Asher by Jo Raven

Author:Jo Raven [Raven, Jo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Coming of Age, Romance, Contemporary, New Adult & College, Sports
Amazon: B00KANRBOK
Barnesnoble: B00KANRBOK
Goodreads: 21967455
Publisher: Jo Raven
Published: 2014-05-11T04:00:00+00:00

***

“Ash?”

“Hm?” I stop in the act of pulling my jeans back on.

“What’s on your mind?” she asks softly.

The truth? That for so long I’ve felt empty inside. That she’s always held my heart. That I’m not what she needs.

“I have something I need to do tonight,” I say.

I don’t want to see her face, but she sighs, and I look up. Disappointment. She probably wanted me to say something good after fooling around with her, maybe ask her to stay the night with me, and there’s nothing I’d have liked more.

But I can’t.

“That’s fine. I’ve got stuff to do, too,” she says and I have to look away. She’s putting on a brave front, but I can see the pain in her eyes.

She’ll be okay. We haven’t even fucked.

Seriously, Ash?

I rake my fingers through my hair and tug, hard. I’m doing the one thing I hate: I’m hurting her.

“Ash...” She walks over to me. She’s dressed. What a shame. “Don’t shut me out again.”

I shake my head. Don’t wanna lie. If I’m shutting her out, it’s because I have to. “My life isn’t like yours, Auds.”

“What do you mean?”

Damn. I pull on a T-shirt, but still don’t meet her gaze. I can’t. I don’t even know where to start, how to explain. “Never mind. I just need to work some things out.”

Silence stretches.

“You’re running away again,” she whispers.

Her words strike like knives. “I’m not running.”

“You sound like you’ve given up the fight.”

“What do you know about fighting?” Anger makes me see red. “What have you ever had to really fight for, with blood and pain? What do you know about any of it?”

She steps back, her eyes round. “Jesus, Ash. I just want to help you.”

“How can you help me? Shit.” Anger burns inside me, although I realize it’s not her fault my situation is so bad. “Just forget it.”

“How do you expect me to understand,” she says, “when you won’t talk about it?”

“You want me to talk about it?” My heart pounds. “Really? How about I often wished it was my father who’d died in the accident and not yours? How about telling you how lucky you are. That it’s better to have a good father who’s dead rather than a bad one forever?”

Her face pales. “Stop.”

“Why?” Anger sizzles through me. “Isn’t this what you wanted to hear?”

“That I should be thankful my dad’s dead?” She stumbles on the last word and the pain in her voice rips me up like a blade. “Do you have any idea how much I loved him? How empty my life is without him?”

“Can’t say I do.”

She hisses, her eyes wet. “How can you say that?”

“You asked, Auds.” I guess now is the point where she leaves, slamming the door behind her, as she should. My voice drops to a whisper as the anger drains out of me. “You said you wanted to understand. So understand this: I can’t imagine what you had with your dad, because I don’t have it with mine. Never have.

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