Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“What about your dad?” Asher asked gently when I’d finished telling him about the various marches Mom had dragged me on since I was a kid.
My body tightened at his question, and he didn’t miss it. The muscled arms around me squeezed, and his hands lightly drew circles on my back, as if to give me support. As if he knew this story wasn’t a happy one.
I kept my gaze down on his defined chest. “He’s dead,” I whispered.
Asher’s hands stopped moving.
“Shit, flower. I’m sorry,” he murmured, pulling my chin up to meet his eyes.
“I’m not,” I replied, surprising myself by verbalizing something I’d never told anyone.
His body jolted, and his eyes turned hard, but he waited for me to explain.
“My mom didn’t always wear tie die and swear off prescription medicine,” I explained quietly. “She used to be a housewife. Apron, hairstyle, court shoes, everything. She always had a free soul, but he put it in chains,” I whispered, pain in my voice. “He beat her,” I choked out. “My first memory is of him backhanding her for burning a pot roast. The next time he was yelling at me for leaving my toys out for him to trip on. I think he might have been going to hit me, but Mom stood in front of me, protected me. Took it for me.”
I knew he was a memory, that he couldn’t hurt me, but the fear that came with his memory was real. The urge to curl into myself, to be invisible, so I could hide from his wrath. I didn’t know why I was telling Asher this. Why I was uncovering the darkest part of me, that hadn’t seen the light in eleven years. Maybe I did know why. Because, as insane and completely unbelievable as it was, I loved him. Already. Something clicked the moment our bodies connected. Something more. Something indescribable. I was different. He made me different. So I wanted him to see me. All of me.
Asher’s body seemed to turn to stone. I avoided his eyes, so I didn’t see the fury burning in them.
“Everyone looked at us on the outside and saw the perfect family. On the inside it was a nightmare. Every day I wondered if it was the day when he wouldn’t be able to stop. When I’d have to watch him kill my mom and not be strong enough to help her,” I whispered.
“How old were you? When the fucker finally met the reaper?” Asher ground out, his tone blank.
My eyes flickered up to his hard jaw. “I was nine,” I replied, my mind traveling back to the day when my father had a heart attack. The elation I felt when we realized he was gone. The shame I carried with me as a result of that elation.
“Fuck,” he clipped. “Nine years,” he said, almost to himself. “Nine years you had to live with that, and you still turned into this.” His hand trailed along the side of my face, his eyes regarding me in what I could only describe as amazement.
I swallowed. “I was glad,” I blurted. “Glad when he died. That my mom and I could escape. That she would be free of his chains. I’m still glad. What kind of person feels happy when their father dies?” I whispered with shame.
His fingers grasped my chin and forced me to meet his eyes. There was no disgust in his gaze. I’d been expecting to feel a new wash of shame as Asher digested my words, but nothing. The look on his face seemed like, pride. Respect.
“The most magnificent creature I’ve ever met, that’s who,” he murmured softly. “The woman who hides the ugliness of what a monster did to her under the most beautiful surface I’ve ever seen. That beneath that surface lies more blinding beauty, untainted by that ugliness. Strength.”
A tear trickled down my cheek. Asher’s hand swiped it away.
“I’ve never told anyone that before,” I confessed.
He watched me with a gaze I couldn’t decipher. “As sorry as I am that shit happened to you, flower, I’m glad I get that. Another piece of you that’s for me and me alone. I want all of you, but I’ll treasure the pieces that you choose to give to me and no one else,” he said, intensity drenching his beautiful words.
We stayed silent for a long time after that. It was a silence that spoke a thousand words at once. That seemed to create a connection I couldn’t even understand, not at that moment. Three years later I’d still puzzle over it.
I trailed my hand across Asher’s forearm. My back was pressed to his front, him holding me close to his naked body.
“Why don’t you have any ink?” I asked suddenly. “Apart from on your back, the club emblem, why nothing else?”