by Mignon Mykel
“Good luck in therapy,” Nicole finally said, after a few feet of silence. I almost forgot she was walking slightly behind me.
“Thanks.”
“Just this way.” She turned down a hall and toward a waiting area.
I nearly stumbled when I glanced into the room. Asher.
Everything faded out. The only thing I saw, the only thing I noticed, was Asher.
I was expecting Mom.
My heart tapped into overtime and I had to swallow the lump in my throat.
She was so fucking beautiful.
She looked good, too. The lifelessness that was in her eyes the last time I saw her, was gone. Her hair was pulled up on the top of her head and she wore clothes that told me she likely hadn’t been planning on leaving the house today.
Still, she was a beacon of light.
Asher stood from the chair she’d been in and walked toward me, and it was then I realized that she still wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Ash.”
Her eyes flitted to the side but she gave Nicole a smile. “Thank you. I’ve got it from here.”
It wasn’t a full smile. Just one of those little ones where the sides of her lips curled up, and if you didn’t know the fullness of her smile, her laugh, this show could pass as a true smile.
But then add it with that little bit of sass…
“Let’s go,” Asher addressed me without looking at me, slipping out of the room and down the hall toward the elevator. With no choice but to follow, I did.
I let her have her silence—I was too busy trying to come up with something to say to her.
Come home.
Caine misses you.
I miss you.
Fuck, I love you, beautiful.
Talk to me.
Look at me.
Asher stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor. After the doors slid to a close, I stared openly at her. Her eyes were fixed on the dropping numbers.
“How are you?” I finally asked.
“Fine.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“A shoot.” Her answers were clipped, and it hit me in the gut that she didn’t want to be here. I took a deep breath in through my nostrils, letting it out slowly, but it did nothing for the rising panic.
“Don’t you want to know about home? The dog? Fuck, anything?”
I watched her throat as she swallowed hard, but she said nothing.
“The dog misses you,” I bit out and still, Asher remained quiet. “Nico was asking about you.”
She dropped her eyes to the floor but again, not a damn thing.
“I sent pictures from North Carolina to Carter. I have her overseas address, if you wanted it.” That was the other thing; Carter texted me, saying she hadn’t heard from Asher. It tore me up knowing that I wasn’t the only one Asher was pushing away.
“What the fuck, Asher?” I said when her crossed her arms over her chest. My words were quiet, broken, confused.
The elevator doors slid open and Asher stepped out, not looking at me, not answering me, not even waiting for me.
I rearranged my crutches and set out behind her. She stopped at the valet desk before moving through the automatic doors and into the fall sun. It was unseasonably warm, but the breeze was cool.
I moved to stand beside her, purposely close, but she kept her arms crossed, her gaze fixed ahead of her.
I didn’t understand.
Why?
Why was she doing this?
Why was she pushing me away?
And then a thought struck me so hard, I had to swallow past the need to get to sick.
Why didn’t she love me anymore?
If I looked at him, I was going to burst into tears.
My goodness, I missed Porter.
It was easy to move through the days, push him out of my mind, but with him standing right there, so close I could smell his body wash?
And then that fucking nurse, standing right on top of him, her hand on his back when he stopped in the waiting room.
Fuck her, for touching him.
Fuck him, for letting her.
I was driving Ryleigh’s convertible again. I didn’t have a chance to arrange for my Kia to be transferred up to Wisconsin. The convertible was probably roomier for Porter anyway.
When the valet swung it in front, I walked around and thanked the man before getting in. Porter snuck the crutches behind the front seats before carefully folding himself into the car.
“Wait,” I managed. I may be upset, but I didn’t want him hurting himself worse.
I leaned over and reached for the front bar, sliding the seat all the way back. “Okay.”
I fidgeted with the radio as Porter got himself settled, and after he pulled the door closed, I put the convertible in drive, heading away from the medical complex.
The drive to the house was quiet, but even the radio couldn’t drown out the thickness in the car. It certainly didn’t help that asshole drivers, who didn’t know how to fucking drive or merge, were sharing the road today. My sailor’s mouth was at an all-time high during the drive, and as much as I wanted to blame it on the fact there were shit drivers out there, I knew it had more to do with the stress and unease of having Porter right there, but still not close enough to touch.
With my hands on ten-and-two, I tried to focus on driving, even though my heart was very aware of the man sitting beside me. He held papers in his lap but looked out the passenger window.
What was he thinking?
I was afraid to ask.
I was afraid of talking to him.
I was afraid he’d want answers, and I couldn’t give them to him.
He was better off without me.
I was nauseous with the thought, but then again, I’d been nauseous for weeks.
I eased the car through the blind curves near the Prescott house and slowly moved up the drive to the main house. From the corner of my eye, I could see him grab the papers in his lap, fisting the sides of them.
I dared a glance over at him, and saw as the muscles in his jaw bunched and released.
I put the car in park and put my hands in my lap, looking down at them.
“Can’t we just fucking talk, Asher?” His voice held a hint of irritation and, if I let myself believe it, hurt.
