Chapter 6
Kieran
Something was wrong.
It was in how Ashby wouldn’t quite meet my eyes when he smiled, in the minute pause before he laughed at some joke Ezra made.
Just as the bad guys realised Bruce Willis was a problem, I leaned into Ashby, my head on his shoulder.
While he didn’t move away, I sensed the tension rolling off him in quiet waves.
Was I pushing us along too quickly? At least he wasn’t running.
Ezra bowed out early to meet his brother, and Dom left just before the movie ended to join some other friends for a pub outing.
By the time Ashby and I hugged Jude goodbye and stepped outside, thick, feathery snowflakes drifted through the glow of streetlamps and dissolved the instant they met warmth.
We walked a few steps in silence, and I told myself it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just us revelling in the light fall of snow, right? Right. Yes.
“Hey.” I bumped our hands together. “Can I walk you home?”
He slid me a look I couldn’t read. “It’s not exactly far.”
“I know.” Snow caught in his lashes; I wanted to brush it away. “So, can I walk you home?”
The cold shaped his flat chuckle into a brief swirl of white. “Is this part of your wooing ritual?”
“Yep.” I sent him my biggest, cheesiest smile. “Is it working?”
“You do realise you’re ridiculous, right?” It carried a hint of affection, but there was more to it—sadness, resignation. Why? Again, his gaze slipped away from mine. My throat went a little tight as I watched his profile.
“Well,” I said softly. “I’m years behind you.
It’s only fair that I make a bigger effort now.
” Was it all a bit much, maybe? I had a tendency to go overboard, but I hadn’t even done anything yet.
He’d seemed slightly embarrassed by how the other three had swooped in like pigeons, pecking at the edges of our new… our something, label pending.
I thought about asking him why he hadn’t told Jude or Ezra about how he’d loved me for years. Hadn’t told anyone, by all accounts. But I knew him well enough to suspect how he’d answer—that it would have made it too real when all this time, he’d fought to get over me.
No use stirring up those negative memories.
“Kieran,” was all he said after several moments had slid by in silence, our footsteps swallowed by the thin layer of fresh snow. His voice was flat, almost hopeless. “Can you just…”
“What?” I asked, hushed. “What is it, Ash?”
He drew us to a stop under a streetlamp, the snow coming down heavier now.
I tipped my face up to watch a silent flurry of flakes dance through the cone of light, closed my eyes for a moment, fully focused on the pinprick sensation of cold snow on my cheeks and forehead. On Ashby, just out of my reach.
London felt light years away—the vinyl floors of the clinic, the ever-present smell of antiseptic, the rush of a shift that refused to end, ever.
When I blinked my lids back open, he was watching me with an expression that seemed fragile, like the delicate thread of frost flowers across the windowpane of a nearby car. I let my lips tug into an upwards curve and waited, our breaths dissolving like fog into the night.
“Dom seems to love it in London,” Ashby eventually said, as if he’d caught a glimpse of my thoughts. His tone was painstakingly neutral. Don’t mind me—just sharing an observation of no importance. Easy enough to conclude when Dom had been talking about the city in quick, excited words.
“I think it’s mostly the novelty,” I said. “Plus, he loves cinema and musicals.”
Something flashed across Ashby’s face, too quick to read. But wait. Wait. Was this why he’d gone all strange and quiet—because he wondered how much I loved it there? I’d already told him, kind of, that I hadn’t seen much of it other than the hospital and the Tube. Only that had been before.
I watched him hesitate, squinting against a snowflake that had caught in his eyelashes. “Right,” he said after several seconds, and Christ, he’d never held back around me before.
Actually, he’d held back around me for a decade.
“I don’t love it,” I told him, so quiet it melted in with the falling snow. “It’s too big for my taste.”
His gaze snapped to me, doubt twisting his mouth. “Is it, really?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to live in a place where it takes me an hour to get to work, packed in like sardines.”
“So you’ll…” He trailed off, then raised his chin. “What about that offer you got? With the hotshot doctor who thinks you walk on water. Sounds like it’s a big deal.”
Ah.
Dom must have said something and yeah, okay. That explained the sudden shift in Ashby’s mood. Why hadn’t he just fucking asked me, though?
“It is.” I left it at that, holding his eyes in the gleam of the streetlamp, daring him to put actual words to his worries.
Ashby pressed his lips together, eyes narrowing. “He thinks you’ll take it.”
And there it was.
Slowly, I shook my head. “I won’t. A couple of days ago? Yeah, maybe. Now? No way.”
“You…” His expression cracked apart—confusion, then disbelief. “Isn’t that a huge career opportunity?”
I responded with a light shrug. “Yeah.”
“And you’re just gonna throw that away?”
“No.” I cleared my throat, the back of my neck a little hot from the weight of his focus. “I’m looking at my options, and staying in London doesn’t feel like the best one.”
