Asher never bothered putting Harlan in a separate room. He wanted to stay close to him—somewhere far away from Xavier.
He was furious.
Furious that his husband had been willing to go so far with someone he considered his best friend without even speaking to him first.
Maybe it was selfish.
Maybe it was unfair.
But at that moment, Asher couldn't bring himself to care.
The anger sitting inside his chest was too heavy.
"Harlan, are you awake?"
His voice was barely above a whisper as he sat beside the bed.
After dragging Harlan out of his seizure and helping him recover, Asher had opened every curtain and window in the room. Fresh air now drifted inside, replacing the suffocating atmosphere that had lingered there earlier.
The sunlight painted soft golden patterns across the floor.
For a moment, Asher simply watched him.
The usually composed man looked fragile.
Broken.
Lost.
A sight that made Asher's chest ache.
