Page 77 of Restorations

“Well that sounds like a problem.”

She crosses her arms and doesn’t let up. “She loves you. What the hell are you waiting for?”

“I . . .” I look at her with confusion and frustration because I don’t fucking know, and she knows it.

“She didn’t say those things to hurt you.”

“I know.”

She unfolds her arms and lets them drop to her sides. “She wasn’t wrong.”

“I know that too.” My voice is quiet, and it was hard to admit that.

“So go to her, you asshole. Be with her.”

“Don’t you think I want to do that?” I look away from her because I can’t face her. “It feels wrong to be happy. And I'm afraid I'll blame her for it later.”

“For making you too happy?”

I turn to face my sister, deadly serious. Feeling sick to my stomach because I know it isn’t about wanting to fuck other women. It isn’t about my freedom. It’s the fact that’s she makes me so fucking happy I can’t stand it when my brother is gone.

“There’s no such thing, Asher. He would want us to be happy. Hell, he always wanted that. It’s why he tried to please Dad so much. When Dad gave up on the rest of us, he focused on Colt.”

“He saved us.”

She nods. “And I'll miss him every single day of my life. We all will. But we owe him this.”

I swallow the guilt and shame as she hugs me, her touch full of comfort.

“Get. Your. Girl.”

I nod my head, understanding and squeeze her back. “Thanks for not getting married at the lake.”

She laughs at that and pulls back, still laughing. “You’re such an asshole.”

I laugh too and hug her again before forcing her to go back to the living room to celebrate.

Because we should be celebrating. It’s not fair that he’s not here with us, but she’s right . . .

I owe him this.

40

VIVIENNE

Ihate that he won’t talk to me. I miss him. It’s only been a couple of days, but I miss him so badly.

Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. We were doing so well.

After I put Baz to bed and listen to how excited he is to be in another wedding, I have to fight myself to walk past Asher’s room. Not to push open his door and force him to talk to me. Instead I walk to my own room, and gently shove the door open, feeling defeated.

But he’s there.

Oh my God. He’s here. He’s sitting on my bed. He looks . . . sad, but when his eyes lift and meet mine . . . I see it.

Hope.

“Asher?”

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