“I have work to do.”
I heard his hard exhale. He had more to say.
But instead, he pushed the door open roughly and pulled himself out, reaching in the back for his crutches.
“Whatever, Ash.”
Then he slammed the door and walked away.
I couldn’t cry.
I wouldn’t cry.
I brought this on.
With a shaky breath, I pulled away.
I was really fucking sick of this house.
I was done finding myself on that fucking WAGs site because I was bored, but mostly because I missed her and needed to look at pictures of Asher. Thank fucking God these people didn’t catch wind that Asher and I were on the outs.
Instead, some poster kept posting comparisons of Ash and me to my parents. For once, I welcomed the comparisons. If only she were still with me.
I was done watching games with Dad and analyzing plays.
I was done with Mom giving me sad glances, trying to push me to go to the guesthouse and talk to Asher.
“She doesn’t want me there,” I told her, for what had to be the hundredth time.
“You guys were supposed to work it out when she picked you up!” Mom exclaimed, pacing the kitchen in front of me as I sat at the table, a bowl of untouched cereal in front of me.
I lifted a brow at her. “You planned that?”
Mom threw her hands in the air. “Of course I planned it!”
I narrowed my eyes at her. When I walked into the house last week, Mom hadn’t been home yet but when she did get home, she explained she had a charity shoot come up and Asher was the only one home to pick me up.
I believed her
.
“You faked the death of a newborn, to get Asher to pick me up?”
Mom stopped and turned to face me, her hands on her hips now. The scowl she gave me was one that had been directed at me a few too many times growing up. “No I did not fake the death of a newborn, Porter Ashe! It was a scheduled birth. Those poor parents…”
I reached for the spoon in my bowl and swirled it around. “I think I’m just going to go back to South Carolina,” I finally said. “I need to be…I don’t know. Just not here.”
I couldn’t be so near Asher, not when she was still so far away.
“Porter…” Mom pulled out the chair next to me and sat, reaching her hands out rest on my forearm. “She’s almost there. I feel it. I really thought…”
I shook my head. “Mom.” I took my arm from under her hands. Resigned, I told her the words that had been flickering in and out of my mind the last forty-eight hours. “I have to go back. She’s not going to come around, and I don’t know what the hell to do for her anymore, not if she won’t even let me in a little bit.”
Mom said my name again, but I shook my head. “It’s better this way.”
With Nico’s help, I packed up Asher’s things.
It had been eight weeks.
She wasn’t coming home.
Every piece of clothing, every picture…anything that reminded me of her, it was in any one of the marked boxes now sitting in the back of Nico’s truck, all but for one picture.
“She’ll come back,” Nico said, standing in front of me with his keys in hand. “Let me just put it in storage somewhere?”
To be honest, I didn’t really care where it went, I just couldn’t look at it anymore.
Not if I was going to try and move on.
How did you move on from the person you loved unconditionally for four fucking years? The one you were supposed to marry? The one who you wanted nothing more than to hold, tell her she was okay, and help her push past her demons?
I told him the words that I was having a hard time believing, no matter how many days, weeks—fuck, months now—went by. “I don’t think she will.”
“You need to go,” Avery said beside me. I’d just picked her up from the airport. She flew in from St. Louis for a surprise trip, but she wasn’t here to see her family.
No, she was here to see me.
“Avery, no,” I answered, exasperated. She wanted me to go to the Rockets’ holiday party this weekend; said it would be doing her a favor.
As his agent… she tried convincing me.
She wanted to be sure he didn’t get too wasted. She wanted to be sure he was mindful of his healing knee.
“I spoke with his coach. The team wants to see you.”
I lifted a brow at her but said nothing. Coach said no such thing.
“They have something to give you.”
I rolled my eyes as I drove down the freeway, taking the last exit before heading to the Prescott house.
“They… Fuck, I don’t know, Asher, but you need to go!” Avery slapped her hands on her thighs.
“Avery.” I slowed down with the speed limit change. “No.”
“He misses you so badly, Asher.” Those words were fucking hardball, and she knew it.
I clenched my jaw as my eyes watered.
“Did you know he sent me back my things?” I asked her, my voice thick with tears that wanted to be shed. Just last week, FedEx brought boxes and boxes of my things, and between seeing the boxes and remembering the nurse’s hand on him, I nearly had an anxiety attack. As it was, I had to search through the house for an inhaler, now able to recognize the signs of an impending asthma attack.
Avery fiddled with the hem of her shirt.
“That doesn’t sound like someone who ‘misses me so badly’,” I tried not to sneer. I sniffled and pulled into the driveway, intending on leaving Avery at the house.
“He was considering putting it all in storage.”
I whipped my head in her direction. How did she…?
“He called me before sending it back.”
I ground my molars together. “So you knew.” I parked near the garage.
“Asher, he couldn’t look at it anymore.”
“Yeah, well.” I stopped myself before saying something mean, like I couldn’t look at her anymore.
