Chapter Eight
Ashley rose quietly and padded toward the kitchen, the soft hum of the coffee machine guiding her. She found him at the counter, hair damp from a rushed shower, his tie knotted too loosely, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He looked up when she entered, but only briefly.
“You’re up early,” she said softly, wrapping her cardigan around herself.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Kingston replied, too quickly. He poured coffee into his travel mug, keeping his eyes on the swirling liquid like it held answers he couldn’t face.
Ashley studied him. She’d known this man for over a decade, loved him for every one of those years. She knew the curve of his smile, the cadence of his laugh, the subtle ways stress etched itself across his brow and she knew when he was lying.
“Did you even get in last night?” Her voice was gentle, not accusing.
His shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. “Late. You were out by the time I got home.”
That much was true but the way he wouldn’t meet her gaze made her stomach knot. Ashley moved closer, reached for the coffee pot. “You should’ve woken me. I would’ve waited.”
Kingston’s lips curved in something meant to be a smile. “You need your rest more than I do.”
The words, kind on the surface, cut deeper than they should have.
She wanted to ask where he’d been exactly, why his shirt from last night was missing from the laundry basket, why he smelled faintly not of antiseptic and long hours at the hospital but of something warmer, muskier.
Something that wasn’t hers but she swallowed the questions. For now.
The kids padded in moments later with Ethan rubbing his eyes with his small fists, Olivia already chattering about a drawing she wanted to finish before school.
Their presence lightened the air, as it always did.
Kingston crouched to hug them, his arms tight, almost desperate, as if he needed their innocence to anchor him.
Ashley watched him kiss Olivia’s cheek, watched Ethan giggle when Kingston ruffled his hair and her chest ached because for all his distance, for all the shadows creeping between them, he was still their father.
Still the man she had built a life with.
When they finally settled at the table with bowls of cereal, Ashley leaned against the counter, arms crossed, studying him. He felt it and she could tell by the way he shifted in his chair, the way he avoided her eyes.
“What time will you be home tonight?” she asked casually, though every nerve in her body strained for the answer.
“Not sure,” he muttered, spooning cereal into Ethan’s bowl even though Ethan was old enough to do it himself. “Might be another late one.”
Ashley’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’ve been working a lot with Rebecca lately, haven’t you?” The name slipped out before she could stop herself.
Kingston froze for half a second, then forced a shrug. “She’s on the same team for the new surgical rotation. That’s all.”
Ashley nodded, pretending to accept the answer but inside, something cold and sharp dug deeper into her chest. She busied herself with the kids, helped Olivia tie her shoes, packed their bags, kissed them goodbye as Kingston drove them to school.
The second the door closed, silence settled over the house like a heavy blanket.
Ashley leaned against the kitchen counter, her hands trembling around her coffee cup.
She wanted to believe him but the image of Rebecca at the anniversary dinner.
Her laugh too familiar, her gaze lingering too long flashed through her mind again and now, with Kingston coming home later and later, with shadows under his eyes and excuses on his lips, Ashley pressed a hand against her stomach, as if trying to steady herself. It was happening, wasn’t it?
At the hospital, Ashley tried to bury herself in work. Patients, charts, consultations, the rhythm of her day usually kept her centered but today, every time her phone buzzed with a notification, her mind jumped. Was it him? Was it her?
By lunchtime, Carl noticed. He was leaning back in his chair across from her, chopsticks poised above his takeout, when he said, “You’re a million miles away, Ash.”
Ashley blinked. “Sorry. Just tired.”
Susan, sitting beside her, arched a brow. “Tired, or something else?”
Ashley forced a smile. “Since when did lunch turn into group therapy?”
“Since your face looks like you haven’t slept in days,” Carl said gently. “We know you too well.”
Her chest tightened. For a moment, she wanted to spill everything about Kingston’s late nights, about Rebecca, about the gnawing fear in her chest but the words stuck in her throat.
“I’ll be fine,” she said instead, stabbing at her food but later, when she ducked into the staff lounge, she found herself staring at her reflection in the vending machine glass.
Her own eyes looked back at her tired, questioning, haunted.
The truth was clawing its way out, whether she wanted it to or not.
That night, Kingston came home late again. Ashley sat curled on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders, the TV flickering in the background. She hadn’t bothered with makeup today, hadn’t fixed her hair. She was too drained from holding herself together.
When he walked in, he looked startled to find her awake.
“Hey,” he said softly, setting down his bag. “You should be in bed.”
Ashley’s eyes searched his face, catching the faint mark on his neck he hadn’t bothered to cover, the way his shirt smelled faintly of perfume that wasn’t hers. Her throat closed but instead of screaming, instead of hurling accusations, she only whispered:
“I miss you, Kingston.”
The words cracked something in the air between them.
Kingston’s jaw tightened, his guilt flashing in his eyes before he masked it with a small, tight smile.
He crossed the room, kissed the top of her head, and murmured, “I’m here.
” But Ashley knew he wasn’t. Not really and the silence that followed was heavier than any argument could have been.