“I got you, Heather,” he whispers, kissing the side of my head. “I have you.”
“Ash…er,” his name breaks in my throat. I’m sobbing so loudly, I know I’m going to wake everyone up, but I can’t stop. The dam broke, and the water won’t stop rushing.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
I clutch my fingers into his shirt, tugging them to bury my face further. He smells…he smells like breakfast? The odd scent has me pulling away from him and staring at him oddly.
He brushes my tears away with his fingers and bends his head down to peer into my eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You smell like muffins and it surprised me.” I take a step away from him, away from his arms and embrace so I can think.
I cross my arms over my chest and cage myself in.
He notices the action and respects the space I need by taking a step back, leaning against the wall, and waiting.
I hate that about him too.
Always so damn patient.
“Muffins have been my go-to lately. Blueberry are my favorite right now.”
The moment of weakness is gone, and now when I stare at him, all I see is the seventeen-year-old boy who was taken away in cuffs who didn’t deserve it. A man who didn’t fight hard enough for his freedom. A man who never wrote me back.
And a man who used women.
The haze of undeniable irrationality blinds me when all I see is a man. Without thinking, I lift my hand and slap it across his face. His head turns suddenly, and the feet echoing down the hall come to a stop, then quicken back.
Heaven doesn’t do anything. He straightens and stares at me in acceptance, which only makes me angry because he is so damn calm. I slap him again, a whimper leaving me, and his cheek turns a brighter, angrier shade.
He stands there.
I want to fight.
I want to punch. I’m ready. I’m so fucking mad. Someone fucking fight me.
“Don’t just stand there!” I scream at him, a tear dropping onto my cheek.
His eyes soften around the edges, accepting my anger.
I shove his chest, pushing him against the wall harder. “Say something! God, you never say anything. It’s how you ended up in jail for six years because you never said anything.” I slap his chest, still crying uncontrollably as I let the pent-up aggression unleash. I punch, slap, and yell, pretending he is my abuser. “I hate you. I hate you! Why did you do this to me!? Why? Why!” My throat hurts as I push my voice to the brink.
Arms wrap around my waist and pull me away from Asher. “Why did you do this to me? I hate you. No! Put me down. Put me down!” I kick, trying to get free of the hold, but the more I fight, the tighter they squeeze.
“Sebastian, put her down. It’s okay,” Asher says, which only makes me angrier.
It’s okay.
It’s okay!
Typical Asher, shrugging everything off like it doesn’t matter.
I stretch my arms out, wanting to wrap my hands around his throat, but I can’t reach since Sebastian is keeping me at a distance. I hate him. I hate his stupid good looks and his charming personality. I can’t stand the patience he has for life. How did he make it through prison? A place he didn’t belong but seemed to take in stride. Why? Did he believe he deserved it? Maybe I’ve been naïve the entire time, and maybe he did kill my sister.
My problem is, I have too much faith in humanity. I trust when I shouldn’t and love when I’m not meant to.
“Let me go. I said, let me go!” I rear my elbow back and plunge it into Sebastian’s core, hoping it bruises a rib so he can let me go.
The bastard.