“Why are you still pushing him away, Ash?” Avery unbuckled her belt and turned toward me, her back against the door. “It’s been weeks, Asher. I know therapy’s helped me, but so has CJ. Porter can help you, whatever it is you’re still holding on to.” She reached for my hand and I fought the need to pull it away from her.
I shook my head. “He can’t. He can’t help me.” I shook my head. “Just drop it, Avery. I’m broken and twisted, and there’s nothing he can do to help me.” I pinched my lips together at the word vomit. I couldn’t believe I just told her that.
“You are not broken, Asher,” she whispered into the car.
It took a week, but Avery talked me into flying down to South Carolina. She told me Porter was expecting me.
I spent the week convincing myself I was ready to see him.
Ready to talk to him.
If he was waiting on me, if he was okay with me spending time with him…I was ready to talk to him.
I should have fucking known better.
I didn’t want to go to the fucking holiday party. It was just a get-together where we all wore nice clothes and drank. There wasn’t anything festive about it.
Putting slacks on with this fucking knee was a shit show. I preferred living in my basketball shorts or baggy sweatpants, but Nico talked me into going.
I hadn’t done a damn thing with the team since my injury.
Coach called and told me they were stripping me of my captaincy if I didn’t get my head out of my ass. Just because I wasn’t on ice, didn’t mean I couldn’t show up and be the presence he knew I could be. I needed to step up and be the voice of the team. I needed to take on my responsibilities, or I was out.
I still had two months, minimum, before I could join them on the ice. The season would be more than half over by that time, so who the hell cared if I lost the ‘C’ on my sweater?
In the end, I found myself with reservations at the damn hotel the party was being held at. Nico talked me into it, the fucking bastard. Told me it was payback for saddling him with a dog for weeks.
Currently, Caine sat on the floor at the end of the bed, his eyes on me as I grumbled and fucked with my slacks. I should have put my brace on over them, but I was too far in the process to change my mind.
I heard the front door open and cursed the fact I didn’t take back the house key from Nico. Damn guy came and went like it was his own fucking place.
“You ready yet, Portsy?”
Caine’s ears piqued at Nico’s voice and his tail started to wag behind him. His golden eyes were on mine but I could see that he wanted to go to Nico. “Go,” I told him, shaking my head.
Caine bounded up and, crying and yipping, left the bedroom and down the short hall.
I stood and buckled my pants after tucking my dress shirt in. “Two seconds,” I yelled out.
I hobbled to the bathroom and ran water through my hair, then gel. I was on the wrong side of a haircut. I shook my head at my reflection and hit the lights, grabbing my crutches to carry them down the hall.
I wasn’t supposed to be weight bearing as much as I did, but I was sick of the crutches. I’d bring them, just in case, but I wasn’t planning on using them.
“I’m coming.” When I got to the main living space, I frowned when I noticed that Nico was standing in the wide-open door, crouched in front of Caine. Belly-up, Caine was enjoying the attention.
“Couldn’t close the door?” I asked, a brow up.
Nico pat Caine’s belly three times before standing. “Left the truck running. Keeping an eye on it.”
I scribbled a quick note for the neighbor, who would be letting Caine out tonight and in the morning, before
reaching for my keys.
“What, no bag?” Nico grinned at me.
“I have no problem walking the walk of shame tomorrow morning.” I’d sleep in my briefs, too. It wasn’t like I was going to soil my clothes at a six-hour holiday party.
“Alright…” Nico’s voice held a hint of…something…but he dropped it. We stepped outside and my eyes glanced at the Kia sitting in the drive.
I kept wondering when Asher would do something about it, but she didn’t, nor did I do anything to tell her to do something with it. It was a driveway decoration now.
As far as I knew, she was still paying for it, so why the hell it sat in my driveway was beyond me.
I locked the door behind me, after ushering a “Be a good boy,” to Caine, and headed toward Nico’s truck.
I opened the door as Nico went to the driver’s side and pulled myself up.
Before I sat though, I caught sight of the most beautiful, scowling face in the world.
I was so fucking pissed at Avery.
At Nico.
At myself.
Porter didn’t know I was coming.
Porter didn’t know I was going to be playing glorified babysitter tonight.
I shook my head to myself as I crossed my arms and looked out the backseat window toward the house, where Nico crouched in the doorway, rubbing on Caine.
My heart hitched in my chest at the sight.
Before Nico got out of the truck, he pointed at me, telling me to stay put. And then the bastard locked the doors from the outside, meaning if I tried to leave, I’d be setting off the alarm.
And Nico’s security alarm on his truck?
It was probably the most annoying one I had ever heard in my life.
I watched as Nico and Porter left the house.
I watched as Porter paused before turning to the lock the house up.
I watched as Porter walked to the truck, without the aid of his crutches. No, they stayed in an underarm carry.
Dumb man.
He was going to ruin his knee. Avery gave me all sorts of instructions when it came to Porter and his knee—he wasn’t supposed to bear weight completely for another week, he was supposed to wear his brace all the time but it could be unlocked now, and he needed to do range-of-motion every night.