for coffee, saw me on what looked like a date, and decided he wanted to talk.
“I think”—Alba paused, weighing her words—“that you should talk to him, but only if you care about what he has to say. If you want to move on, he can’t stop you.”
“So, you don’t think talking to him is losing the last of my self-respect?”
“Not at all. It’s been two years, but you haven’t stopped thinking about him. Maybe you just need closure.”
I traced the tattoo on my wrist with my fingertips. “He tattooed the same word. And I have no idea why. You don’t leave someone and then etch the promise you broke into your skin.”
Alba froze mid-stroke. “I can’t decide if that’s sweet or concerning.”
“He’s always been intense,” I whispered. “I guess I’ll say yes to a conversation—but not until after the weekend. If I haven’t changed my mind by Saturday, I’ll call.”
I had too much to handle this week—exams, the kids’ Thanksgiving showcase rehearsals, and deciding whether to accept my father’s invitation to Forward Racing’s gala. There was still time, but he wanted an answer by Friday.
“I hate that I can’t go to the club opening with you,” Alba said.
“Don’t be. Your dad’s birthday is more important.”
My boss had scored invitations to the new club, and I was going with the girls from work. I wanted Alba there too. She wasn’t a clubbing type, but it would’ve been fun.
“It is,” she agreed. “Plus, I don’t see him enough anymore. By the way, I got you something. It’s on your bed.”
My monthly book package. “What am I going to do with you?” I said, standing. “You really should stop spending on me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Only if you stop acting like it’s a big deal.”
In my bedroom, my gaze landed on the pink package waiting on the bed. I unwrapped it carefully to find a special edition of The Little Prince—oneI didn’t own yet.
And just like that, Asher filled my thoughts. I still couldn’t believe I’d seen him. Harder still to admit—even to myself—that it wasn’t talking to him I feared.
It was the chance that whatever he said would break my heart all over again.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Asher
Blue strobe lights pulsed with the DJ’s beats as Ale and I sat in an elevated VIP booth overlooking the sunken dance floor at Tonight—the new club Rys had invited me to. He and his friend Elio were running late, which gave me a chance to talk to Ale.
“I fucked up,” I said.
Ale arched a brow. “Kaia?”
“Yeah. She didn’t call.”
Six days. I’d debated waiting outside her campus or apartment and begging her again to listen, but that would make me look controlling, overbearing. She’d had enough of that with her father, and Russell was the last person I wanted her to think of when she looked at me.
Ale sipped his gin and tonic. “Give her time. You left her, not the other way around. You wait until she’s ready.”
“What if she’s never ready?”
He shrugged. “Then you’ll have to accept it. But I don’t think that’s the case. It’s a lot to process.”
He was right, but it didn’t ease the knot in my chest. I hated waiting, even though I had no choice. If I’d come back before Russell paid for her studies, she would’ve been forced to give up her dream. And before Vortex, my finances had been a liability—thanks to Ethan and my own mistakes.
“It’ll work out,” Ale said. “You might not see it now, but everything happens for a reason.”
