Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Zane balanced the tray with one hand, allowing his gaze to drift to Asha’s sparse selection of a plain omelet and black coffee. He didn’t bother hiding his disapproval as he grabbed a small salad and a bottle of orange juice, placing them on the tray beside her choices.
“That’s unnecessary,” she said, clearly sharp with annoyance.
“Not for someone who hasn’t eaten all day,” he replied without hesitation, leading the way to the cashier.
She frowned but didn’t argue further, trailing behind him. At the register, however, she stepped forward and slid her card across the counter before he could stop her.
“I’ve got this.” She cut him off with a look that brooked no argument.
“Asha—”
“No.” Her lips curved into a small, victorious smile. “This one’s mine. Don’t argue.”
His clenched his jaw but let the moment pass, shaking his head as they carried their trays to a small table near the window. He lowered himself into one of the plastic chairs, the frame groaning under his weight. It wasn’t built for someone his size, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t pinch his shoulders.
Asha sat across from him, cutting her omelet into neat bites. She didn’t meet his gaze, her focus fixed on her plate.
“Not much has changed in Peaceful,” Zane said, spearing a piece of lettuce with his fork.
Her brow arched as she glanced up. “Oh? Like what?”
“Well, for one, Michelson is still the school principal.”
Her fork paused midair, her eyes widening. “You’re kidding. He must be ancient by now.”
“At least eighty,” Zane replied with a chuckle. “Saw him last week at the hardware store. Still had that clipboard like he’s patrolling the halls.”
Asha’s laugh was warm and genuine, and for a moment, it was as if no time had passed. Zane felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite name—nostalgia, maybe, or longing.
But as her laughter faded, her smile dropped, and she turned her attention back to her plate. “You’re still in Peaceful,” she said quietly, carefully.
“Yeah.” Zane leaned forward. “It’s home.”
She set down her fork, and her shoulders tensed like she was bracing herself. “I couldn’t stay. I had to leave.”
He studied her, his fork all but forgotten on the tray. “You don’t visit much either.” Zane kept his tone light but his gaze sharp.
She hesitated, brushing her fingers absently over the edge of her coffee cup. “It’s... complicated,” she allowed.
“Complicated how?” he pressed.
She tightened her lips and shook her head. “I had plans. Ambitions. I wanted more than what our hometown could offer.”
Zane clenched his jaw, the old bitterness flaring to life. “You left because of college.” He drew out the words, watching her reaction. “But that’s not the whole story, is it?”
Her eyes flicked to his, dark and guarded, before she looked away. “Does it matter?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah.” He softened his voice. “It matters.”
Asha let out a slow breath, her shoulders sagging. “I didn’t just leave Peaceful, Zane. I left... everything. I had to.”
His chest tightened, and the way she said it—like she was protecting something, hiding something—set his instincts on edge. He wanted to push, to demand answers, but the way her fingers trembled against her cup stopped him.
Instead, he said, “You never came back. Not really. Why?”
She shook her head, the corner of her mouth twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Because I couldn’t,” she said.
He leaned back in his chair, curling his fingers beneath the table. There was more to the story—he was sure of it—but he wasn’t going to get it out of her. Not today.
“Must’ve been lonely,” he said after a pause.
Asha’s gaze softened, and her silence said more than any words could.
The tension between them stretched, thick and unyielding. Zane studied her, the weight of the past pressing heavily on his chest. He’d believed he’d moved on—that enough time, work, and distance had dulled the edges she’d left behind.
But sitting here with her now, it was clear he hadn’t. Not completely.
The first few years, he’d pined for her harder than he cared to admit. Couldn’t understand why she hadn’t answered his calls, texts, or emails. He’d even considered stepping on a bus to Columbus to find her at the university, simply to see her. But his training schedule had been brutal, the hours relentless, and excuses stacked up until they became habit.
So, he’d dated. Tried to move on. A few brief flings, a handful of first dates that never led to second ones. At the time, he told himself it was the job—being on call, the adrenaline spikes, the lack of routine. But looking at her now, all that armor wrapped around a face he still dreamed about sometimes, he knew better.
It wasn’t the job.
It was her.
He wanted to reach for her, to close the distance between them, but the invisible wall she’d built was impossible to ignore.
They finished their meals in silence, the easy laughter from before a distant memory. As they stood to leave, Zane glanced at her one last time, searching her face for something—anything—that might give him a clue to the secrets she was holding.
Her expression was calm, composed, but her eyes... her eyes betrayed her.
Asha reacted with a small jolt when Zane’s hand closed over hers, warm and firm. Despite the shock, his touch grounded her in the moment. She looked down at his hand, rough from years of firefighting, and her chest tightened. It was a touch that carried weight, the kind of connection she’d craved for years but didn’t deserve.
