Chapter Twenty-Eight
Troy
I sit on the edge of the pier with my heels knocking lightly against the metal, watching the waves roll in steady, restless lines.
The concrete beneath me is warm from the sun, heat seeping through the denim of my jeans.
The August humidity presses down on my shoulders, damp air that clings to my skin and sticks my T-shirt between my shoulder blades.
Kids shriek at the shoreline, letting the foam chase their ankles before darting away again.
Teenagers cluster in loud, suntanned groups, tossing volleyballs, blasting music from portable speakers, trying to wring every last drop out of summer before school returns in a few weeks.
A couple of little girls dig an ambitious moat around a sandcastle already slumping on one side.
Life goes on.
At the end of the pier, the red lighthouse towers overhead, paint bright against the blue sky. Gulls perch along the railing and on the lighthouse roof, beady eyes scanning the water. One lets out a sharp cry, the sound swallowed by wind and waves.
This place is neutral territory. I told Ashton we needed to meet in public. Out here, with families sprawled across the sand and tourists drifting up and down the pier, neither of us can afford to let things escalate.
I scrub a hand over my jaw and stare at the rippling water below my boots.
Last night got too heated, but I don’t regret what I said.
I won’t lie about who I am just to fit the mold Ashton’s parents want to squeeze me into. I won’t make myself smaller to make his life easier. And I sure as hell won’t sit back and let his father talk shit about the man I—
The man I love.
The words settle into my chest with surprising ease. I blink at the water, waiting for panic to follow. For that familiar spike of fear. For the instinct to backpedal.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead, something quiet and steady unfurls beneath my ribs.
I love Ashton.
I love the way his green eyes light up when he talks about cherries.
I love how fiercely he cares about his family—even when they don’t always deserve that loyalty.
I love the version of him I get when we’re alone: soft and vulnerable, a little needy in a way he’d hate admitting.
The way he leans into my touch. The way praise makes his cheeks flush pink, his eyes going warm and glassy.
I exhale slowly.
Christ. He has me completely undone—wrapped tight around his finger—and he doesn’t even realize it.
A gull swoops low over the lake, wings skimming the surface before lifting again. The lighthouse behind me casts a long shadow down the pier, nearly brushing my feet. People wander past in flip-flops and swimsuits, pausing for selfies with the endless blue stretch of Lake Michigan behind them.
I swallow.
I hope I didn’t come on too strong last night. I know I can be… intense. Protective to a fault. When I care about someone, it’s all in.
Countless exes have told me the same thing.
You feel too much.
You’re suffocating.
You’re too clingy.
Too overprotective.
Maybe they’re right, to a certain extent.
But listening to Mark question Ashton’s intelligence and talk down to him felt like being gutted. Every word out of that man’s mouth was a blade, and Ashton just stood there and took it.
I simply couldn’t. It was pure agony.
A shadow stretches across me, shielding me from the blistering sun. I glance up to see Ashton standing beside me, sneakers planted on the concrete. He lowers himself beside me without a word, long legs dangling over the edge of the pier like mine.
“Hey,” he says, his voice hoarse.
He looks wrecked.
Dark circles paint the skin beneath his eyes. His hair is a mess, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times. His usual pink flush is gone, leaving him pale and drawn.
If his night was anything like mine, he didn’t sleep either.
“Hey,” I answer quietly.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The lake stretches out in front of us, endless and rippling. A boat hums in the distance, skidding across the horizon.
Ashton exhales slowly, his gaze sweeping across the water like he’s searching for the right place to start.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“It’s okay—” I begin, but he shakes his head, cutting me off.
“No. Let me finish.” His fingers curl against the edge of the pier, knuckles whitening slightly. “I have more to say.”
I snap my mouth shut.
He swallows. “First of all, I’m sorry for what I said about you not understanding what it’s like to have a mom like mine. That was stupid, and I wasn’t thinking straight. Obviously I wouldn’t have said that if I was in the right headspace.”
I simply nod, because I know he’s telling the truth. He wasn’t trying to be cruel—he’s not even capable of doing such a thing, not on purpose.
He exhales slowly through clenched teeth. “And I’m sorry I got angry at you for coming out to my parents.” His head dips low, blond waves shielding his face. “That’s your decision to make. Not mine. And I had no right to ask you to lie about yourself just to protect… my secret.”
The wind shifts, carrying the sharp, clean scent of lake water between us.
“I appreciate that you stood up for me,” he continues, voice softer now. “No one’s ever really done that before. Not like that. My siblings, sometimes. But…” He shakes his head faintly. “Not like you did.”
My throat tightens.
“I’m just—” He breaks off, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“I’m so scared of upsetting my dad. All I’ve ever wanted is for him to love me.
To be proud of me. To accept me.” His laugh is brittle.
“And every time I push back, every time I disappoint him, it feels like I make it that much harder for him to do that.”
Without thinking, I reach for his hand and lace our fingers together. He goes still, staring down at where we’re joined. Slowly, a small, almost disbelieving smile curves his mouth. When his eyes lift to mine, they’re bright in the sunlight, something fragile and hopeful flickering there.
