Page 96 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
The pieces of Asher—the real Asher—begin falling into place in my mind. Not the controlled sniper, not the calculated lover, but the broken brother who failed to save the person he loved most.
I reach out tentatively, my fingertips barely grazing his shoulder blade. He doesn't pull away, so I let my palm settle there, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles.
"Her boyfriend?" I ask, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.
"Three years older. Dad hated him from the start." Asher's voice drops to barely audible. He turns to face me, and I can see the devastation in his dark eyes. "Called him controlling. Possessive. But Sarah was eighteen, thought she knew everything."
My hand slides from his shoulder to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath my palm. The similarities make my stomach clench.
Asher starts pacing now, moving from the fireplace to the window and back again, his steps measured but agitated. "I should have listened when she called me that week. She sounded... different. Scared, maybe. But I had the fucking competition to focus on."
Lightning flashes again, and I see the full devastation on his face. The raw pain there makes my chest physically ache. I follow his movement, staying close but giving him space to pace.
"You couldn't have known," I offer, but his bitter laugh cuts through my words.
"That's what everyone said. The grief counselors, the chaplain, Kade." He stops pacing abruptly and faces me, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Doesn't change the fact that she's dead, and I wasn't there to prevent it."
His obsession with weather patterns, the backup systems, the three different escape routes mapped from every location. The excessive preparation for every scenario suddenly makes devastating sense.
I close the distance between us completely, my hands reaching for his face. "When you stepped onto that ledge today," he admits, his voice breaking as my palms cup his cheeks, "all I could see was Sarah. All I could think was 'She's going to fall. She's going to die. And I'll be too far away to catch her.'"
The raw vulnerability in his voice silences my usual mental chaos completely. My thumbs brush away tears he doesn't realize he's shed.
"I'm not Sarah," I whisper.
"I know that." His hands cover mine, pressing them against his face. "But knowing it and feeling it are different things."
He steps back, pulling away from my touch, and sinks onto the couch. His elbows rest on his knees, head in his hands. I follow, settling beside him but angled toward him, one leg tucked beneath me.
"What exactly happened?"
Asher's breathing becomes more labored. "He isolated her from friends first. Then family. Made her believe we didn't understand their 'love.'" The last word comes out like poison. "She stopped calling as much. Stopped coming to family dinners."
I reach for his hand, interlacing our fingers. The pattern he's describing sends ice through my veins—classic manipulation tactics I've seen in trafficking cases.
"The night it happened, neighbors heard them fighting. Screaming. Then silence." His free hand grips the back of his neck. "They found her three hours later. He claimed it was an accident, that she fell down the stairs."
"But you don't believe that."
Asher pushes off the couch, his body unable to stay put while these memories tear through him. He moves to where the broken frame lies on the floor, picking it up with careful hands.
"Seventeen separate injuries. Coroner said the pattern was consistent with repeated blows. But his lawyer was good, and there were no witnesses."
I rise and move to him, my hands trembling as understanding floods through me. "He got away with it."
"Manslaughter. Served four years." The words come out like bullets. He sets the frame gently on the coffee table, then turns to face me. "Four fucking years for ending her life."
I can barely breathe. The injustice of it, the helplessness Asher must have felt—it's overwhelming. Without thinking, I step forward and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my face against his chest.
His arms come around me slowly, like he's afraid I'll disappear if he moves too quickly.
"My entire life is built around prevention now," he whispers into my hair. "Anticipating threats before they materialize. Calculating every possible variable."
I pull back just enough to look at him, my hands still resting on his sides. "And mine is built on adapting to chaos as it happens. We approach risk differently, but that doesn't mean either way is wrong."
His dark eyes search mine with desperate intensity.
"I lost my sister because I wasn't there to protect her." His voice was barely audible against the falling rain. "I'll be damned if I lose you, too. It would destroy whatever's left of me."
