“I don’t know,” I mumbled.
He pulled me into his lap, wrapping me in his arms. “I’ve got you,” he whispered against my ear. “Breathe with me. Uno… dos… tres…”
By twenty, I managed a deep inhale. My chest still ached, but I could breathe.
“Better?” He kissed my forehead.
“Your dad found out,” I murmured, toying with my sleeve. “And then he crashed?”
“Yeah. Miguel thinks he could’ve stopped it by keeping him off the bike, but come on.” Asher’s laugh was jagged. “Dad wouldn’t have listened. He always showed up. And he knew I’d be watching.”
“You were there?”
He nodded. I wrapped my arms tight around his waist, as if I could hold him together. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.
“Miguel thought I wouldn’t forgive my mother,” Asher said. “And he was right. I won’t.” His tone hardened, steel in every word. “I can’t understand hurting someone on purpose. She should’ve divorced him. I went to see them today—and they didn’t even have the decency to pretend they felt guilty.”
“Of course.” I swallowed the bitter tears and looked skyward. Mom was out there somewhere, probably worrying about me. So was Asher’s dad. They should’ve been here, thriving despite the two selfish people who’d hurt them.
“There’s something else,” Asher said, leaning his forehead to my shoulder.
More? How much more could we take?
“My mother isn’t one hundred percent sure who my biological father is.”
The words hit like a kick to my stomach. I stared at him, my pulse faltering. “No.”
“I know.” He bit his bottom lip. “But it’s ridiculous. I know Russell isn’t my father. I look like my dad—always have. But I made your father do the test because I don’t wantthemto fucking doubt.” His rough palm cupped my jaw. “I’m not his, okay? I love you. You’re my peace. My person. My fucking lifeline.” His voice shook, the calm façade crumbling. “I want a future with you, and I need those results to shut them up and get closure.”
Asher was right. He couldn’t be my father’s son.
“Come here,” I whispered.
I wound my arms around his neck, drawing my face to his. He took my mouth hard—hungry, desperate, mine.
Our tongues touched. The kiss eased from bruising to soft. Asher broke it, brushed my hair from my face. “We’ll get through this, peque. I promise. It’s going to be okay.”
I wanted nothing more than for him to be right.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Kaia
Two days later, I was a nervous wreck. We’d get the test results today, and nothing distracted me—not classes, not another attempt at crocheting, not even Asher sitting on my bed.
His phone vibrated. My heart flipped as he grabbed it.
“Miguel.” His brow creased. “Third text he’s sent.”
I left my Spanish textbook on the desk. “What does he want?”
Asher tossed his phone aside with a sigh. “To make up for lost time, I guess.”
I sat beside him. He tugged my hand, pulling me closer until my head rested on his shoulder. “Do you want him in your life?”
“I do,” he said into my hair, burying his nose there. “He looked fucking miserable. Older. I thought I hadn’t moved on from Dad’s accident, but it’s worse for him. At least I’m not blaming myself.”
“Then answer. It won’t hurt to have another person who cares about you.”
