Page 73 of Kneel with the King
That gets Asher’s attention. His eyes flick to me, wary.
“It wasn’t a doomsday bunker or anything,” I continue. “It was just… rules. Everything was sin. Everything was obedience. I was the oldest child, which made me both the example and the scapegoat.”
Marina nods gently. “And how do you think that shaped you?”
I shrug, but it’s a practiced move—one I’ve perfected and one I use to pretend the story I’m telling doesn’t hurt.
“I learned control early. How to anticipate needs. How to lead. And how to hide the parts of me that didn’t fit.” I pause. “I got out when I was fifteen. Got emancipated. Put myself through college. Columbia. Graduated at nineteen. I dabbled in a few different internships and entry-level roles at various firms before I started King & Rowe at twenty-four. I was made partner at twenty-seven.”
Asher doesn’t say anything, but I see his throat move when he swallows. That little flicker of something human underneath the angry armor he’s currently wearing.
“That must’ve been difficult. Do you still speak to your parents or siblings?”
I swallow. “Not really. One of my sisters—Annabelle—got out. She’s a photographer in California, and she’s been married to her wife for a few years. Everyone else, though…” I look down at the ground. “They’re still in the town we grew up in, practicing the things they were taught. I don’t speak to my parents anymore, and aside from Annabelle, I don’t really talk to my siblings. My lifestyle is a sin in their eyes, and they’ve made that very clear.”
I see Asher shift next to me. I’m not saying any of this for sympathy—it’s my story, and it’s not something I hide or anything. But I do think people are surprised I came from such a fucked-up background.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m glad you’ve been able to have a relationship with Annabelle. And it seems as though you’ve found a wonderful partner in Mr. Harrison,” she adds, smiling at Asher. Marina turns to him. “And you, Asher? What shaped you?”
He’s quiet for a long time.
“I have an identical twin brother,” he says finally. “His name is Maddox.” Even the name sounds like it hurts to say out loud, and I turn to face him, hanging on every word. I know he’s not exactly forthcoming about his life, so I’m curious how much he’s going to tell Marina.
“We grew up inseparable. I was always the rational one. The calm before the storm. And Maddoxwasthe storm. He was the daredevil, the one who always got us into trouble,” he adds, a small smile quirking on his lips. “He taught me how to ride a bike, how to throw a punch, how to put gel in my hair so I looked cool. It wasn’t until high school that we grew apart.
“And then he went to prison for twenty years.” A pause. “I’m still not sure if he was guilty of the crime he was accused of, but he served the time nonetheless.” He looks down and gathers his thoughts for a few seconds. “I only visited him once. In prison, I mean.”
“Why?” Marina asks.
“Because the last time I saw him before he was arrested, he caught me with a guy. And I saw the look on his face. Pity. Or… understanding. I don’t know which one would’ve been worse at the time, and back then, I was proud. Too proud to admit I was attracted to men, especially not to my brother who was in theMarine Corps. And who was alsoverystraight. It was the one thing we bonded over. Girls. Dating. That kind of thing.”
My stomach twists. I hadn’t known this part.
“I cut him out after he saw me with that guy,” he continues. “I stopped texting and calling. Then when he got out, he showed up and—” He stops, jaw flexing.
“And?” Marina prompts softly.
“He stole my girlfriend,” he finishes flatly. “Ari. My ex. I think it was his way of taking something back.”
I glance at him, but he’s not looking at me. His eyes are fixed on the floor, like if he blinks too hard, the pain might spill out.
“I think I hurt him when I cut him off, and he wanted to punish me. And I let him have her,” he adds, quieter now. “I still felt guilty for walking away. And we’re a little closer now. We text sometimes. And he has a son with Ari.”
The silence that follows feels heavier than any deal I’ve ever closed. I want to reach for his hand. To thread our fingers together. But I know my touch would burn him right now.
So I say it instead. “You didn’t deserve that. Maddox and Ari, and what happened. You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”
Asher finally looks at me, like he’s surprised I’m not mocking him. Like he’s not sure what to do with my voice when it’s gentle.
Marina shifts forward. “You both have wounds rooted in abandonment. But I think what makes your relationship work—or not work—will be how you treat each other when those fears are triggered. So let me ask: when you’re hurting, do you try to win the upper hand… or do you try to be understood?”
Neither of us answers.
Because we both know what we’ve been doing.
Trying to win. Trying to win Walter. Trying to win deals. Trying to win at whatever fucked-up version of a relationship this is turning into.
Trying to dominate, outplay, control, distract.
