“Just leave me alone for a minute.” The voice came from within the storage room. I stood at the door, waiting for my eyes to adjust, trying to pin down which direction his voice had come from.

“News flash, that isn’t happening, so you might as well talk to me.”

His breathing hitched, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Asher was cusping the edge of tears. Asher never cried. Even when he broke his wrist when we were ten, he refused to shed a tear. My heart ached and pulled toward him. We’d shared everything for twenty-one years, including a womb. When he hurt, I hurt. He was part of me, and I couldn’t stand hearing such pain coming from my other half.

And all because things had gone a little too far the other night.

I followed the ragged breathing. A few steps into the room, the white glow of his robe caught my eye. He sat slumped down against the wall, legs drawn to his chest, face buried in his knees.

I knew Asher was beating himself up for what had happened, but I didn’t know how tortured he felt until I saw him.

I kneeled in front of him on the icy concrete floor and rested a comforting hand on his head, threading fingers through his thick hair in a consoling gesture. “Ash, come on. It’s no big deal. Shit happens. I’m not gonna get weird about it. Let it go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why are you letting yourself suffer like this? So we took it too far. It was a mistake. I’m not gonna hold it over your head or tell anyone. It didn’t mean anything. We were in the moment and—”

“But that’s the problem.” He lifted his head, knocking my touch away, and although I could only make out the basic contours of his face, his eyes glistened in the small amount of light that reached us. “Don’t you get it? It wasn’t a mistake, and it did mean something, and I took advantage of a situation for my own disgusting, perverted pleasure.”

He growled and slammed his fist against the hard ground. “There is something fucking wrong with me, Atticus. I’m not okay, and I can’t make it go back to how it was. My head is broken and mixed up, and it won’t stop.”

He took hold of his hair, growling and pulling. I covered his hands with my own, trying to stop him.

“What are you talking about?”

He choked on a sob and pushed my hands away again. “Aren’t you listening? I’m a pervert, and I fucking used this bullshit acting excuse to get my hands on you. To do … stuff to you. How can you even look at me?”

He pushed me away a third time and buried his face.