Page 32 of A Touch of Heaven

“He hates me, Asher. I don’t know why, but he hates me.”

Asher shakes his head. “No, Brooke, it’s more complicated than that. He doesn’t hate you, quite the opposite. He hates himself. You and Harper…you’re both so much more than us. You both have this pure light about you that draws us in. We hate ourselves because we can never be a part of that. If anything, it makes us realize how truly lost to the darkness we are.”

I’m confused as I look at him, but suddenly, it dawns on me. The look in his eyes, the way he mentioned Harper. This isn’t just a protective thing.

“You love her,” I state.

“I’m not talking about this with you, Brooke,” he says sternly, and something about his tone makes me drop the subject.

He pulls the towel away from my wrist, and the bleeding has stopped. He kisses my wrist gently. There’s nothing intimate about it. It’s a simple gesture, like something a brother does when you fall down and hurt yourself.

“You remind me a lot of someone, Brooke. She was sweet and pure and full of light and laughter.” His voice hitches as emotion swells in his tone. “I watched her light get destroyed. I watched darkness infect her till she couldn’t take it anymore. She wasn’t tough enough, Brooke.” He looks away from me, clearing his voice.

“Chase needs you to be tough. He needs you to be stronger than what you are. He thinks pushing you away is the right thing to do. I even thought that, too, but now…I’m not so sure. Watching you two try to go solo weakens the both of you, and that’s dangerous.”

He sighs, taking a step away from me. “I think I might regret this, but I’m giving you a choice right here. You can go back to bed where it’s safe, or you can come with me to find out more. But Brooke, I can’t promise you that you will come out unscathed here. I can’t promise that you won’t run from us screaming. But it’s your choice. It will only happen once, and no matter what you choose, we willnevertalk about this again, and you will never mention this to anyone. You get one night, and then you can decide if you’re going to play it safe or be the tougher, stronger Brooke that I know is in there.”

He places his thumb under my chin, staring deeply into my eyes. “I’m going to get ready. If you want to come, you have ten minutes to meet me outside, wear something comfortable. We’re going to be gone for a few hours, and you’ll need to spend some of that walking.”

I nod, leaving him there as I go to my room. Ten minutes later, I’m wearing jeans and a hoodie with my hair pulled back high in a ponytail, sitting in his car, wondering whether I’ve made the right decision. But no matter what, I need to know what the game is and how to make it stop.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

BROOKE

We drive for what seems like hours in silence in Asher’s Camaro. He’s tense. I can see the way his knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel. I dare not say anything. A thick uneasiness lingers in the air, and I wonder why. We pull up to a little church a few towns over. He turns the car off and sits there, staring at the church in silence before turning to me.

“Are you ready?” His voice was void of emotion.

I nod, and he gets out of the car, walking around to my side to open the door for me. I don’t know why, but I take his hand in mine. Right now, he looks like a shell of himself. His eyes are empty, but looks heartbroken at the same time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this vulnerable before.

I squeeze his hand, and he smiles at me. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, though. If anything, he looks like a sad little boy who’s lost his world, and I don’t want to hurt him further.

“We don’t have to do this, Asher. I can tell this is making you uncomfortable.”

He lets go of my hand and puts his arm around me, pulling me close and kissing the top of my head.

“This is why we all love you, Brooke, the way you care so passionately. Willing to stop this night. You would stop trying to get answers because you care about my happiness so much you would sacrifice your own.”

I nod because I agree with him. These boys have been in my life as long as I can remember, and they are family. Jax once told me blood doesn’t make you family, and I remember laughing, thinking how cliché it sounded, but truthfully, he’s right. Asher is my family, and I would gladly sacrifice my happiness to spare his heartache.

“I used to live here, in this town. This place was my home.”

He leads me around the side of the church before hopping over the wall. The gate is closed and locked, so it’s the only way in. I barely manage to jump the wall due to my height, but he helps me, and I land on my feet. He then retakes my hand and leads me through a graveyard, and I wonder why we’re here. We walk amongst the tombstones before reaching one he stops at. He runs his hand over the top of the smooth stone softly.

“Hey, sis.”

My eyes drop to the name on the tombstone. Ellie Moore. She was seventeen when she died. Younger than me—something in me dies a little at knowing Asher lost his sister at such a young age. He takes a seat on the grass in front of her grave with his legs crossed.

“This is Brooke, the girl I’ve told you about,” he says softly, and I look down at Asher and sit beside him. He looks like a little boy with his haunted eyes.

“Hi, Ellie,” I say softly, staring at the etched words on the stone as he leans forward, running his finger over the wording.

“Do you remember I told you that you reminded me of someone? You remind me of Ellie. She was like you. She had big dreams; she wanted to see the world and explore everything she could. She was so good, Brooke. Too pure for this world. She did everything for me growing up. My parents…they shouldn’t have been parents. They don’t know that having children means loving someone else more than loving themselves. They didn’t care enough about us, but Ellie…she loved me enough for both of them and herself.”

A tear drops down his cheek, and I reach out, catching it and wiping it away. There’s something wrong with this picture. Asher is the strong one. He either looks like a cheeky guy hellbent on causing trouble or an angel of death, but never like this, never vulnerable. I always knew there was something else behind his eyes, and now I know.

“I was nine when she died. We moved to Asheville shortly after. My parents couldn’t cope with the scandal of what their daughter did and ran,” he spits out bitterly. “I don’t even think they have been to visit her since the funeral.” He picks up a stray stone, throwing it to his side.

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