I sink back into my seat.
“I wasn’t—” I stop myself, shoulders slumping withdefeat. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, more tired than angry. “Do you know how miserable I was tonight?” His voice cracks just slightly. “All I wanted to do was crawl into your lap and kiss you. Instead, I had to sit there and pretend you were just… some new friendly acquaintance of mine.”
I stare down at my hands. “I didn’t realize you were miserable too.”
He lets out a humorless laugh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Of course I was miserable. This whole thing sucks.”
The truck idles between us, engine rumbling low. Outside, the parking lot is nearly empty now, the marina quiet except for the faint clink of halyards against masts in the distance.
“I don’t hate Phoebe,” I say quietly. “I was just… jealous.”
His eyes flick to me, like he’s waiting for me to elaborate.
“I hate watching her touch you,” I admit, the words scraping on the way out. “Knowing you two used to sleep together.”
Ashton exhales, not irritated—just tired. He reaches across the center console and laces his fingers through mine, tugging my hand into his lap. His thumb strokes slow, steady lines over my knuckles. The simple contact eases the frantic panic in my chest.
“Listen to me,” he says, voice firm but not unkind. “Phoebe was my friend long before we ever started hooking up. And now that we’ve stopped, she’s not going to stop being my friend. She had her arm around me—that’s it.”
I swallow, giving a short, understanding nod.
“She’s the one who made me face the truth I’d been dodging for years,” he continues. “She called me out. She told me I was hiding. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have had the guts to chase this thing with you.”
His thumb presses a little more deliberately into my skin, grounding.
“She’s important to me,” he says. “But not like that. Not anymore. That part is done.”
I stare at our joined hands resting in his lap, anchoring myself to the quiet certainty in his voice.
“And you,” he adds softly, “are not some temporary experiment. I’m trying to build something real here. That means figuring out how to blend you into my life, with the people I care about, even if it’s messy.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, meaning it. “I did have fun tonight. Even if it was hard pretending we’re just friends.” I squeeze his hand. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, though. Because I know how much this matters to you.”
He gives a soft, timid smile. “Of course it means a lot to me, Troy. I want the people I love to get to know my boyfriend—even if they don’t know he’s my boyfriend yet.”
My head snaps up, startled by that tiny, encouraging word.
Yet.
“Do you think you’d want to tell them we’re boyfriends someday?” I ask carefully, searching his face for any hint of hesitation.
He bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. “Maybe someday, yeah.” He shrugs faintly. “I’m not going to, like, make some big announcement or anything. But… I think we could tell a few people I trust. Phoebe. Maybe Olivia. And whoever else you’d want to tell.”
I swallow hard. “You don’t want to tell Luke?” I ask quietly, knowing how close they are. “Or your parents?”
In the glow of the dashboard lights, I catch the faint shine in his emerald eyes. “I don’t think they’d understand,” he says, his voice flat and defeated.
I lift my free hand and brush my thumb gently along his cheek, cradling his face. “Luke loves you. Your parents love you—”
“My dad’s never told me he loves me,” he cuts in, hoarse. A single tear slips free before he can stop it. “Not once. He’s not… he’s not that kind of father.”
The confession hits me like a blow.
My own father might be a selfish asshole at times, but even he’s muttered those three words before—usually around the holidays, whispered under his breath like it physically pained him—but he said them. I always knew, on some level, that I mattered to him.
“I was born to be an heir to the orchard,” he says, voice raw. “Not to be his son.”