“Because of me?” Half question, half statement, snow swirling around him. His eyes were wide, velvety dark in the low light. I thought about reaching for him but didn’t because—fuck, this was new territory for us, and he seemed… I didn’t know. He’d never looked at me this way.
“Partly, yes.” I let my voice drop low, glancing away and back at him.
“Mostly, I guess. I’m not a big city person.
I could have handled it for another couple of years, but now, with us…
” The ground felt a little unsteady—like I was stepping onto thin ice, not sure whether it would hold, while Ashby was watching me with a kind of attention so intense it bordered on physical.
“I know you haven’t made up your mind yet about whether I’m just playing around or whatever. But I really, really missed you. So.”
It came out slightly tangled, my tongue tripping over unplanned words. He stared at me for another frozen moment, and then slowly shook his head. “I can’t let you do that.”
My chest was too small to contain the frantic beating of my heart. “Do what?”
“Sacrifice such a huge opportunity for me. You might resent me further down the line.” His voice came out clear, determined.
“Hardly.” I exhaled around a small, helpless laugh.
“Seriously, Ash—when have you ever heard me talk about wanting some big, fancy career? I just want to do something that feels worthwhile. It’s been so busy that I haven’t had a lot of time to really think about it, but it could be GP training, maybe even at the hospital here.
Or paediatrics—that’d be Durham, I guess. ”
“You, uh.” He sounded like someone trying to solve a puzzle that wouldn’t come together. “You’re good with kids.”
“Yeah, it’s just… It can be tough, you know?
” I made a seesawing motion with my hand, not even sure what I was trying to convey.
“My last shift, I had this nine-year-old girl—severe asthma attacks, bright pink slippers, just refusing to let it slow her down. And I watched her fight for breath and felt completely useless.”
“You’re not, though.” Ashby’s voice was a little rough now, shifting closer as though he didn’t even realise it.
“How do you know?” I cleared my throat, felt like I needed to look away from the brightness in his eyes. “What if I slip up? What if I overlook something?”
“Hey. Kieran, hey.” Ashby’s gloved hand grabbed my shoulder, squeezing hard. “You’re good. I know you are.”
“How?” I didn’t mean for it to come out quite so lost.
“Because I know you.” There was utter conviction in his tone. “I know that when you throw yourself into something? You’re all in.”
“Ash.” It felt like a plea. I covered his hand with mine, and what I meant was, I am, I’m all in for this, you. Something about him went still—searching my face for what, I didn’t know. Eventually, his lips curved up.
“Yeah,” he murmured, not quite an answer or maybe it was. His posture still held a hint of caution, so I chose not to push the point when he let go.
We started walking again, side by side, careful not to slip on any ice hidden beneath the thin dusting of snow.
Bare branches waved with a light breeze, and when he angled his shoulder towards me, I reached for his hand.
Our gloves turned it rather less intimate, but it was the thought that counted, right? He didn’t pull away.
“For tomorrow,” he said after a quiet minute, tone much lighter. “It’s still at five that you guys come over, right? I swear, my parents have spent the last two weeks in a summit-level debate on pinot versus merlot. Daily progress reports and all.”
His long-suffering tone made me bite down on a smile. He loved his parents; they just didn’t always see eye to eye. “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll tell Mum and Shelly to brush up on, like, their fruit salad terminology.”
Ashby made a questioning sound, tilting even further into me.
I acted like I didn’t notice, like it was normal, like my insides weren’t trying to weave themselves into a decorative bow as I affected a posh accent. “Oh! I taste a hint of ripe pear, with just a touch of rotting apples plucked in late October.”
He pressed even closer, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Ah, yes. Notes of compost and regret, if I’m not mistaken.”
“The vintage of champions.” I sniffed the cold air. “Now, the true question is—swirl, spit, or swallow?”
He laughed, and this, yes—this was us, still. Only we’d gained another dimension. As evidenced when he shot me a quick, probing look, the kind that always preceded him rising to a dare. “Well, Kieran,” he said, each syllable deliberate. “A gentleman always swallows.”
I inhaled through a sudden tug in my gut. Relief, hope, something. “Does he?” I asked, careful to keep it easy. “I may need hands-on instruction.”
“Right.” His attention dropped to my mouth, voice gone abruptly quiet. “It’s a tough job, but I guess someone’s gotta do it.”
Now, something in me screamed. Now, come on. I held very still, matching his tone. “It’d be a service to the people.”
“No.” His gaze slid back up to hold mine. “It’d be quite selfish, really. I don’t share.”
“Good,” I told him—a whisper, a confession.
And whatever he’d been waiting for… He must have found it because this time, he was the one who moved first—pulling me in, as naturally as breathing, like he’d been rehearsing this moment for years.
His gloved hand angled my chin so he could claim my mouth after a gentle nip at my lower lip.
Please, yes. Electricity jolted down my spine as he pressed forward, deliberate, so our hips nudged—no space left to hide.
He felt like coming home.