Asher ✓

54 | notice

Ryanel nodded stiffly, his eyes lingering on Asher's face with a heart-clenching air of finality. Of goodbye. Then he flicked over the page to the next candidate's resume, and the moment was over.

Asher exhaled through the sudden tightness in his chest. It was bittersweet, leaving the organisation that started as a mere brainchild, borne of desperation and blind hope.

Somehow, over the years, Delrov Technologies had morphed into a beacon, a humming thing that provided light and guidance to the people that sought it out. The hope it ran on became less blind and more certain, but the hope it fostered shone as fiercely as ever.

They had done profound and inspiring things, the four of them, but Asher couldn't deny himself anymore. The passion he had for the racetrack had never subsided. Not since he was first put through the ringer by Herschel Donte when he was a teenager, not since his first victory on Sparrow Road and not even after being thrown off his bike by a drunk driver.

He loved Delrov Technologies, but it had always felt like a way station. A stepping stone, to greater things. 

No, not greater.

Right-er things. Things more natural and familiar. Easier-than-breathing things.

Being CEO of a philanthropic prosthetic company was very rewarding work, but it was work all the same. Racing, competing, soaring, would forever feel like coming home.

Which is why he couldn't stay — Asher owed himself that much. He had to prove to himself that he could still do the things he once could, or at least give it his best shot. He would visit often, of course, and accompany their scheduled visits to charities and hospitals.

"Will you come to watch me on Friday?" Asher asked Ryanel.

Friday was to be his re-entry into the industry. Thinking about it made him sometimes excited, sometimes fearful and sometimes anticipate. Always, however, restless.

"Please."

"I know you've always hated people worrying about you," Ryanel murmured. His gaze was trained intently on someone's cover letter, and his tone was oddly thick. "You think they look at you and see weakness. But I've never thought that you're weak, and I've always worried about you. I— I don't want to watch. I can't watch."

Asher's breath caught. "But, Tallulah's organised VIP seating for you. For you, and Dad, and Kerrish."

Kerrish had returned to New York that month, after somehow managing to complete a single law degree at six different universities across Europe and South America via exchange programmes. He was still outgoing and charming but somehow more grounded. 

He certainly wouldn't elbow any old ladies out of his way anymore.

After visiting the Delrov Technologies headquarters, Kerrish seemed to be inspired to make the same sort of positive impact with his life.

And on Friday, the gang was supposed to be reunited once more.

"Well, find someone else to take. Maybe Travis or Peyton? Or even ask Kelvin and Annalise — they're business folk but I'm sure they won't mind rubbing shoulders with petrol heads for a night."

"I will be fine. You don't need to be worried," Asher insisted. 

"Maybe I'm as pissed as I am worried," Ryanel admitted hotly. 

When he finally raised his brown eyes to Asher's, it felt like being bowled over by an ocean wave. "Because we've been scrambling these last two weeks after you handed your notice in. Did you ever consider that the only reason I came on board was because of you? Because you asked for my help three years ago. And now you're the one jumping ship, and expecting me to clean up after you."

"What? Are— Have you been unhappy here? All these years . . ." Asher's heart clenched. "Have you only stayed for me?"

"No," Ryanel spat. 

He defended himself a bit too quickly, and after that, was silent for a bit too long, that it made Asher want to cry out of guilt. "I like the work. And I like the people. But I've gotten opportunities to leave that I've declined because . . . Well, I don't know. You're leaving now, and I'll do your job, and everything will be fine. I shouldn't have said anything."

"You should have said something sooner. I can't believe you'd do something like that for me."

"That's what friends do, right?"

Something about the acidic bite to that word made Asher think of drawn curtains and late nights in bed but not sleeping — for some bizarre reason. His finger twitched, seemingly wanting to close the gap and comfort Ryanel physically.

But they were at work. And Ryanel was furious with him. And he was with Tallulah.

"I'm sorry. I haven't been the friend you deserve lately," Asher apologised, swatting away the alarming thoughts that overtook him.

Ryanel's gaze softened a fraction, and darted down to Asher's leg so rapidly it was nearly imperceptible. "People don't always get what they deserve."

"Still—"

"Go be happy, Asher," Ryanel interrupted. 

He was back to staring at the documents in front of him. The tightness in his jaw and mysteriously glassy eyes told Asher not to say anything else. 

Plus, Annalise and Kelvin had pushed open the glass door and entered the room with two coffees each — having memorised each other's preferences a long time ago — and there'd probably be an interviewee waiting in the foyer. 

Time marched on, as always.

"Go be happy," Ryanel repeated lowly. "But don't expect me to be."