She glanced up at him, his hazel eyes locked on hers with an intensity that sent a shiver through her. He wasn’t the same boy she’d left behind, and yet he was—steady, strong, and quietly commanding. The same Zane who had once made her feel invincible.
But she wasn’t invincible. She never had been.
“I had to leave.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Zane tilted his head, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand. “Why?”
She parted her lips, and for a fleeting moment, the urge to tell him everything rose like a wave.
To confess the truth she’d buried so deeply it had shaped the very direction of her life. The truth that haunted her every time she thought of high school, her hometown… and the shame that had clung to her ever since.
The truth that she’d run.
Because of him .
Because their mentor—and everyone’s favorite teacher—had crossed a line, and she hadn’t known how to make him step back. It had started small. Flattery. Light touches. Harmless, she’d told herself. Until it wasn’t. Until prom night, when the smile she’d trusted became something else entirely.
She squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her mouth shut tighter. No. She couldn’t go there. Not now. Maybe not ever.
“I’ve already told you.” With years of training in suppressing emotions to guide her, she kept her voice steady. “College. Ambition. A chance to move forward in life.”
The lie tasted bitter, even though it had been her truth for so long. It was the version of her story she’d fed to everyone—her parents, her colleagues, herself.
But to Zane, it felt hollow.
His brows furrowed, and his forehead creased. Doubt flickered in his expression. “That’s not all of it.”
Asha’s heart thudded, and she tried to pull away her hand, but he didn’t let go. His grip was gentle, but it anchored her, keeping her tethered to a moment she desperately wanted to escape.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said tightly. “It’s in the past.”
“Is it?” Zane searched her gaze. “Because it doesn’t feel that way.”
She swallowed hard, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her instinct was to push him away, to shut him out before he could dig any deeper, but his obvious sincerity made her hesitate.
Asha closed her eyes briefly, drew a shaky breath. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Zane hesitated, his thumb pausing in its soft, rhythmic stroke. “Okay,” he said, his tone gentler now. “I won’t push.”
The relief was immediate but short-lived. The shame still clung to her, heavy and suffocating. She hated herself for not being brave enough to tell him the truth, for letting her fear win again.
At least to herself, she could admit it: leaving Peaceful hadn’t been about ambition. It had been a flight—a desperate attempt to escape the weight of what had happened, the pain and humiliation that had swallowed her whole.
The memory was always there, waiting. That night after prom. The dizzy confusion. The too-sweet punch. The way he’d smiled, guiding her away from the crowd with a hand at the small of her back, like he was doing her a favor.
She didn’t know what she’d expected, maybe something related to her studies or her university application.
She hadn’t expected him to kiss her, to push her down and take what wasn’t his to take.
She remembered the sudden pressure, and the tearing, all-consuming pain. Her body resisting, but his insistence stronger. The shock of it.
Afterward, she’d locked herself in a bathroom stall, shaking and bleeding. She hadn’t known what to do. Had used a period pad to stop the blood, her fingers trembling so badly she could barely open the wrapper. She’d sat on the closed toilet seat, staring at the tiled floor, swallowing sobs she didn’t understand.
She hadn’t even told her friends. Not her parents. Certainly not Zane.
She hadn’t understood it herself—not then. He was respected. Admired. Beloved. And she… she must’ve done something wrong. Worn the wrong dress. Smiled too much. Misread everything.
She ran. And she never looked back.
Her throat tightened, and she forced herself to look at him again. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steadier now.
Zane gave her hand a small squeeze before releasing it. “Anytime.”
But as they stood and began heading back toward her father’s room, Asha couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d left something important unsaid. Asha’s mind churned with unspoken truths and simmering tension. The way Zane looked at her, like he could see right through her and down to her soul, shook her. He had always been able to read her too well, and that made spending time with him dangerous—far too dangerous for the secrets she carried.
And that was a bad thing.
Her parents were both hospitalized. Her mother would need surgery, recovery and rehab, and her father’s condition still felt fragile and uncertain. She couldn’t leave Peaceful, not now, not for the foreseeable future. Staying meant more run-ins with Zane, more moments like this, where his steady presence and quiet determination chipped away at the walls she’d spent years building.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. The stubborn set of his jaw and the glint in his hazel eyes—more green than brown under the harsh hospital lights—told her he didn’t intend to leave her alone.
Straightening her spine, Asha forced a smile onto her lips, one she hoped passed as confident. She’d have to deal with him, deal with his relentless care, without letting herself make the mistake of falling for him all over again.
She couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not ever.