Asa groans, but still doesn’t wake up.
“What the hell did he take?” Carter asks, turning toward Dalton.
Dalton shrugs. “Hell if I know. I saw him chew a few pills on the way to the casino. Heroin on the way home.”
Carter doesn’t even hesitate when he leans forward and hooks Asa under the arms. He lifts him up and then stands, pulling Asa away from the bed.
I immediately gather the comforter and wad it up. I’m not even going to attempt to wash this one. I set it in the hallway and then change the sheets, just to be safe.
“Which side does he sleep on?” Carter asks, still holding him up beneath his arms. I point to Asa’s side of the bed and Carter drags him over there. Dalton helps lift him back onto the bed and I pull another blanket out of the closet and cover him with it.
When I’m tucking it around him, Asa opens his eyes and looks up at me. He runs a hand over his face, wincing. “What’s that smell?” he grumbles.
“You threw up on the bed.”
He grimaces. “Did you clean it up?”
I nod and whisper, “Yeah. I changed the sheets. Go back to sleep.”
He doesn’t close his eyes. Instead, he lifts his hand and tugs at a strand of my hair. “You take such good care of me, Sloan,” he says.
I stare at him for a second-at this vulnerable version of him. And somehow, even with Carter standing in the room with me, I feel for him.
I can’t not feel for him.
Asa isn’t the way he is because he chooses to be. I feel like he is who he is because he was never shown how to be anything different.
For that, he’ll always have my sympathy. He’ll never have my heart, and he’ll likely never even have my forgiveness.
But I can’t help but give him my sympathy.
I start to stand up, but he reaches out and grabs my wrist, pulling me back down. I lower myself to my knees beside the bed and Asa wraps his hand over mine. His eyes are closed when he whispers, “One time, when I was five…I threw up on my bed. My father made me sleep in it. Said it’d teach me not to do it again.” He releases a small laugh, but then his eyes squeeze together even tighter. “Guess the bastard was wrong about that, too,” he mutters.
Oh, God.
My hand goes to my heart as I ache for the little boy in him.
I turn and look at Carter and Dalton and they’re looking at Asa with just as much pity as I am. When I turn back toward Asa, he’s rolling onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow.
He grips the pillow in both fists and presses his face against it so hard, I’m convinced he’s trying to smother himself. His shoulders begin to shake as they roll forward into the pillow.
“Asa,” I whisper, soothing a hand over his head.
He becomes a wreck of sobs. It’s the kind of cry that is so deep and heart wrenching, it’s not even accompanied by a sound.
Completely silent.
I’ve never seen Asa cry. I didn’t even know he was capable of real tears.
He won’t remember any of this tomorrow. He won’t know if I left him here alone or crawled in bed and held him. I continue to sooth Asa’s head as I glance up at Carter. Dalton is no longer in the room. It’s just the three of us now.
Carter walks over to me and I can see equal amounts of sympathy in his eyes. He lifts his hand and runs it over my cheek, then bends forward and kisses me on the forehead.
He holds his lips there for several seconds before breaking away and walking toward the door. When he reaches the doorway, he turns around and stares at me for a moment. He lifts a hand and slowly runs his thumb over his bottom lip. My heart reaches out for him, but I stay planted on the floor, comforting Asa.
I lift my hand and pull at a strand of my hair, winding it around my finger. Carter’s lips stretch into a ghost of a smile as he watches me for a few seconds longer, then closes the door.
I climb onto the bed, under the covers, and I wrap myself around Asa, soothing his tears until I’m convinced he’s finally asleep.
But right before I drift off, I hear him whisper, “You better never fucking leave me, Sloan.”
Asa-36
Asa
The first thing I see when I open the refrigerator is a bowl of leftover spaghetti. Thank God.
“See, Dad?” I whisper to no one. “She’s a fucking godsend.”
I put the spaghetti in the microwave and then walk over to the sink to splash water on my face. It feels like I slept with my head in the fucking toilet all night. Hell, based on the stench of the bedroom this morning, I probably did.
I lean over the counter, waiting for the spaghetti to finish heating up. I stare at the bowl as it rotates in circles inside the microwave.