34

"If one of us dies, I hope I die first."

Sawyer

I sat against my pillows. My phone screen illuminated my face with each frustrated message I sent to Josh. He'd been spamming me with texts the entire evening, pleading for me to hear him out. I would but I just wanted to be upset. Being placed in a vulnerable position was unusual for me, and I wasn't sure how to handle it.

I read through his texts and sighed. The sound of rustling outside captured my attention. I froze, my heart pounding as a silhouette clumsily climbed through my window. It was like a scene from a bad horror movie. I reached over to turn on my light.

"Asher?" I gasped, my fear replaced with surprise.

I watched as he rose to his feet, his features coming into full focus. His expression was a mixture of sheepishness and concern.

"Hey, Ms. Bennett."

He didn't move, just hovered in the corner of my room with his hands behind his back.

"What are you doing here?"

He took a step closer. The moonlight filtering through the window cast a soft glow over his features.

"Josh told me you've been avoiding him." He explained. "I wanted to check on you."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I averted his gaze.

"Let's just say I haven't had the best week."

He frowned, crossing the room to sit on the edge of my bed.

"You and Josh will figure it out."

"It's not just about Josh." I admitted. "I applied for a competition at an art gallery, but I never even made it to the showcase round."

"What's the showcase round?"

"We needed to get our art displayed at the local galleries and have scouts judge it." I said. "I approached the owner, but he refused. He said my art was mundane."

He turned his head to the painting my mom saw.

"Is that it?"

I shook my head.

"This is a new one."

He stood up and gazed at it. I stifled a laugh as he pinched his chin, as if he were a critic. He leaned further and squinted his eye.

"I think it's incredible." He said, turning to look at me.

"No offense, but I doubt you know anything about art."

He chuckled.

"I don't know a thing, but wouldn't that make me the perfect judge?" He asked. "Think about it. How many people who go to galleries know anything about it?"

Valid point.

"Fair enough."

"I'm your target audience." He said. "The layman."

"It doesn't matter." I said. "Unless you have an art gallery, my painting is staying right here."

His mischievous grin was unmistakable even in the dim light. He ran his hands through his tousled locks.

"There's something I want to show you." he urged, extending his hand. "It might help you see things clearer."

I hesitated, my mind racing with conflicting thoughts. However, the allure of his mysterious plan was far too enticing. With bated breath, I placed my hands in his, allowing him to lead me into the unknown.

A quiet solemnity shrouded the cemetery. I didn't know what we were doing here, but Asher steered me through the graves as if he could walk to this place with his eyes closed. My gaze fixed on the rows of tombstones, and I resisted the urge to shiver. Why did he have to bring me here at night?

"It's not too far." He whispered.

I focused my eyes on the back of his head as he led me into the heart of the cemetery. The sound of our footsteps echoed against the silence as the snow crunched under our weight. We reached our destination as he stood in front of a tombstone. James Sullivan. My gaze fixed on the inscription etched into the marble.

"This is where I had to bury my best friend."

My heart ached at the raw emotion in his voice. I didn't want to apologize. Everyone apologized as if it was their fault.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

His eyes glistened with unshed tears, but I didn't push him to talk. I stood gazing at the name of his late friend as he gathered his thoughts.

"Last year wasn't my best moment." He said. "I was going through some stuff that led me down a destructive path."

I shuffled closer to him.

"We went to a party in another town over that night to celebrate our championship win." He continued. "I had more to drink than I would care to admit."

I listened with rapt attention. My heart broke with every word.

"James insisted on taking me home, but I didn't want to leave yet." He said. "He convinced me it was time to go home."

He took a deep breath and tilted his head as if forcing the tears to run back.

"We'd driven for ten minutes before a truck came charging from the side." He sniffed. "The doctors told me he took most of the impact."

He tucked his hands into his front pockets and closed his eyes.

"I was supposed to be the designated driver that night." He said, through quivering breaths.

He looked down at the marble.

"It should be me in the ground." His voice was a whisper as he stared into the distance.

My heart ached at the pain in his voice. My eyes brimmed with tears. I reached out to touch his arm, offering as much solace as I could.

"You can't blame yourself," I said, my voice filled with compassion and understanding. "We hear about these situations every day, but we never expect it to happen to us."

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. It's as if he was battling with the torrent of emotions threatening to consume him.

"One of the last things he told me was that I was wasting my life." He said, choking on sorrow. "How I was doing everything to appease my dad."

"Did you agree with him?"

"I did." He said, his voice fading with the breeze.

"That's why you quit hockey?"

He sighed and shrugged off his jacket. I watched as he rolled up his sleeve. My eyes followed his movements, curiosity flickering in their depths as I gazed at the long scar that ran along his left arm.

"The glass from the window shattered and sliced a few veins." He said. "The doctors got to me just in time, but they told me the nerve damage to my arm was so severe that I might never play again."

I reached out a tentative hand to touch the scar. His breath caught in his throat as if he were reliving the tragedy.

"So that's why you're not playing."

He shook his head.

"I made a full recovery." He said. "But I took James' words to heart and quit the team."

"What did your dad say about it?"

He laughed.

"You've seen how strained we are." He glanced at me. "He hated it, but I didn't care. James told me to live my life, so I did."

I smiled as my fingers traced the jagged edge of the scar.

"He'd be proud of you."

"I hope so." He whispered, focused on my movements.

"You're living your life." I said. "What's not to be proud of?"

The silence between us was like a warm embrace, wrapping us in a cocoon of tranquility. It left a soft rhythm of our breath.

"You're doing the same thing." He said. "You're living life scared."

No one ever told me that before. The air hung heavy with apprehension as his words lingered in my mind. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach.

"What do you mean?" I asked, meeting his gaze, searching for understanding.

His expression softened. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"I don't want to upset you." He said, his voice tinged with regret. "You're capable of incredible things, but you're holding yourself back."

"Holding myself back from what?"

"Your feelings for me."

My breath caught in my throat at his words. A surge of unfamiliar emotions welled up inside of me as I struggled to digest his observation.

"What?"

It was all I could muster. My eyes were wide with disbelief. However, he refused to look away. His gaze burned into mine with an intensity that left me feeling vulnerable.

"The painting." He said, taking a step forward. "I know nothing about art, but I could tell what it was about."

My heart pounded in my chest. The weight of his words pressed down on me. I was struggling to breathe. I wanted to bury it beneath layers of denial. However, it all made sense.

The painting, the two figures on the edge of the bridge - Josh and Asher. The figure in the middle was me and my inability to choose. Asher was the darkness and Joshua the light. How had I missed the symbolism behind my creation? It was as if my feelings had changed within a second.

"I have to go." I whispered, my voice inaudible over the pounding of my heart.

Before he could respond, I turned and fled into the night. But no matter how fast I ran, Asher's words rang in my ear like a haunting melody.

??