Not long after the accident, Ashton told me he didn’t care about hiding anymore. He didn’t want to make some big social media announcement—said it wasn’t anyone’s business—but now that his family knew, he was done sneaking around. If being gay cost him customers, then he didn’t want their money in the first place.
He’s come a long way since we first met.
I couldn’t be prouder to have him by my side.
I glance over. He’s practically buzzing, green eyes bright, talking about the movie we’re about to see like it’s the most exciting thing in the world.
“…and the trailer made it look insane,” he’s saying. “Like, full-on explosions, car chases, the whole thing—”
I smile, squeezing his hand. “You’ve told me.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think you fully understand how cool it’s gonna be.”
“I think I do,” I say dryly. “Loud noises. Things blowing up. Probably some guy jumping off a building for no reason.”
He grins, dimples and all. “Exactly!”
I shake my head, laughing under my breath. Action movies aren’t really my thing—I’ve always preferred comedies and rom-coms, anything that can make me laugh and cry. But Ashton loves this shit. Thrillers, explosions, adrenaline.
And I’d sit through a hundred of them if it means seeing that look on his face.
The little single-screen theater comes into view at the end of the block, its old marquee sign glowing against the gray sky. The scent of buttered popcorn drifts out to meet us, and my stomach growls in response.
As we get closer, I feel his grip tighten just a little, his excitement bleeding through the contact.
He’s been restless these past couple weeks.
Luke and Phoebe have been helping with the barn—tearing things down, hauling lumber, doing the heavy lifting—but I can tell it’s eating at him. Not being in control. Not being the one doing the work.
Doesn’t stop him from trying, though.
I still haven’t recovered from walking into the barn the other day and finding him hammering one-handed, holding the board steady with his knee, a nail clenched between his teeth. Sweat sliding down his neck, muscles flexing with every swing.
Completely reckless.
Completely stupid.
And… completely fucking sexy.
But it didn’t stop me from scolding him. The last thing he needs is to get hurt again and drag this recovery out even longer.
I clear my throat, dragging my focus back to the present.
We’re passing the Italian place on the corner when Ashton suddenly slows.
I follow his gaze—and my stomach drops.
Mark and Debbie.
They’re standing just outside the entrance, Debbie clutching a take-out box, bundled against the cold. For a second, no one moves. We just stare at each other, the moment stretching tight and thin.
The air turns brittle.
They haven’t reached out to Ashton since they left the hospital. Not once. No calls. No texts. Nothing.
Ashton’s hand stiffens in mine, but he doesn’t let go.
Mark’s eyes drop immediately to where our fingers are intertwined. His mouth tightens, a scowl pulling at his lips. Debbie just stares, her fingers gripping her purse strap so tightly her knuckles turn pale.
