Undeniably Asher (The Colloway Brothers Book 2)(96)

The intercom buzzes, making me jump. “Ma’am, there is a Beck Mercado who says you’re expecting him.”

I press the talk button with a wobbly finger and answer with an equally wobbly voice. “Yes. It’s fine, Sam. Thanks.”

The next couple of minutes tick by like hours as I wait for the knock on my door, but when it comes, I stand there, frozen, unable to turn the knob. I think I may throw up.

“Alyse, you there?” a deep, low, disembodied voice comes from the other side of the thick wood. I couldn’t make myself call him so we just texted instead and now I know why. Jesus, it’s exactly as I remember. Low and gravelly. It makes my heart hurt and my stomach churn. I can’t respond. We stand there in silence. “Alyse, I’ll leave if you want me to.”

“No,” I whisper, still not able to make my hand grip the knob and twist, but unable to tell him to leave. I have to do this. I need to do this, as gut-wrenching as it’s going to be.

“We can’t do this through the door. Please. Open up, babe.”

I. SEE. RED.

Flinging the door open so hard it bounces off the wall, I spit, “Don’t you dare call me that. You lost the right to call me anything the day you let me believe you were dead.”

His eyes drop briefly before returning to mine. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry. See? Wholly inadequate.

I turn and stalk into the living room, not caring if he follows, but when I hear the door close softly, I know he hasn’t left. I feel his presence as much now as the first day we met. I always thought Beck was larger than life. I think that’s why I fell in love with him so fast. He reminded me a lot of Asher in that regard.

Too bad I let myself fall for someone who was a complete enigma as well as a devious liar. That’s a mistake I haven’t made again, because I haven’t fallen for anyone in eight years until now. And Asher is neither of those things.

I stand in front of the window, watching the bright lights of Navy Pier, relishing the coolness I feel seeping into my skin and bones. I let it soak in and I store it away. I’ll need to be cold to get through this. I need to remain aloof and unaffected. But I’m about ten seconds away from a complete nuclear meltdown.

“I would offer you a drink, but since this isn’t a social call, I won’t.” In the glass’s reflection, I can see he’s taken a seat on the overstuffed chair facing me. Remorse is written over every feature, every action, the slump of his shoulders.

“That’s fine,” he mumbles.

“You have ten minutes,” I tell him, turning around to face him. I wrap my arms protectively around my middle. It physically hurts to look at him, to be this close. I want to run my fingers over his stubbly face as much as I want to slap it. I want to wrap my arms around him, holding him tight, to feel that he’s really sitting here in front of me. But I want to kick him out, telling him I never want to see his lying face again.

Jesus, he’s beautiful, and time has only made him even more so. He’s wearing a hunter-green sweater that fits his lean, muscular frame perfectly. The worn, dark denim on his lower half hugs him like a glove. His dark hair is shorter than I remember, but it looks good on him. I have to fight not to be drawn into his sparkling emerald eyes like I was from day one. And I’m a god-awful person, and girlfriend, to even think any of those things.

A fresh plunge of guilt injects itself into the toxic, roiling mixture that my emotions have now become.

“I don’t know where to start,” he begins quietly.

“Let’s see…how about we start with the fact that you tried to kill us when I told you we were going to have a baby.”

He cringes at my caustic words, but I don’t want to take them back. I’ve been in agony over this for over eight years. I thought I was over the anger and the hurt, but as I stand here looking at him, it’s fresh and raw and bleeding. I’m wrapped in it like a living, breathing entity and each second that ticks by it becomes stronger and more venomous.

“Alyse, it was an accident. I…can we not do this with you standing there, lording over me? This is hard enough.”

My bark is bitter and spiteful. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

I see a flash of anger, which he quickly hides. “Neither do you.” His words are slow and measured and full of secrets I’m no longer sure I want to hear.

I turn back toward the window, wishing I had poured myself a very healthy glass of bourbon before I let him in. For someone who doesn’t drink that stuff, it’s quickly become my numbness of choice this past week. I watch him rise and walk toward me with a slight limp in his step, our eyes connecting in the window.