Now that Asher and I were public, it was like a weight had been lifted off our relationship. Previously, that weight had anchored me to earth with chains of worry and anxiety.
Now…now, there was nothing to keep me from free falling into a place I’d sworn I would never visit again. No harness, no safety net.
I thought it would be scary, but it was exhilarating because I knew who’d be waiting at the bottom. I trusted him to catch me.
He always did.
“Look how hard you’re blushing,” Carina teased. “I think our girl is in deep.”
“Stop.” My face flamed hotter, but I couldn’t hold back a grin. Despite my grumblings, the headaches and drama of the past two weeks were worth it if it meant Asher and I could date openly once all this was over. Sloane had left London to deal with another client crisis, but she’d advised us not to give the paps any more fodder for now. So far, we’d stuck to her plan, but one day, we wouldn’t have to hide in our houses anymore.
However, I didn’t want to spend the night talking about myself, so I attempted to steer the conversation in another direction. “Speaking of footballers, how’s the internship going?” I asked Brooklyn.
“It’s great.” Her face lit up. “Jones, the lead nutritionist, is a total powerhouse and I’m learning so much.”
“If you’re looking for another paid intern, let me know.” Carina sighed. “My barista gig is not working out.”
She’d taken a weekend job at our local café. Unfortunately, she was great at drinking specialty lattes but not at making them. I took one sip of her lavender latte the other week and almost spat it right back out. I’d endured out of pure love for my best friend and the ability to chug a hot drink without breathing.
Needless to say, Carina’s future at Peggy’s Place looked bleak.
“Are you interested in nutrition?” Brooklyn asked.
Carina wrinkled her nose. “I’m interested in food. Does that count?”
The blond managed to laugh and wince at the same time. “It’s a start, but I’m not sure our internship coordinator would agree…”
While my friends brainstormed other potential side gigs—including but not limited to museum tour guide, social media influencer, and greeting card designer—I closed my eyes and savored how normal this felt.
Normal was in scarce supply these days, and I’d take it whenever I could.
I reluctantly cracked an eye open again when my phone pinged with a news alert. I spent the first few days after the hospital trying to ignore any and all articles about me, but I’d since come to the conclusion that it was better to stay on top of the news rather than behind it.
I’d set an alert for both my and Asher’s names. Luckily, most of the “news” so far was neutral or flat-out ridiculous (according to one tabloid, we engaged in regular BDSM swing parties at an underground sex club. That version of me sounded like a badass, but my body could never).
However, when I checked the alert, it wasn’t another fluff piece about what I wore that week or speculation regarding how Vincent really felt about us dating.
It was…
The warmth leached from my body.
No. This was a joke. It must be an article from one of those satirical news websites because it couldn’t be real. I refused to believe it.
My friends must’ve picked up on my mood shift because their conversation abruptly petered out.
“Scarlett? What’s wrong?” Carina asked. Her voice sounded like it was coming from far away.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
All I could do was stare at the words on my phone screen while lead ingots piled up in my lungs, strangling the flow of oxygen.
I kept waiting for the letters to rearrange themselves into a new sentence, one I could accept, but the headline remained the same.
BREAKING: Asher Donovan rushed to hospital after car crash in north London.
CHAPTER 47SCARLETT
The irony of me racing to the hospital for Asher after he’d done the same for me two weeks ago wasn’t lost on me, but I didn’t dwell on the parallels of our situation.
I was too busy trying not to hyperventilate and lose my ever-loving mind.
Brooklyn floored it through the streets of central London while Carina monitored the news for any developments (none so far). They’d sprung into action immediately when they found out what happened, and I was so dazed I didn’t even have the energy to fret over Brooklyn’s driving.
My stomach sloshed with each jerk and stop. I was this close to throwing up, but if I threw up, I’d slow us down.
I couldn’t slow us down. Not when every minute counted.
The news reported which hospital Asher was at, but the articles were so light on details that my imagination grabbed the blank spaces and drenched them with gruesome images.
Asher broken. Asher burned. Asher…
My dinner resurfaced in my throat. I curled my fingers around the edge of my seat and clung on for sanity until we reached the hospital.
One. Two—A small hiccup interrupted my attempts to breathe. I clutched the seat tighter and fought another sob.
Three.
