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“One minute, he was there. The next, he was gone. And all these years, I can’t help but think…would he be alive if I’d stayed with him? If I’d insisted he leave when I did?” Asher’s voice thickened. “He wouldn’t have been there in the first place if it weren’t for me.”

Don’t,” I said so fiercely I surprised myself. “It’s not your fault. It’s the mugger’s fault. You didn’t make him a thief, and you didn’t make him commit violence. What happened is on him. Not you.”

Asher released a shaky exhale.

“I know. But that doesn’t change the way I feel.” He turned his head a fraction, just enough to meet my eyes. “There’s a part of me that feels like I owe it to him to win. Like if I don’t succeed, his death would’ve been for nothing. It’s irrational because the two have no direct correlation, but people aren’t always rational, are they?”

“No,” I said softly. “But not everything needs to be rational to be true.”

Long-repressed emotion leaked into Asher’s eyes.

That morning, he said he liked seeing the unguarded version of me. The reverse was also true.

This was the Asher the world didn’t get to see. The raw, vulnerable one who hurt and felt like everyone else.

Part of me was glad they couldn’t access this version of him. If they did, they’d break him the way they’d broken everything else, hammering and hounding until they molded him into who they wanted him to be instead of who he was.

He didn’t deserve that, and they didn’t deserve him.

“There goes my maudlin talk again. You asked about my childhood, and I gave you a sob story.” His warm breath brushed my lips in apology. “I should take you to an ice cream shop or something so your visit isn’t all doom and gloom.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t come for the ice cream.”

I came for you.

Asher swallowed hard again.

Our chests rose and fell in sync, our breaths mingling softly in the universe of unspoken words between us.

The last time we shared a bed, we’d had sex, but this was a different type of intimacy. Gentler, less tangible but no less important, and rooted in fragile, blossoming trust.

Asher tore his eyes away from mine and faced forward again. But when our hands grazed on the bed, I didn’t pull away, and when I curled my pinky around his, he squeezed mine in return.

We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to.

Sometimes, actions were enough.

CHAPTER 26SCARLETT

After a quick meal at his parents’ house, Asher and I returned to the hospital with food and a change of clothes for his mother. Thankfully, his father’s condition remained stable, but we stayed for the weekend anyway.

We checked into a local luxury hotel, and their VIP services team escorted us directly to our suite without tipping off the other guests that we were there. We were both so exhausted we fell asleep almost immediately.

On Sunday, a disguised Asher took me to the famous Holchester Art Museum and a social-media-famous ice cream parlor, but we stayed at the hotel or hospital for the most part. We weren’t keen on running into any paps or angry Holchester fans.

We didn’t talk about his father, football, or our relationship at all after we left his parents’ house. We both needed a break from the heavy topics, so we focused on TV and books instead.

“What do you mean, dinosaur erotica?” Asher’s palpable shock made me giggle. “Like they have sex with dinosaurs? How is that physically possible?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t actually read one,” I admitted. “But my favorite author recommended a book by someone called…” I squinted at my Notes app. “Wilma Pebbles? It’s called Triceratops and Threesomes—stop laughing! And give me my phone back!”

“I have to write this down,” he gasped, his shoulders shaking. He typed the author and title into his phone before handing my mobile back to me. He was laughing so hard, tears gleamed at the corners of his eyes. “Maybe I’ll start a Blackcastle book club. Dinos only.”

“Good. You guys need more culture anyway,” I huffed, but I failed to hide a smile at the mental image of the Blackcastle team reading Triceratops and Threesomes together.

Now that would be a sight to see.

Despite my weekend stay in Holchester, I never met Asher’s father. It was just as well; I didn’t think I’d be able to hold back some choice words for the man.

He got discharged on Monday. Asher said an obligatory goodbye to him, and we gave his mother a lengthier farewell before we drove back to London.

The ride seemed faster this time—or maybe it was because I didn’t want to leave Asher yet.

Given the situation, I’d called in sick to work and canceled our training today, which meant I wouldn’t see him again until Wednesday.

“I know I said this already, but thank you for coming with me,” Asher said halfway through the drive. “It helped. Truly.”

“Don’t mention it. That DIY sundae bar at the ice cream parlor was worth it.”

His laugh warmed me more than the sunshine filtering through the windows.

We meandered in and out of conversation, letting the radio music take over when necessary until we reached London’s city limits.

“Do you want me to drop you off at home?” Asher asked. His tone was casual—almost too casual.

I slid a sideways glance at him. He stared straight ahead, his pose relaxed, but a splash of tension coated the black leather interior.

Are sens

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