Asher’s POV

My fingers clenched tighter around the glass of bourbon in my hands as I paced the length of my living room, each step echoing my agitation.

The memories of my dream with Layla kept replaying in my head in pieces. And I wouldn’t deny it—I miss every inch of her. I fucking do. All I had to do was tell her how I felt, what really transpired that night and who exactly Ava is to me. But no. I fucked it up.

If I had tried to apologize to her in a dream and she rejected it, how ...