NADIA
Max stumbled in, yanking the door open behind him.
His shirt was ripped, his knuckles bloody, and a fresh bruise ravaged his cheek.
I stopped in my step along the hallway, still clutching the damp towel I'd pulled out of the laundry basket.
He was devastated. Not only physically. His energy…normally sharp and defensive…was wild and feral.
I attempted to speak, parting my lips to form words, but he cut me off. "It's done," he said, shoving his way past me. "Handled."
My gut churned.
He didn't need to say who. I knew. Asher.
Max's bedroom door shut with a crash, and the quiet that followed was more deafening than any scream.
I stood there for a good long while.
Not because I loved Max.
But because I couldn't help but think what passed across Asher's face.
The moment he asked me, "Can I love you?"
I didn't know what broke me more—his question… or the fact that I was unsure of the answer.
