Chapter Thirty-Two
Troy
I’m pretty sure I’m about three bites away from death.
I lean back against the stainless-steel prep table, one hand braced on the edge, the other rubbing slow circles over my stomach. “Imani,” I say, dragging out her name, “please, no more. I’m gonna explode.”
She’s been feeding me all afternoon under the guise of “taste testing,” insisting she needs my stamp of approval for every item on her new fall-inspired taproom menu. Everything’s been incredible, but I’m absolutely stuffed.
She stands at the counter with a notebook open, pen tucked behind her ear, carefully shaping something into a small round ball before rolling it through a bowl of crushed graham crackers.
She ignores me and plops the little round thing into a paper tray before sliding it across the counter toward me.
“Last one,” she says.
I eye it suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Pumpkin cheesecake ball.”
I sigh. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“Eat the food, boss.”
With the resignation of a man accepting his fate, I pop the whole thing into my mouth.
And immediately regret nothing.
It’s creamy and rich and perfectly spiced, the pumpkin warm against the tangy cheesecake filling, the graham cracker crunch hitting right at the end. My eyes flutter shut as I chew, savoring it.
A deep, satisfied moan slips out of me as I lean back against the counter again, rubbing my stomach in slow circles. “Holy shit. That’s incredible.”
Imani slowly lowers her pen. She looks up at me, eyebrow raised. “You know,” she says casually, “if you sound anything like that during sex, I bet Ashton is a very happy man.”
I nearly choke on the last bite. “Imani!”
She bursts out laughing.
My face heats up, and I nudge her with my shoulder. “Shut up.”
“I’m just saying,” she continues, completely unbothered. “That was a very enthusiastic noise.”
“I was appreciating the food!”
“Mhm.”
“It was a culinary noise!”
“Sure it was.”
I groan again and drop my head back against the fridge behind me. “I’m never taste-testing for you again.”
Imani grins and scribbles something into her notebook. “Liar. You love my cooking.”
“Yeah.” I pat my overstuffed stomach miserably. “I really do.”
The kitchen door swings open, the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses spilling inside. Shane sticks his head through the doorway. “Hey, Troy?” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s someone asking for you out front.”
My brain is still operating at half speed from the food coma. “What?”
“Blond guy,” he says.
My chest flutters.
Across the counter, Imani’s head slowly lifts. A smirk spreads across her face. “Oh my god,” she says. “Go get your man.”
I sigh, dragging a hand over my face. “Please stop talking.”
She puckers her neon pink lips at me in an exaggerated air kiss.
“Thanks for letting me know,” I tell Shane, pushing myself off the fridge.
He nods and disappears back into the taproom.
Despite myself, a small smile tugs at my mouth as I head for the door.
I always appreciate when Ashton decides to surprise me at work.
Sometimes he stops by under the guise of having a beer, lingering at the bar and chatting with Shane while he waits for me to have a spare minute.
Then I’ll drag him into the cleaning closet to steal a quick hug—maybe a few kisses if the taproom isn’t too busy.
I push through the kitchen door and step into the crowded taproom. Intermingled conversations flood my ears, drinks sliding across tabletops, laughter echoing off the walls.
My eyes immediately start scanning the room, looking for him. But I don’t see him anywhere.
Then, my gaze snags on a figure near the front door.
Luke.
Luke Tremblay stands just inside the entrance, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He shifts his weight like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His face is flushed, his blond hair sticking up in different directions like he’s been running his hands through it.
He looks… panicked.
The smile drops from my face.
My stomach sinks.
My feet move on their own, and before I know it I’m standing beside him. His eyes dart over me frantically—the same green as Ashton’s, just a little darker. His jaw is set tight, tension carved into every line of his face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask quickly.
He swallows hard. “Have you seen Ashton today?”
I freeze. “What?”
“I just—” He stops, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know you guys are close friends, right? I thought maybe you might’ve heard from him.”
I blink a few times, trying to catch up. “Um… not since this morning.”
I bite my tongue, carefully leaving out the part where he woke up in my bed.
Luke blows out a slow breath. “Okay. That’s what I was afraid of.”
A knot tightens in my chest.
“Luke,” I say, more firmly now, “what’s wrong?”
A frown tugs at his lips. “He was supposed to come over to our parents’ house tonight. It’s Justin’s birthday. Chloe made dinner for everyone.” His teeth catch his bottom lip. “But he never showed up. We’ve tried calling him, texting him… he’s not answering.”
My chest tightens. That doesn’t sound like him at all. Ashton—the man who would drop everything for his siblings. The man who would never miss his little brother’s eighteenth birthday dinner for the world.
A cold rush of panic slides through my veins.
This morning he said he’d be working at the old barn. He was going to start tearing out some of the rotted boards so they could be replaced. He was so excited about it.
“He went to the orchard this morning,” I blurt. “We should check there.”
Luke’s brows draw together. “The orchard? But the harvest season’s over.”
Shit. I probably shouldn’t have said that.
Ashton hasn’t told any of his siblings about his plans yet—too worried the news would make its way back to his father and turn into another round of criticism.
But I don’t have time to worry about that right now. Ashton could be hurt… or worse.
“He’s been fixing up that old barn,” I say quickly. “The one your great-grandfather built.”
