"What did you do, Asher?"
I spend the next three hours on the phone, trying to figure out how to bail him out. Liam gets me in touch with his lawyer, who calls only long enough to tell me that they have to wait for him tobe arraigned before they can do anything. He promises me that he's working on it, but promises don't help much.
By the time he's arraigned a little after noon, I'm crawling out of my skin. His bail is high—unreasonably so—but I transfer the funds to his lawyer without question.
The hours after drag. I pace the penthouse in slow, stiff circles, my hands twisting the sash of my robe until it's just a tattered rope of silk. I watch the news on mute as the same three-second video of Asher's arrest loops endlessly between interviews with "industry experts" and people who've never even met him.
They talk about his reputation and his tendency to "go to extremes." No one mentions the scholarships he funds, the way he'll drop everything for the people who matter to him, or the way he holds me when he thinks I'm asleep and kisses the marks he left like a prayer for forgiveness.
They bring me up plenty, though. Somehow, they all know Miles was at the scene of my accident yesterday. They have plenty of photos of Asher and me together over the last few weeks. They're racing to connect me to what happened between them, like I'm some goddamn toy they're fighting over.
They mention our accident, too. They dredge it up over and over again, like they're trying to bludgeon the audience with the reminder that this isn't his first stint in jail or the first time he's been accused of injuring someone.
It's funny, though. Back then, the coverage was all about how Asher saved my life and deserved leniency. But I guess times have changed. Or maybe people have. They're not willing to give him the benefit of the doubt this time.
I'm not even sure I blame them. They may be asking what happened or how I'm connected, but I know. Miles upset me to the point that I stepped in front of a fucking car. Asher will never forgive that. He'll never forget it, either.
Just like then, I'm the thing ruining his life. I set off a chain reaction of destruction that's so sickeningly familiar, it hurts. And maybe that's the way it'll always be with us. I'll ruin him, or he'll ruin me, and everyone around us will suffer the consequences. Maybe that's our destiny—not to love one another, but to poison and destroy everything we touch.
My heart screams in defiance, refusing to believe it. But my head is a mess, circling around the same sad facts. And the facts are damning, leading me back to the same realization over and over again.
We can't keep doing this.
We can't.
I can't.Hecan't.
I try to eat, but everything tastes like chalk. I try to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see the moment they shoved him into the back of the squad car and guilt eats me alive.
It's after midnight when the elevator pings and the door opens.
He's alone.
He looks…bad. Not physically. No one gets the drop on Asher. But his suit is wrinkled, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat, and his knuckles are raw and swollen. He moves like he's been running for a thousand years and only just realized there's no finish line.
He sees me sitting there, and for the first time in his life, he freezes.
"Hi," I say.
He stands there, just staring at me until I'm ready to squirm. And then, he walks to the bar, pours a triple shot of something brown, and knocks it back in one go. Only then does he turn to me.
"You bailed me out," he says. "Thank you."
I shrug, crossing my arms like that might help hold me together. "You're welcome."
He refills his glass but doesn't drink it. He just stares at the liquid, swirling it in a slow, hypnotic circle.
I want to scream at him. I want to hit him, or hug him, or both. "What the fuck were you thinking?" I ask instead.
He doesn't answer. He takes a deliberate sip, sets the glass down, and leans back against the bar.
"He deserved worse," Asher says.
"Jesus," I mutter, my stomach twisting even though I'm not really shocked. I don't think Asher has ever regretted a single thing he's ever done to hurt anyone who got too close to me. "You gave him a concussion, broke his ribs, and his nose, Asher. It's all over the fucking news."
"I warned him."
"You did," I say, pushing myself to my feet. My legs are shaking, but I stand anyway. "You always warn them. And then you do what you want anyway. It doesn't matter if they heed your warnings or not. You find a way to destroy them anyway. You don't care about consequences. You don't care about anything except—" I bite my tongue before I can say it.
