I should be grateful he was alive—and I was. No matter how many promises he broke, there would never be a version of me that didn’t care whether he lived or died. But I couldn’t look at him without imagining what could’ve happened, and I couldn’t imagine what could’ve happened without feeling sick. This was about more than the race or even a broken promise. It was about who Asher was at his core. He was a good person, and I loved who he was, but he also possessed a streak of impulsive recklessness that verged on self-destructive. If he destroyed himself, he destroyed me, and once upon a time,
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