Beyond the Horizon (Sons of Templar MC #4)(74)

“What am I doing here?” he repeated. His eyes ran over me once more, and he must have seen it, whatever was painted on my face to give me away because his face softened and he advanced on me. My body immediately relaxed when it became enveloped in his musky scent, when his large hand rested on my hip, the other spanning my chin.

“Fuck, Lily. What happened? Are you okay?” His gaze flickered over my scantily-clad body in concern, looking for an outward sign of injury. Only it wasn’t the outside of me that was bleeding, or that was damaged. Luckily even his eagle gaze couldn’t spot that.

His eyes met mine.

I ached to tell him. To let his strong shoulders carry the weight that settled on top of me. I knew he’d do it. Take everything off he could, carry it for miles if he had to. I knew he was strong enough to help. That he would in a heartbeat once I uttered the truth. But I couldn’t. This wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t what I wanted us to be. Him constantly having to pick up the pieces of the life that always seemed to be in tatters. He couldn’t fix this anyway.

“Lily,” he said softly, firmly. His tone was saturated with concern, though the hard edge hinted at anger.

“There was a small incident. At the club. Bex is in the hospital,” I said slowly, knowing parts of the truth would be the best way to go.

Asher’s body stilled. “Is she okay?”

I nodded. “She’s fine,” I lied. “I’ve been with her, just making sure.”

“Who do I have to kill?” he growled. It unnerved me that he sounded serious. The gun poking out the side of his cut reinforced the seriousness. The irony of the fact there was nothing the big bad biker and his equally bad gun could do to repair this situation was not lost on me.

“No one. It was an accident like I said. No heads for you to crack,” I told him quietly, the only honest part of this conversation. I hoped this was an accident. The bile that I tasted over the fact it could’ve been done intentionally didn’t go away with any rational thought. I focused on Asher. On getting him out of here.

“Jesus,” he muttered again. “Why didn’t you call me? I’ve been out of my mind with worry, flower.” The hand at my hip tightened.

My foggy mind thought back to the fate of my phone. “I smashed my phone, dropped it,” I explained, mentally groaning. There was no way I could afford another phone.

“Payphones exist for a reason,” he shot back, an edge to his previously soft voice. “I’ve been tearing up this town lookin’ for you, babe, worried out of my mind.”

I cast my eyes downward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. My mind was preoccupied,” I told him honestly.

He looked at me, stared into my eyes in a way I was worried he’d see through all of my lies, he’d see the truth playing beyond my haunted gaze. I knew he had power, power over me, but I didn’t think that translated to supernatural mind reading abilities. Lucky. Or else I’d be screwed. The man who was quickly consuming my entire shattered soul may have been hard on the outside, but the soft center was filled with a man who wanted to protect, to take care of me. The weak girl who couldn’t even breathe without help.

He paused. “You’re dead on your feet, let’s get you to bed,” he declared finally.

It wasn’t lost on me that anger seemed to simmer below the surface. He had swallowed it for me, out of concern, despite his inner alpha that screamed at him to demand I tell him where I was at all times. I wanted to hate both parts of him. Instead, I loved them. Therein lay the problem.

All I wanted was to surrender to the pressure at my hips, to crawl into bed with him and forget the world. I couldn’t. I had responsibility.

“I think you should go,” I said slowly.

Asher’s expression changed. “What?” he clipped.

“You should go home. You’re right. I need to sleep, alone,” I told him firmly, stepping out of his embrace, I felt the warmth leave me, the comfort of his presence. I held my back up despite the exhaustion knowing at the edges of my mind.

He stood woodenly, staring at my retreating form. “I thought we were done with this shit,” he uttered quietly. “That you were done running from me, from us.”

“I’m not running,” I whispered.

He gave me a cold glare that chilled my already frozen bones. “You f*cking are,” he clipped.

“Having one night to myself, to catch my breath, to fricking sleep, is not running,” I snapped in irritation. My emotions were raw, needing an outlet. Asher was the closest thing. “I can’t have you claim every inch of me, every inch of my time when I need it. I need some time to myself. To rebuild the remains of my pathetic life. To figure out who I am,” I yelled.

Asher stepped forward, his face soft. “I know who you are, flower,” he began softly.

I stepped back my emotions exposed, like a raw nerve. Everything came tumbling out. “What? Yours? Some ideal version of me you’ve constructed in your head from our time together. You can’t know who I am when I don’t even know. People keep telling me who I’m not, who I should be. I’m so tired of it,” my voice was hoarse.

“I’m not people,” he growled. “I’m your f*cking person,” he continued fiercely. “Yours.”

I let him approach me, breathing heavily, my soul open, speaking more words than I ever had before.