Chapter 14
Ashby
I wanted to go home.
Not because anything was wrong or because Milow wasn’t doing okay, but because I was exhausted after a long school day and an even longer swim practice.
My shoulders still ached, my head felt full, and all I could think about was how much nicer it would be to spend a Friday night at home with her instead.
Sitting on the couch. Watching some random movie we’d both half-ignore.
Or watching her solve what felt like her millionth crossword or Sudoku, completely focused, with her tongue pressed lightly to her cheek the way it always did when she concentrated.
Still, Milow looked happy.
She smiled often, stood close to Scottie, and followed conversations easily, even chiming in with her hands now and then.
No one other than us four here understood sign language, but Scottie never missed a beat, always translating Milow’s words out loud like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I loved her for that. I loved anyone who made things easier for Milow without making a big deal out of it.
Milow had come out of her shell as she grew older.
Slowly, and in her own way. She still struggled to fit in sometimes, and I didn’t think that was a bad thing.
She didn’t blend into the background. She didn’t disappear into crowds.
She was different, and to me, that difference felt fragile and precious.
I carried this quiet fear that one day she’d change in a way I couldn’t protect anymore.
That she’d wake up and decide she didn’t need me hovering around her all the time.
I’d had nightmares about it.
About her suddenly finding her voice and using it to tell me to back off.
To stop worrying. In one dream, she’d looked right at me and called me an asshole for never leaving her side.
I’d woken up sweating, and with my heart racing, shaken by the words even though they weren’t real.
And as bad as the dream was, there had been this awful part of me that clung to the sound of her voice in it.
Because I had never heard her speak. No one had.
And I hated that whatever had happened before she was adopted had hurt her so badly that she’d learned to keep that part of herself locked away.
“Ash… Ashby, dude, where’d you go?”
Stan’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp enough to pull me back to reality. I blinked, my vision clearing as I realized I’d been staring into the void.
My eyes went straight to Milow.
She stood beside Scottie, smiling softly as she listened to a girl talk. Milow nodded along, her posture relaxed and present, like she belonged right there.
“Hm?” I snapped my gaze to Stan.
He was grinning at me with that knowing, slightly annoying grin he always wore when he thought he’d figured something out—which was rare. He followed my line of sight back to Milow and then looked at me again.
“Dude,” he said, lowering his voice just enough that it wouldn’t carry across the kitchen. “One day you’ll just have to admit your feelings and—”
“Stop.” I shot him a sharp look and turned away before he could finish the sentence, reaching for my Pepsi on the counter. I took a long sip.
“I know, I know,” he said easily, completely unfazed. “It’s hard hearing the truth.” He leaned his hip against the counter, arms crossed. “But you’re suffering here, buddy.”
“Suffering?” I raised a brow at him, lowering the can. “That’s a bit dramatic.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, looking all serious now. “You are. You’ve been madly in love with her since we were kids. Everyone sees it. I think it’s time.”
I shook my head slowly, already feeling that familiar knot tightening in my chest. My love for Milow wasn’t something I could just say out loud.
Not now. Maybe not ever. I didn’t know how she felt, and her feelings mattered more than anything.
We were best friends. We had grown up together, shared every moment, no matter how small or big.
We were each other’s safe space. And that was everything to me. She was everything to me.
Admitting what I really felt would change things. It would put something fragile at risk. And I wasn’t willing to do that.
I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Thanks,” I said quietly, “but I think you should focus on your own love story.”
His grin came back instantly, wide and confident. “Oh, I’m really focused.”
Before I had the chance to roll my eyes, Scottie appeared beside us, clapping her hands once to get our attention. “Okay,” she said, smiling up at us. “We’re going outside. Garden time.”
Stan perked up immediately. “Beer pong?”
“Obviously,” she shot back. “But, please, don’t embarrass me.”
“I make no promises,” he said, already moving.
Scottie rolled her eyes and then looked at Milow, her smile softening. “You coming?”
