“Hi,” I say. “I was worried about you. I haven’t heard from you all day.”
Without a word, he shuts the door and sits down across from me.
“What’s wrong?”
He starts talking. Slow, deliberate. “I’m going to ask you this one time only, Alyse, and I expect the truth, no matter how painful it may be to say it.”
My brows furrow, not liking his insinuation at all. “Ask me what? Asher, what’s going on?”
“Are you having an affair with that fucking photographer?”
“What?” I half snort, half laugh. “Who? Cooper? That’s ridiculous. Of course not.”
“Wrong answer,” he says. Rising he starts walking to the door but I jump up and rush over, standing in front of it before he can make it all the way there. He stops right in front of me. His presence is imposing. I’ve never seen him like this and I have to admit I’m a little scared.
“What the hell is going here?” I demand, arms crossed.
“I think that’s my question.”
“I don’t hear from you all day and then you walk in here accusing me of having some imaginary affair with a friend? What the hell, Asher? You really have a problem, you know that?”
From this close distance, I smell the alcohol wafting off him like he’s been dunked in a vat and soaked for a few hours. It’s steaming from his pores with such potency, I can almost see it rising like hot vapor on blacktop.
“You’re drunk,” I accuse.
“Not nearly enough.”
“Did you drive?”
“I’m not that stupid, Alyse.”
“Asher,” I lay my hand on his waist and he flinches so I remove it, trying not to let it hurt as much as it does. “Please. Tell me what’s going on here.”
“I saw you.” His voice cracks. I can tell he’s one rung away from falling into an inky black void where I won’t be able to reach him.
“You saw me what? You aren’t making any sense. Please, let’s talk when you’re sober.”
I start to move away, to let him leave when he slams his body into mine. My back hits the door hard and then his mouth is on mine. It’s rough and bruising and not in a mutually I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off way, but in an I’m-so-fucking-pissed-off-at-you-I’m-going-to-make-you-bleed way.
This is not Asher. Asher is not physical or violent. He’s demanding and sometimes rough, but he’s never done anything that I didn’t like or want. I try to push him back, but he doesn’t give an inch, taking, taking, until I’m scared he’s going to take something he’ll later regret when the alcohol haze wears off. He finally breaks his mouth from mine, and bites his way down my neck, asking me “why” in between hard, painful nips. It hurts…and it’s meant to.
“Asher, stop. Please, stop. Please,” I beg over and over, my voice shaking more with each escalating plea. It must finally get through, because he does. Leaning his head against the maple wood, his chest heaves and he pulls me to him, squeezing so hard, I almost can’t breathe.
His shoulders begin to shake and I realize he’s crying. It breaks my heart in pieces to think something has brought this strong man to such a place of despair. His pain is so unbearable it physically hurts me. I stroke his hair with one hand, holding him close with the other.
Air is overrated anyway.
“I love you, Asher. I love you. Only you. Please tell me what’s wrong.”
“I love you so fucking much, Alyse. I know I love you, because I’ve never felt soul-tearing agony like I did last night when I saw you in his arms. Why would you do that to me? To us? You’re my everything and now I have nothing.” The last few words are rumbled on a sob.
Oh shit. Now it’s all making sense.
I was emotionally and physically exhausted last night and accidentally fell asleep on the couch with Beck. Something woke me shortly after midnight and I asked him to leave, which he did immediately. And Beck and Cooper look so much alike…
He sags against me, his hard body completely pinning mine.
Okay, maybe air isn’t overrated.
“Asher, baby, listen to me. Can we go to your office where we can sit down and I can explain? It’s not what you think.”
“Never is. Always me,” he mutters, not making a lick of sense. I wonder how much he’s had to drink and how long he’s been doing it. And I wonder why he didn’t just confront me last night instead of leaving, angry and hurt.
Suddenly I’m petrified that I may lose him, all because I was too afraid to confess my secrets earlier.
Tears threaten. This is all my fault. Had I just been up front with him from the very beginning, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now. Once again, I have fucked up big time. But I push those baby-bitch tears and the emotion down, because right now Asher needs me. I can’t help him if I’m a blubbering mess.