"You're perfect," he whispers, as if it's the truest thing he's ever said.
I want to laugh because I just saw myself in the mirror, and I know damn well that I'm nowhere close to perfect right now. I'm marked up, used, covered in his bruises and love, wildness in my eyes. But I've never felt more like myself. I've never felt more perfect.
"We have breakfast with Liam in an hour," I remind him, even though I'd rather die than leave this room.
"I know." Asher grins, his eyes dancing. "Think he'll notice the ring?"
I snort, sliding off his lap. "They'll notice the ring from space, Asher. It's massive."
"Are you complaining?" He arches an eyebrow.
"Absolutely not," I say, and head for the closet to find something that doesn't look like I spent the night being fucked six ways to Sunday.
The restaurant is the same one where we had dinner months ago, when Asher slid me his card, and everything started to change. There's a huddle of paparazzi outside, but they're mostly focused on a B-list celebrity in a corner booth who just got caught fucking her director, not on us.
With new scandals and salacious gossip every day, we're old news now. At least until Asher has to go back to California to face his punishment for attacking Miles.
His lawyer is trying to work out a plea deal—community service and probation. Since he issued a public apology and is putting in actual work to change, the prosecutor will probably accept. The only thing really left to work out is the details.
Liam is already at the table when we arrive, coffee in hand, his sunglasses perched on top of his head. He looks every inch the movie director—expensive black t-shirt, artfully messy hair, a stubborn tilt to his jaw. He gives us a once-over, clocking the marks on my neck before zeroing in on my left hand.
"Nice rock, asshole," he says to Asher, not even bothering with hello. He lifts my hand, examines the ring. "Looks like it cost a goddamn fortune."
Asher smirks. "She's worth it."
"Damn right she is," Liam mutters, waving the waiter over for more coffee.
The silence is tense, but that's not unusual these days. Liam loves Asher, but he's holding a grudge. Asher isn't pushing for forgiveness because he knows he deserves it. But I know they'll work it out eventually. For my sake, they will.
Asher orders black coffee and toast. I can't remember what I order. It doesn't matter. I'm too busy watching the two men who have shaped every part of me that matters.
Eventually, Liam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Those fucking bruises aside, you look good," he says to me, his eyes locked on Asher like he wants to leave a few bruises of his own across his face.
"Liam, stop," I say quietly, shaking my head. "You don't get a say in my sex life. I don't ask about yours."
"Jesus Christ," he mutters, sinking lower on the banquette. We both know he's into some kinky shit, but that's his business, not mine. I don't ask, not even when he showed up on some gossip site a few weeks ago, with an up-and-coming actress sandwiched between him and his oldest friend, Connor.
"I'm happy. I'm safe. We're good. That's all that matters," I say.
He grunts, his eyes narrowing on Asher. "Don't fuck that up again."
"I won't," Asher promises, not flinching.
"Good." Liam leans forward, his voice dropping. "But if you ever even think about it, I will end you, Blackstock. You have no idea how much damage I can do."
"Oh, I'm aware," Asher says dryly.
My brother sets down his cup, his expression deadly serious. "You need to get into therapy," he says. "You fucking need it. You've needed it for a long goddamn time, and two weeks in rehab won't solve it."
Asher nods, not even defensive. "I know." His gaze flickers toward me. "I've been seeing someone ever since I left rehab." He licks his lips like he's nervous. "I wasn't trying to keep it from you. I just didn't want to say anything until I knew if it was working."
"I know," I whisper, reaching for his hand. He's been fighting his way back to me every single day.
"I can't keep hurting you," he says, clinging to my fingers. "I can't keep hiding from what I did, or who I am. I have to face it, or we'll just end up right back where we started. I won't survive that, princess."
I want to say a million things, but my throat closes up. Liam is watching me, his face soft.
"I don't blame you," I finally whisper, meaning it. "Not for the accident. Not even now."
