Page 97 of Gravehouse

Punk: Where? I can’t access shit from this tower! Don’t do anything stupid…

I am. I stole his car.

Punk: LOL

Cold air hits my lungs as I shove the car door shut and stare up at the house. I remember standing right here years ago, that deed heavy in both hands. I found it intimidating to take in at first, what with all its towering spires and baroque flourishes. 888 Veilarath Lane was built to remind everyone exactly where they belong. Beneath it.

Naturally, I loved it the moment I saw it. I still love it, even if everything inside has been poisoned by memory.

My boots hit the same steps, but now everything’s changed.

The door swings open. “Frau Ivanya!” Jasper fills the frame, flour dusted across his forearm and a canvas duffel over his shoulder. His face splits wide as he rattles off a string of German, too fast for me to catch it all, but I get the bones.

The heating system works.

The pool filter was replaced.

The guest house roof got patched after the last storm.

I laugh, hugging him. “Hey, Jasper. You heading off?”

“Ja, holiday. One month. Back to Munich.” He taps his chest twice. “My distant aunt, she is seventy this year. Big party.”

I squeeze Jasper’s arm. “Tell her happy birthday from me.”

He nods, already moving, but stops. “Everything is good here. The garden, I will have someone come.”

My throat swells. “Go, Jasper. Enjoy it.”

I turn back to the open door and breathe in deep. This will be fine. So what if I’ve been dodging this place since everything went to shit. Asher is alive now.

Before I can enter into the house fully, the deep snarl of an expensive engine rolls up the driveway, and despite my better judgment, I glance over my shoulder.

A familiar matte black McLaren parks behind the Aston, and Asher climbs out in gray sweats and a black hoodie, with a pair of Jordans tied loose at his feet.

Pale eyes land on me, darkening and holding me there long enough for me to know he’s pissed.

He drags his gaze to Jasper, and all that anger melts into that boyish grin he’s famous for. Huh. He’s the biggest fucking play of all.

“Jasper, my guy.” He clasps his hand, yanking him into one of those one-armed grip-hug things men do. “How’s the boiler holding up?”

Jasper lights up. “Fixed. New valve, new pump. No more banging in the walls at night.”

Asher continues. “And the cabana fireplace?”

“Runs perfect. I replaced the ignition switch myself.” Jasper taps his temple. “YouTube.”

Asher laughs. “Legend.”

I watch it unfold from the top step. Why are they talking back and forth about maintenance issues like Asher owns this house and not me?

Jasper gestures toward the Aston Martin. “She drove your car here, yes?”

Asher looks up at me. The grin doesn’t fade, but the warmth behind it does. “Yeah.” He pats Jasper’s shoulder. “Does that surprise you?”

“No!” Jasper chuckles, continuing on his way. When it’s finally just Asher and me, I turn my back to him and enter the house, dumping the keys on the coffee table in the living room as the door clicks shut behind him.

This was the room where we had ouralmostfirst kiss.