The rest of my family doesn't share her calm, though. As soon as I enter the front door, Owen is there, fists clenched and a scowl on his face. "What did that asshole do? I'll kill him."
"Owen," Mom chides him. "Give your sister some space."
"I'm with Owen on this one." Dad is standing behind him, his gray mustache turned into a frown and his arms crossed over his chest. "Tell us what happened, Gracie girl."
Mom waves her hands at both of them, shooing them away. "Grace will tell us when she's ready. You two leave her alone." She herds them into the kitchen, and then I'm left with just my younger brother.
Luke shifts on his feet, his hands twisted behind his back. He looks at me like he doesn't know what to say.
"It's okay," I tell him. "I'm okay."
He studies me for a long moment, his deep brown eyes assessing me. "No, you're not." The words are cutting, even though he doesn't say them aggressively. But he's right. I'm not okay. He takes two steps toward me, opening his arms and pulling me into a hug. "It's okay to not be okay."
For the first week of being home, I try to help my family on the farm in an attempt to keep myself busy. The good thing is, nothing reminds me of Asher here. But the bad thing is, I'm not built for farm life anymore.
When Luke heads back to school, I'm left with my dad and Owen, who try not to patronize me, but after the fourth time I spill fertilizer and the third time I break the sprinkler system, they send me back inside.
My mother busies me with planning the approaching seasonal events. She puts me in charge of Santa on the Farm, our annual weekend where families can get pictures with Santa and pick out a tree. But it turns out, organizing contracts and partnerships also isn't my strong suit.
So after two weeks, I find myself staring at the walls in my childhood bedroom and thinking about sex.
I'm ashamed of the way my brain goes there. I'm longing for Asher, but I'm also missing the way he calmed my brain. The way his rules forced me to take better care of myself, the orgasms I got as rewards for all my writing. I'd write 2,000 words right now if it meant I'd come as hard as I used to.
I chalk it all up to being touch starved. But then, a bright idea enters my head.
I don't need him to make me come. I'm perfectly capable of doing so myself.
And I don't need him to reward me for writing. If I want to write, I can reward myself.
And for the first time since the accident, I open my laptop and start writing. At first, it's only because I need a release.But after a few pages, the emotions I've been bottling up come pouring out onto the page.
I give all my pain to my character. She's loved and cared for. The happiest she's even been. And with a few words, I rip it all away.
Then starts the healing.
51
ASHER
"You look like shit," Gabe says as I slide into the booth next to him at Haven.
I feel like shit.
My house is empty without Grace. Whenever I’m home, all I can do is think about her. I see her there, images of her at the kitchen counter, on my couch, in my shower or my bed. It’s like she’s haunting me.
So instead, I spend all my time at the office, unwinding all of the things my father has been up to. I spend too much time there, more than I did even before Grace. And I hate it there as well. Every thread I unwind makes my stomach churn and my heart ache.
This life I dreamt up for myself is nothing like I hoped it’d be. I thought being CEO of Sanctum would make me happy. That I’d have all the power and control I’d been craving. But in reality, I have none of that. My father is still more respected and feared than me. It’s still only an interim position. And honestly, the more I find out of my father’s misdeeds, what he did to Grace and probably many others, the less I even want to be a part of this company.
All of the routines that have kept me functioning as my best self have gone out the window in the last two months as I’ve sunk lower and lower into my self-loathing.
I even ate McDonald’s, sitting on the couch the same way Grace does and binging the greasy fast food. It didn't help. Didn't ease the ache that radiates through my body.
I did the right thing. I repeat the words like a mantra, hoping if I say them enough, I'll start to believe them, but it hasn't happened yet. I set her free, broke her association with my family. And that’s for the better. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, days of scruff lingering there.
"Charming," I deadpan, even though I know my brother is right. "Where's Wren?"
