Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“Lucy,” he says suddenly, voice rough enough to pull my gaze without permission. “Come here a sec.”
I stand, brushing glitter off my jeans. “If this is about the tinsel again, I swear it’s fire-safe.”
“It’s not.” He jerks his chin toward a corner where it’s quieter. “Just come.”
My pulse jumps. I follow him toward the back wall of the garage, weaving past toolboxes and stacks of wrapped presents. Holly keeps drawing at the far table, humming to herself. Good. She won’t overhear anything. When we stop, Ash crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against a support beam. Not casually. There’s nothing casual about him. This is the stance he takes when he’s interrogating someone.
“You okay?” he asks. The question lands heavier than it should.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I counter.
His eyes narrow. “Don’t deflect.”
I wince. I hate that he’s learning my habits. Or maybe I love that he is. Which is worse.
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
He scans my entire face—slow, careful—until I feel completely transparent.
Then: “No, you’re not.”
I blink. “Wow. Rude.”
“Truthful.”
He pushes off the beam, stepping closer. Close enough that I feel heat roll off him. Close enough that my breath catches.
“Something’s been bothering you,” he says, low. “You’ve been jumpy all week.”
“Maybe I just have a lot going on.”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, “you’re avoiding talking about it.”
Damn him. Damn his intuition. Damn the way he looks at me. Damn the way my throat tightens.
“Ash,” I whisper, “I’m really okay. Just tired.”
He tilts his head, studying me like he can read every lie I’ve ever told. “Lucy.” His voice drops to a warning. “Talk to me.”
There it is—the unfiltered command underneath his calm. The thing that makes my knees go weak and my spine straighten at the same time. I swallow. Hard. “You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “You’re not going to like it.”
“I’ll manage.”
I exhale shakily. “Fine.”
And I tell him. Not everything at once. But enough to rip open the wound I’ve kept stitched tight since arriving in Devil’s Peak. “I left Denver,” I begin, “because I needed a fresh start.”
He waits.
“My ex cheated,” I say flatly. “On me. Repeatedly. With someone younger, blonder, and impressive in absolutely no ways except the ones that mattered to him.”
Ash’s jaw flexes so hard I hear the teeth grind. I keep going, because if I stop, the words will rot inside me again.
“When I found out, he said it was my fault. That I’d ‘changed.’ That I wasn’t fun anymore. That caring for my grandmother had made me… boring.”
I laugh—sharp, humorless. “Imagine that. Sacrificing your life for someone who raised you, only to be told it made you unlikable.”
Ash’s fists clench. I stare at the floor.
“My grandma got sick last winter,” I whisper. “I was her only family. I spent months driving her to treatments. Sitting beside her hospital bed. Reading to her. Feeding her. Living in this… constant fear of losing the person who meant everything to me.”
My throat tightens.
“She passed in the spring.” I feel the ground shift beneath my feet as the memory rises—cold and lonely and sharp. “And two weeks later,” I say softly, “he left. Said he’d outgrown the relationship. Said I’d changed too much.”
Silence swallows the garage.
Ash’s breathing has changed. Deeper. Rougher. Controlled only by sheer force of will.
“Lucy,” he says, voice shaking with contained fury, “why the hell didn’t you tell me that sooner?”
“Because it wasn’t your business.”
“The hell it wasn’t.”
I raise a brow. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
He steps closer—too close. My back grazes the wall. He cages me there, not touching, but absolutely claiming the air around me.
“Nobody,” he growls, “gets to treat you like that. Nobody gets to break you and walk away like you’re replaceable.”
My breath stutters. He leans in, just enough that my lips tingle with heat.
“You are not boring,” he says fiercely. “You are not unlikable. And you damn sure aren’t someone a man outgrows.”
“Ash…”
He breathes hard, fighting something. Fighting himself. Fighting us.
“You don’t let people in easily,” he murmurs. “I’ve seen that. Felt that.”
I swallow. “Yeah, well. Getting burned does that.”
“Then why tell me now?”
I meet his eyes—dark, molten, consuming. “Because,” I whisper, “you asked.”
His jaw softens. Not much. Just enough to make him look painfully human.
“Lucy…” He closes his eyes for a second, like he’s fighting the urge to pull me into him. “…you deserved better.”
The words slam into me. Heavy. Real. Raw. I blink back sudden heat behind my eyes. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you mean them.”
He opens his eyes, staring at me like I’m something breakable and dangerous all at once. “I do.”
I shake my head. “Ash…”
He lifts a hand—hesitates—then rests it against the wall beside my head instead of touching me.
“Whoever he was,” Ash says, voice now low enough to curl around my spine, “he was a coward for leaving.”
I laugh bitterly. “No. He just didn’t love me enough.”