Chapter 34
Ash is cooked. He never expected things to take a turn like this.
And now he’s here, in Kieran’s apartment, in his bed, hovering even after Kieran’s already fallen asleep. He meant to leave after putting some painkillers and water on the nightstand, but his ass is glued to the mattress, watching Kieran sleep like the creep he always accuses him of being.
A small shiver rocks Kieran’s body, a noise of complaint slipping past his kissable, parted lips.
Ash reaches over to pull the covers up to his chin, before carding a hand through his hair.
It’s silky soft and slightly damp, falling onto his forehead.
He releases a sigh as Ash continues to pet him, the reaction awakening something dangerous.
Ash snatches his hand back, shuffling to the edge of the bed to create some distance.
He’s not cooked. He’s full on deep-fried. In a volcano.
All he wanted was to give Kieran a taste of the things he’s yearned for his whole life—validation, appreciation, understanding.
This is how Ash works, this is his MO. One night, one chance to play the genie and bring about what the person desires the most. His ability makes it easy to dip into people’s minds and find out exactly what that something is.
And the fact that he gets to satisfy his own desires in the process? Double-win.
That’s what this was supposed to be. He was supposed to use his gift and charm until Kieran couldn’t fight it anymore and gave in. Ash would blow his mind, grant his every wish, until he forgot about all the things weighing him down. He believed that’s what Kieran needed.
He was wrong. For once, he is ridiculously wrong.
If all those drunken confessions and babbling revealed something, it’s that Kieran doesn’t need one good night. He doesn’t need someone to come and sweep him off his feet, proving to him that the things he wants are not impossible.
He needs way, way more than that. Much more than Ash can offer.
In fact, giving him a taste of the things he’s been aching for only for them to be ripped away would crush him. Kieran isn’t someone looking for instant gratification or relief. He isn’t looking for a quick fix, despite his lifestyle suggesting otherwise.
He’s looking for permanent, reliable; something to last, to stay. Someone to trust, to make him feel safe.
One time was never going to cut it.
There’s nothing Ash can do for him, nothing he can offer. He’s the last person Kieran needs.
But I want to be.
And that’s the problem. Despite knowing all of that, he can’t bring himself to leave.
This is bad. And dangerous. Ash never had a problem walking away, but the idea of stepping out of this apartment knowing he’ll be stepping out of Kieran’s life makes him unable to move.
When did I become so attached?
He’s felt drawn to Kieran since the moment they met, like a moth mesmerized by a bonfire. Every scowl and sharp word, every blazing emotion, was like a siren song luring him in.
But after bumping into each other at the bar, and tonight at the pub, after watching Kieran disguise pain and sadness as sarcasm and hostility, while his heart was screaming for someone to see through the lie… Fuck, that shot all Ash’s plans to hell.
It doesn’t make sense. He’s a freaking therapist. He watches people cry and break down, listens to them share the most painful parts of themselves. He feels for them, wants to help them, sometimes connects with them a little more than he should—like he did with Dawson.
But he never wants to keep them. He never wants to hold them tight and promise the world.
He never wants to beg them to keep him too.
That’s not how this goes. He doesn’t get to keep things. He never has.
Sliding down onto his side and facing Kieran, he watches him sleep. Peacefully, quietly, unaware of the storm of emotions raging through Ash’s body and soul.
Ash cups the side of his face, stroking the soft skin on his cheek, burning it into his memory. He’ll never get another chance.
“You ruined me, do you know that?” he whispers, the words coming out inadvertently affectionate.
Kieran huffs, squirming a little, as if saying: Don’t be so dramatic, jerk.
Ash smiles at the thought, and his body moves on its own, leaning in.
For a heartbeat, he imagines pressing his lips to Kieran’s.
But he stops, just in time, letting restraint win.
Instead, he presses a gentle, lingering kiss to the center of his forehead, as if leaving a small piece of himself behind.
Then, using all the willpower at his disposal, he tears himself away. From Kieran, from the bed. He strides towards the door and out of the apartment while he’s still able to.