“Is this okay?” I ask, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Touching you like this, in public?”
There’s hardly anyone around us, and it’s unlikely anyone would see, but I still want to be certain I’m not pushing his boundaries.
He bites his lip, then nods. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” I shift closer, angling my body toward his until our ankles knock together.
“I forgive you, Ash. And I’m sorry too. I know how much it meant to you for last night to go smoothly—for me to impress your dad—and I totally blew it.
But I promise, if I have to, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to get on his good side. ”
His brows shoot up. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“But… why?” His nose scrunches, confusion softening his expression. “It doesn’t seem like you even like him.”
“I don’t like the way he treats you sometimes,” I admit. “But I know how important he is to you. That makes him important to me too. I’m planning on sticking around for as long as you’ll have me, and I’d prefer it if your family didn’t hate me.”
His dimples press deep into his cheeks. “They don’t hate you. My siblings all like you,” he says quietly. “My mom told Luke you’re bi, and he doesn’t even care.”
I blink. “Wait—really?”
“Yeah. It surprised me too.” He shrugs one shoulder.
“I mean, sure, he still has some ignorant beliefs, but he handled it better than I expected.” He hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip.
“It made me think… maybe it’s possible to tell him the truth someday.
That maybe he wouldn’t hate me. I’m sure it’d freak him out at first, but I think he’d be okay. ”
I choose my next words carefully, not wanting to pressure him. “Is that something you want?” I ask gently. “To come out to them?”
His body tenses beneath the question, but he nods. “Yeah. I think so—at least to my siblings. Not until after harvest season, though.” His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. “I don’t need more stress weighing on me during the busiest time of the year, if things go sideways.”
“You can take as long as you need,” I insist, brushing my thumb across his knuckles.
He looks at me, searching. “Would you be okay with that? If I told my siblings about us?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Of course.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I huff out a quiet laugh. “I’d come out to the whole damn town right now if that’s what you wanted. If people have a problem with it and stop coming to my brewery afterward, then fuck ’em. I don’t want their money anyway.”
Ashton draws in a sharp breath. His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there, and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. I know that look.
“Can we go somewhere private?” he asks, voice low. “Because I’d really like to properly make up with my boyfriend after our first fight.”
Heat pools low in my belly, my dick twitching with interest. “God, yes.”
“Race you to the beach?” Ashton asks, jerking his chin toward the sand.
I smirk. “You’re on, blondie.”
We take off down the pier, shoes pounding against concrete, wind biting at our clothes and stealing our breath. Laughter rips out of both of us, wild and unfiltered. He pulls ahead almost immediately—those damn long legs eating up the distance—while I chase after him, already wheezing.
I never stood a chance. But the sight of him glancing back at me, hair tousled with a grin bright enough to rival the sun, is worth every ounce of humiliation.
Ashton drags his fingers lazily through my chest hair, his cheek pressed to my shoulder.
Cryptid is wedged between us, forcing us into awkward angles to accommodate His Royal Highness.
His loud purring rumbles through the quiet room, filling the comfortable silence that settles after a long evening spent making up.
I press a kiss to the crown of Ashton’s shower-damp hair, breathing in the faint scent of my shampoo clinging to it.
My feet brush against his calves, which almost look bare because of how pale his body hair is, fine and soft as spun gold.
He hums contentedly, his palm drifting over my nipple, idly toying with the barbell there.
“I’m looking forward to the end of cherry season,” Ashton says quietly.
I glance down at him, lifting a brow. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He sighs, the sound warm against my skin. “I learned a lot this summer, and it was a good harvest, but I’m… exhausted.”
I hum in understanding. “How much longer until it’s over?”
“Another week. Maybe two. Depends on the weather,” he murmurs, voice low and syrup-slow. “Production’s already slowing down.”
“What’re you gonna do with all that free time once it’s over?” I ask, squeezing his shoulder. “You finally gonna relax for once?”
A small smile curves his mouth. “Nah. Like my dad always says, there’s always work to be done around the farm—even when there’s no harvest.”
I trace my palm down his arm, feeling the solid curve of his bicep. “Like what?”
He bites his lip. “Maintenance. Pruning. Mowing. Fixing equipment.” His eyes soften, turning thoughtful. “I was also thinking about fixing up the old barn this winter.”
I tilt his face to meet mine. “For the wedding venue?”
He nods, swallowing slowly. “Yeah. I think I wanna do it.”
Pride blooms warm and steady in my chest. “You should. It’s a great idea, baby.”
His smile turns shy, a pink glow painting his cheeks.
He shifts closer, nuzzling into the crook of my neck.
“I wouldn’t have the confidence to even try if it weren’t for you.
” He goes quiet for a beat, then presses a soft kiss to my throat.
“I’m really glad you moved to Claremont Shores,” he murmurs.
“And I’m glad you wanted to be business partners. ”
I tighten my arms around him. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Ash.”
He chuckles softly, the sound fading as sleep pulls him under. Within minutes, he’s breathing deep and even, tangled in my arms—warm, safe, and right where he belongs.