It’s the “please” that ricochets through me and causes me to jerk to a halt. It’s so rare to hear that word in that tone—that desperate tone—from this big, dominant, proud man, I immediately still. But my heart, that reckless, silly organ, pounds away, destroying any semblance of calm.
Asa appears in front of me, his grey eyes soft but shadowed.
Dammit, it’s not fair.
The moment he sent me away Saturday night, every need, every craving, every… heartbeat for this man should’ve ceased. I shouldn’t be standing here in this parking lot visually caressing the sharp angle of his cheekbones or the carnal curve of his wide, full mouth. I shouldn’t want to stroke my palms over his broad shoulders and wide chest, shift between those powerful, thick thighs.
I inhale a deep breath and glance away from the impact of him.
“Will you look at me?” he murmurs.
I force myself to meet his grey eyes.
“This isn’t really the appropriate place for this, Asa,” I say. “We should probably do this later.”
“I tried calling but you won’t answer my phone calls. And you haven’t been home since Sunday. I don’t have any pride left to mind admitting that I’m desperate enough to wait after school and use my niece to ambush you into talking to me.” He holds up an arm, then drops it, his fingers curling into a loose fist. “I’m not above it, and I have no shame in admitting it.”
Okay.
I blink.
“I needed a break after…” My throat tightens around the words that would describe Saturday night so I twirl a hand, letting that suffice. “Lena let me stay with her for a couple of days.”
I don’t know why I’m telling him this—yes, I do. So he isn’t left worried about my whereabouts. And as his big shoulders ease down just a fraction, I’m okay with making that call. But that’s the only allowance I’m willing to give. Because the longer I’m in his presence, the weaker my resolve becomes. Like ice cream left out in the summer sun, it’s softening.
And I can’t be that weak. Not again.
“I won’t hold you up long, India,” he says, his gaze roaming over my face as if he’s trying to imprint my image on his mind. “I just have two things to say to you. First, I apologize for asking you to leave the way I did Saturday night—Sunday morning. In hindsight, I could’ve walked you to your car or taken you to the side and explained why I wanted you away from there. But now I get how you would’ve only heard ‘leave.’”
He lifts an arm again, and once more I think he’s going to reach for me, touch me. And I brace for it. Wondering if I will lean into his hand or step back to avoid it. But in the end, he thrusts his fingers through his hair, fisting the dark auburn strands.
“What you took as me abandoning you and choosing my relationship with Jessie over you was actually me trying to salvage whatever I could of that friendship. Because after I told him that I refused to give you up, I knew chances were we wouldn’t have much of one left. But I needed to protect you from his temper and his mouth.”
Wait, wait. He refused to give me up?
“I could defend myself, Asa.” Although… damn. Because he refused to give me up. I can’t let that go.
“You think I don’t know that? You’re one of the strongest women I know. But if he made one more ugly comment to you, we wouldn’t have had a friendship to save. I hate to say it like this, but you were a distraction. As long as he could focus on you, he didn’t have to confront the fact that he fucked up and had ownership in what was unfolding in front of him. That’s the only reason I asked you to leave. I meant it when I said I’d call you later. I tried. I tried to find you, India. To explain. But I couldn’t find you.”
No, because I’d been in hiding, licking my wounds, shoring up my armor.
“You said two things,” I whisper.
“Right.” He nods. “I love you.”
I blink. Stare at him. Blink again.
“What?” I rasp.
“I love you.” Only when he says, “Yes, India, I do,” do I realize that I’m shaking my head.
This time when he lifts his arms and reaches for me, there’s no equivocation about what to do. I can’t move. I can barely think. His large palms cradle my face, tipping my head back, and the armor I’d reinforced takes several hits, leaving it dented. But instead of pockmarked and scratched from rejection and pain, it’s from hope and faith and love.
And they’re more dangerous than any of the others.
“Asa,” I cuff his wrists, not sure if I’m hanging on or about to tug him away. “I can’t…”
“Yes, you can,” he insists, and there’s a vein of steel running through his words that brooks no argument. “You can trust me not to abandon you. You can believe in my word that I will always have your back and make you and Rose my priorities. You can rely on my love being a firm foundation for you to stand on or a springboard for you to fly from. I want to be whoever, whatever you need. Just as long as I get to love you, India.”