16. Asher

SIXTEEN

The second stormhad nothing to do with the rain, wind, and thunder outside my window. It was a much harsher one, ripping my soul to shreds and twisting my heart. If that was all, I might have hoped to survive, but the nauseating new reality made the whole world around me tilt and sway.

I had managed to stumble up the stairs and lock myself inside my room. I had abandoned Jordan to the mercy of his dad. And I had lost my mother. It was a lot for one morning's work and we hadn't even had breakfast yet.

My face was pressed deep into the pillow I had been sharing with Jordan for so many nights. His scent lingered on it, lifting my heart at every inhale.

The ringing in my ears reminded me of the one time I'd gotten into a fight with a boy at school. He'd somehow managed to slap me across my head after slipping a hand between my angry fists, leaving my head abuzz for the rest of the day. Mom had raised hell over it, grounding me for two weeks for my manners and storming both the school and the other boy's family. She had been tough on me, but she had never been unfair. Never.

Until now?

My stomach turned when I tried to touch that question. Acid climbed through my body and my throat tightened like I was about to vomit.

Would I ever be able to decide whether these were the appropriate consequences? Would I ever be able to look Jordan in the eyes after what had happened today? And would my mother ever speak to me again?

I struggled to imagine all of those things being possible simultaneously. They just felt very exclusive. Each of them was unlikely on its own, let alone as a freaking bundle of miracles. To her, it was clear as day. She had brought a slightly older boy into her home and he had worked subtly for years to impress me and infatuate me. And I was the gullible victim of that horrible crime.

Just like that time in school, she was furious with me for letting me be drawn into something unimaginable, but she also pinned the blame elsewhere. And yet, she was disgusted.

You knew, I scolded myself. You knew this was where you were headed.

For half my life, I had been dreaming about Jordan. And when reaching out and taking him became a possibility, I was afraid because I knew what would happen. Somehow, in the magic that had entered our lives for a short while, I had forgotten about our final destination.

When I got out of bed and crossed my room to press my ear against the door, I heard her again. "George, drive me home."

George was hesitant and Jordan wasn't making a sound. If he had spoken to his father at all in the last hour, I hadn't heard a word. Mom, however, didn't hesitate.

"I want to go. Now." Her tone was pitched to carry a command that was hard to ignore. "I won't stay here, so either drive me or give me the keys and be without your car."

"Eileen, be rational," George muttered just loudly enough that I could hear him through my door.

Mom's voice shifted as she walked through the house. She was nearing the front door and her words were clearer. "I am rational, George. Maybe you're the one who's irrational, not saying a word when we find our children naked in the same bed."

My heart dropped lower. I hadn't exactly hoped for her to blow off some steam in the bedroom and come out with a new opinion. I hadn't expected a happy ending. So when George agreed reluctantly to drive her and return this evening, it wasn't a surprise. Even so, the sob inflated in my chest, threatening to choke me if I didn't let it out.

But I wasn't going to.

This was my last shot, I was sure. What else could I hope for? If Mom walked out now, she wouldn't look back. If she decided our sins were too big to forgive, how could I ever be with Jordan again? How could I hope to look at him and not remember the price we paid?

I turned the key in my lock and walked out of my room. As I reached the top of the staircase, Mom was standing at the open door, waiting for George. She was facing the drizzle outside, her back stiff and straight, her head held high.

"Mom," I murmured. I couldn't see if Jordan was in the living room and George wasn't there either. It was just the two of us. A long time ago, it had always been just the two of us. I'd had nobody else growing up. Only her. And I'd thrown that away for the thrills with the one person I should have kept at a distance.

My mother turned on her heels and looked at me with a dead stare. "Don't call me that," she said sourly.

My lip quivered, but I clenched my teeth hard to stop them from chattering. When I could speak again, I inhaled through my nose. "Is it that bad? So bad that I would be dead to you because of it?"

She didn't blink. "Asher, you are an adult. I won't try to control you. I won't tell you what not to do if you're not smart enough to stay away from it by now." She paused for all the punches to land and I felt each word strike. "My life's falling apart again. Another man, another marriage. And my son hoped to profit from that. As if it's not bad enough that you've been seduced into this perverted clusterfuck, you were hoping my tragedy would free you to keep sleeping with your stepbrother. So, no. You're not dead to me, Asher. You can never be dead to me. But it's time for you and me to go different ways. George?" The last word she said in the direction of the living room, and loudly, as though I had only been a short distraction.

Unceremoniously, she turned around and walked out into the pattering rain. George went after her in a few moments and shot me an ambiguous look over his shoulder.

She was right about one thing. I hadn't considered what the divorce would be like for her; I'd just celebrated the freedom Jordan and I would enjoy afterward.

Once the door shut, she was gone for good. She meant every word she had said to me and I stood like I had turned to stone at the top of the stairs. Until Jordan stalked out of the kitchen and into the hallway. He looked up. "Baby boy…"

His soft, quiet words ripped something in me, and my feet moved again. I spun away from him as tears brimmed in my eyes and burned my face where they spilled. I was in my room before he could make a single step after me.

The door slammed hard behind my back and my fingers turned the key. My eyes squeezed shut against the tears I neither wanted nor needed right now.

I wasn't absolutely sure of it until I heard his footsteps. Even then, some tiny compartment in my heart kept hope on life support. If only it would die right away and free me of all this guilt. What was done was done; I couldn't change the past. But as long as I hoped things would get better, I would taste the bitter flavor of guilt. It was like poking at a fresh wound.

