“So I’m one of the lucky ones.”
“You are.”
“Good. I’m glad.” His knee brushed mine again, more purposefully this time, and butterflies erupted in my stomach. “I would hate to lose you.”
The air turned thick and syrupy, so sweet I could taste it on the back of my tongue.
“As your trainer,” I said.
“As my trainer,” he confirmed, his knee still touching mine.
Awareness dripped into the space around us. A low buzz filled my ears, and his innocent childhood bedroom suddenly didn’t seem so innocent—not when his gaze burned like a lit match against my skin and my entire body tingled from his proximity.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
We still hadn’t discussed last night. It took a back seat to his family emergency, but—
“That’s enough maudlin talk for the day.” Asher finally pulled away, severing the spell. The butterflies drooped in disappointment. “Otherwise, this will be the most depressing first trip to Holchester ever.”
“It’s not so bad.” I rubbed a discreet hand over my thigh and tried to adjust to the new mood. Our conversation vacillated so fast it gave me whiplash. “Your father is okay, and I got to visit the Asher Donovan Childhood Bedroom Museum, guided by Asher Donovan himself. Talk about VIP treatment.”
“Only for you.” He tilted his head toward the mattress. “As a bonus, you get to lay your head on the same pillow I slept on when I was a teen.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I hope it’s been washed since then. I don’t need your teenage germs in my hair.”
Nevertheless, I followed his lead in taking off my shoes and squeezing next to him on the mattress. It was surprisingly comfortable.
We both needed the rest after our drive, so we lay side by side on his tiny bed, our legs dangling over the edge, our arms just barely touching.
“You never talk about your childhood,” I said. “Not even in interviews.”
His father was the only topic he brought up from his pre-fame life. I didn’t know what Asher had been like in school or whether he’d had other hobbies besides football.
I wanted to, though. The day had been filled with nuggets of information, and I was starved for more.
“You been following my interviews, darling?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I paused, then admitted grudgingly, “Maybe.”
The bed shook with his soft laughter. “There’s not much to talk about. I was a quiet kid, believe it or not. Life was school, family, and football. I spent most of my free time kicking a ball around in the back garden or at the park with Teddy.”
“Who’s Teddy?”
The ensuing silence stretched so long, I thought he hadn’t heard me. I was about to repeat the question when he answered, all traces of amusement gone.
“He was my childhood best friend. We grew up next to each other. He loved football as much as I did, and he was better at it than I was.”
“Stop.” I found it impossible to believe that any living player could be better than Asher.
Sorry, Vincent. Yet another, albeit silent, betrayal of my brother.
But I’d worry about that later.
“It’s true,” Asher said. “He was better compared to how I played back then, at least. But whereas I couldn’t wait to sign with a club, he refused. Said he wasn’t interested in playing professionally.”
“Why?”
“He was afraid. Football isn’t a steady career, and he didn’t want the pressures that came with it. He hated being in the spotlight. He was worried that if he failed, he’d do so publicly and humiliate himself. So instead of living his dream, he let me live it for him.”
“He must be proud of your success.” Proud or bitter, but I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“We don’t exactly talk anymore.” Asher sounded distant.
I sensed there was more to the story, so I remained quiet.
I was right.
“I signed with Holchester when I was seventeen. I was so damn excited. We went out to celebrate, but I left early because I had a meeting with Holchester’s manager the next morning. Teddy chose to stay, and I remember thinking, good for him. He needed to loosen up a bit, you know?” Asher’s laugh sounded hollow. “We went to a pub in a seedier part of town since it was the only one that didn’t ID us since we were underage. Teddy left maybe an hour after I did. He was on his way to the bus stop when he got mugged.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, already dreading the conclusion to the story.
“It must’ve been the liquid courage, but Teddy refused to give up his wallet. He got into a fight with the mugger, who stabbed him six times and ran away. Teddy didn’t even make it to the hospital.”
I saw it coming, but that didn’t stop my lurch of shock. Stabbed six times. Jesus.