Milow nodded, stepping closer to me. I felt her shoulder brush my arm, and without looking down, I adjusted my stance so I was just a little closer to her.
There were small moments like these that only we noticed.
No one else saw the way we looked at each other, with all the trust we had, and no one noticed that every single touch—purposeful or not—sent a shiver down my spine.
“Let’s go,” Scottie said, following Stan to the back door.
We headed outside, and the noise of the house faded slightly.
There were fewer people out here, but still more than I had expected.
We stood near the table where four girls were finishing a game of beer pong.
Before I could say anything, Stan stepped forward and tugged Scottie in beside him, already claiming his spot.
“Ash, Milow, come on,” he said, jerking his chin toward the other side of the table, clearly expecting us to join in.
I turned my head and looked at Milow, leaving the choice up to her.
She hesitated, her gaze moving between the table, the cups, and the people standing around it.
I doubted she even knew what the game was, and for a brief second, I forgot myself and only then remembered there was alcohol in every single cup.
“We’ll pass,” I said instead.
I felt Milow relax instantly beside me, her shoulders easing the tiniest bit.
The back of my right hand brushed against her arm, the soft fabric of her cardigan touching my skin.
I wanted to take her hand. I knew it would calm her even more, and it was dark enough out here that no one would notice.
The thought of those small, secret touches made my head feel light.
“Fine,” Stan said, already distracted. He scanned the group and pointed toward two of our friends standing nearby. “Jasper, Bennett. You’re up.”
Both were in our grade. Jasper was on the swim team with me. Unlike some others at school, he and Bennett actually called Stan out when he went too far. They didn’t look thrilled about playing against him, but they stepped forward anyway and started refilling the red cups.
“It’s unfair,” Jasper said, shaking his head.
Stan raised a brow, tossing the ping-pong ball into the air and catching it again. “What’s unfair?”
Jasper nodded toward Scottie. “She’s a pro at this game.”
Scottie grinned unapologetically, lifting one shoulder in a small shrug. “Don’t worry, boys,” she said lightly. “I’ll go easy on you.”
“Thank fuck,” Bennett muttered under his breath.
I couldn’t stop a chuckle from escaping.
When it came to Scottie, most boys at school kept their distance.
But not because they were scared of her.
They were scared of getting rejected. I knew it bothered her, and she wished more people would see her as just a friend rather than someone they might get to date.
Though Scottie only had eyes for Stan, and most guys knew that.
The game started again, laughter and groans mixing with the thud of the ball hitting plastic.
I stayed where I was, watching absentmindedly.
My attention kept drifting back to Milow, who stood slightly behind me.
She was close enough that I could feel her body’s warmth.
She shifted her weight. The movement was small, but her hand brushed mine again.
This time it lingered, and it wasn’t accidental. I didn’t move right away. I didn’t want to spoil the moment. Then, slowly, I turned my hand so my fingers were open instead of curled, and I let it rest there like an invitation I pretended not to notice. A second passed, then another.
And, finally, her fingers slid into mine.
It was suddenly quiet between us, even with the noise around us. She stood a little behind my shoulder, close enough that no one could see our hands. We just held on, both of us aware of how fragile this moment was.
Her hand was just a little cold, and it fit perfectly in mine. My thumb brushed against the side of her finger, and she answered by tightening her grip just a little.
I swallowed and kept my eyes on the game, pretending to care whether Stan made the shot or not.
My heart was beating too fast for that. Every nerve in my body felt attuned to that single point where our hands met.
No one noticed. Stan was too busy talking trash.
Scottie was laughing, already lining up her next throw.
Jasper was complaining loudly. And everything carried on like normal.
But for me, everything felt different.
Milow leaned in a fraction closer, her shoulder brushing my arm now, and I had to tell myself that this was nothing, even if it was everything. I squeezed her hand once gently, and she squeezed back.
I didn’t know what this meant or what she thought about it. If it was just a simple touch she needed to feel to steady herself, or if she felt the same as I did. But what I did know was that for the first time all night, I stopped wanting to go home.
“Hi, Ashby.”