The knock on my door was soft at first. "Asher, please," he said in a gentle tone. "Come out and talk to me."

I tiptoed away from the door, leaving Jordan to knock and plead for a time I didn't know how to measure and track. His efforts went nowhere. Right now, I couldn't look at him without feeling the price of our thrills deep in my bones.

At some point, Jordan left. At some point, I slept again. And when I was awake, I hesitated, but a creeping headache warned me that I needed both food and coffee. The survival instinct propelled me out of my room. The storm had passed by the time I was out of my room and the house was quiet without Mom and George. Jordan was probably in his room, hopefully sleeping and not waiting to hear my footsteps.

I made a bowl of cereal quickly while coffee was brewing and ate it even quicker, spraying the counter with drops of milk. As I poured myself a mug of coffee, his footsteps announced him again.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

Couldn't he see that this was torturing me?

Jordan moved quietly into the kitchen, his expression almost apologetic for some reason. He shot me a sad look, his shoulders slouching, his face drooping. "Got some for me?"

I nodded and grabbed a clean mug. Wordlessly, I poured the coffee and pushed the mug across the counter to my stepbrother and lover.

"Thanks." He lifted it and took a small sip.

In the awkward silence, I lifted my mug and moved to get out of the room.

"Asher, wait," he said, firmer. It wasn't exactly the commanding voice he had used throughout this summer break to get me to heel, but it had enough of its quality to stop me. "We have to talk about this."

"I don't want to talk about it," I said in a flat, emotionless voice. I had no emotions to spare.

"And you think I want to? You think I have a burning desire to discuss our parents finding me naked in your bed?" He clenched his teeth, his cheeks flexing and eyes smoldering like glowing embers.

"You keep trying," I said. Only a few sentences in, we were already pulling ourselves apart and bringing up the walls. This sounded more like how we had talked to one another our whole lives. Gone was the tenderness of the past few weeks.

"Because we have to, not because I feel like it," Jordan said tightly. "And you can't run from it forever."

"I don't want to run from it forever," I said. "Only now. I can't…" My voice cracked, and I stopped speaking. After a moment, I had to ask. "George?"

Jordan shook his head slowly. "Didn't say a word."

"At least he didn't tell you not to call him dad," I pointed out venomously as if it was Jordan's fault. It hurt me as much as it hurt him, but I couldn't keep this anger in me. He was pulling it out of me and I had nowhere else to put it.

Jordan ignored the dig and shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't try."

"So it's my fault she all but disowned me?" I demanded.

Something went out in his eyes. Some spark or some fondness. The embers died and cold ash remained. "That's not what I said."

No, it wasn't. But I had put the wards around whatever was left of my heart and I couldn't allow myself to be fair. Not to him and not to myself.

Setting his mug on the counter, Jordan looked into my eyes. "We can't let this be the end, Asher."

"What else do you think we can do?" I snapped. "Slap your grandma's face? Kick my grandpa in the balls? We fucked up, Jordan. We knew this would happen and we still did it." We deserve this, I thought. Even looking at him brought on more pain. He was beautiful. Few people were that beautiful. Sometimes, you'd meet a handsome guy, and he would open his mouth, and his beauty would fade the longer you listened to his bullshit. It was such a rare thing to spend years watching someone grow more attractive every time you saw them, only to find the connection transcended his looks. It was his beautiful mind and heart and soul that I admired. And missed already.

"Don't do that," Jordan said. The hurt in his voice ripped me to shreds, but I gripped the edge of the counter and remained still. "Don't make it sound like it's our fault."

"But it is," I said. "And I can't look at you without thinking that."

He took an abrupt step back as if I'd swung a knife at him. "You don't mean that."

"What do you know?" The words squeezed through my teeth in the last ditch effort to break out of this circle of misery. I didn't want to have this conversation. I didn't want to have to look at him and see all I'd lost. I didn't want to remind myself that, deep down, I knew I wouldn't have done anything differently. But what chance did we have anymore? If we spent the rest of our lives together without ever fighting, ever giving one another an annoyed look, we would still carry this morning's burden on our shoulders.

What had happened in this house today was impossible to change. It would forever remain between us and even the strongest relationship couldn't carry that weight. Ours had never been a steady relationship that exemplified strength. Ours had been a willful, fiery one.

Jordan's face was awash with various emotions. He was angry, I knew that, but he was just as hurt.

When he nodded, something more went out of him. It wasn't just his eyes. His muscles tensed in his face as if to bottle up whatever else he felt, and he turned away from me, leaving his coffee where it was.

"Jordan," I whispered.

He walked on. "Leave me alone, Asher."

I deserved that too.

And I would respect his need for privacy because that was pretty much the best either of us could do. We were both very experienced in the art of pretending we didn't know each other. When we return to Northwood, we would act no different than we had the entire last year.

I left the kitchen and returned to my room, piling my stuff into the backpack and duffel without any care for my clothes. Let them wrinkle. Let them tear. I didn't care about anything at all. I was beyond caring. My heart now beat only to keep me alive, and I was indifferent to that, as well.

Jordan had walked out instead of returning to his room. So when the car I had called arrived, he wasn't there to see me and make things harder than they had to be.

I stuck my pair of black sunglasses on my face and dragged my shit outside. The driver got out to help me load my luggage into the car, then took a hint and drove silently while I stared out the window. The nature around us slowly flattened. Mountains receded behind us as he drove me into the city. From there, I would book the next flight back to Northwood. Once I was in my room, I would let myself think about what to do next.

Until then, I shut my eyes, held my breath, and accepted that everything I had ever held dear was gone from my life.