Luke scrubs his forehead, confusion written across his face. “Wait… what?”
“He wants to turn it into a wedding venue—”
“I know,” he cuts in quietly. “He used to talk about that all the time when we were teens.” His voice drops, something wounded flickering across his face. “Why wouldn’t he tell me that?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “That’s probably something you should ask him, man.” I nod toward the door and give his shoulder a gentle nudge. “But we really shouldn’t be wasting time talking right now.”
He blinks a few times, like he’s shaking himself out of it.
“Yeah,” he says, exhaling. “You’re right.”
His fingers tighten around his car keys as he straightens, determination hardening his posture.
“Let’s go find my brother.”
Luke’s truck engine rumbles as we weave between the long rows of trees, the tires crunching over dirt and fallen leaves.
The sun is sinking fast, spilling orange light across the orchard and stretching long shadows between the rows.
The windows are all rolled down, cool fall air rushing inside the cab.
We shout Ashton’s name as we go, our voices echoing in the vast, open air.
My stomach sinks when I picture him out here somewhere—alone.
It’ll be dark soon.
And with over a hundred acres to cover, it would probably be easier to find a needle in a haystack.
We swing by the old barn first, but it’s empty. I search every inch of the place before finally admitting it’s a lost cause. He’s not here, but the fresh tire tracks from his ATV are a promising sign of life.
At least we know he was here.
I try calling his phone over and over as we drive. I’m sitting in the passenger seat, knee bouncing frantically, foot tapping against the floor. When the call goes to voicemail again, something inside me cracks.
“Ash,” I choke out, lowering my voice as I turn my face toward the window. “Wherever you are… please be okay.” My voice breaks. “I—I can’t lose you.”
My eyes burn as I stare ahead at the orchard, the yellow glow of Luke’s headlights cutting through the maze of dark trees.
I suck in a shaky breath. “Baby,” I whisper, barely audible over the roar of the truck. “I love you.”
I sniffle, blinking the tears from my eyes as I hang up and slide my phone back into my pocket. My gaze lingers along the side of the truck as we drive, searching for movement or any pop of color that doesn’t belong.
I try to remember what he was wearing this morning, but it’s all a blur. I was too focused on his beautiful face to pay attention to his clothes.
I squint through the fading daylight. The sun has almost vanished now, a fading purple haze stretching across the sky.
Panic claws at my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs.
“Luke,” I mutter, turning to face him. “I think we should call for help. It’s getting late… and cold.”
He shoots me a glare. “No. We’ll find him.”
“Luke—”
“We’ll find him,” he growls. “Ash is fine. He’s okay. I know he is.”
I swallow hard, hoping he’s right.
We keep driving through the trees, following a narrow path that’s been worn into the ground over time, dirt tire tracks barely visible through the tall grass. I have no idea where we are anymore. We’ve taken so many turns, driven so far that Luke’s gas gauge is creeping toward empty.
I can barely see anything.
I stare helplessly through the darkness, calling Ashton’s name over and over until my voice turns hoarse.
Then I hear the most glorious sound I’ve ever heard in my life.
Ashton’s voice.
“Here.”
It’s weak. Faint. Barely carried over the wind. But I hear it.
My fist knocks into Luke’s bicep, and he slams on the brakes, the truck screeching to a halt.
“He’s over here!” I shout, already hopping out.
I run through the trees, using the flashlight on my phone to guide me. My shoes soak through instantly, wet with dew and coated in dirt as I crash through the underbrush. Twigs snap beneath my feet, rotten cherries squishing under my soles.
A tree stump juts up from the earth near the edge of the path, and just beyond it, Ashton’s four-wheeler is flipped on its side.
My heart stops.
Ashton’s boots stick out from beneath the wheels, his body pinned under the weight of the ATV. His hair is damp and tangled with leaves and debris, his face smeared with dirt like he’s been struggling.
I drop to my knees beside him. “Ash?!”
He blinks a few times, his head lolling to the side like it’s too heavy to hold up. His eyes are unfocused when they land on me.
“Troy?” he croaks.
“Yeah. It’s me, baby,” I say, brushing the hair off his forehead with shaking fingers. “Luke and I are here. We’re gonna help you.”
His eyes squeeze shut. “Was on my way to my parents’ house,” he murmurs, voice weak. “On the four-wheeler… didn’t see the tree trunk. Tire clipped it, and I—” He winces, jaw tight. “Flipped.”
I press a hand gently to his chest, lowering my voice. “It’s okay, baby. We’re here now.”
Luke rushes up beside me, swearing under his breath the second he sees Ashton.
“Help me move it off him,” he orders, already circling around to grab the other side of the ATV.
I snap into motion, crouching at the opposite end. I grip the frame, but the metal is slick and awkward, and it’s hard to get a good hold.
“On three,” Luke says, meeting my eyes for half a second. “One… two… three—”
We shove together.
The thing barely budges at first—it’s heavy as hell—but adrenaline does the rest.
When it finally shifts off him, Ashton lets out a broken cry.
He gasps, clutching his stomach as a raw, agonized sound rips from his throat. Tears slide down his face, cutting clean tracks through the dirt on his skin.
“Bro, look at me,” Luke says urgently, crouching beside his head and snapping his fingers in front of Ashton’s face. “What hurts?”
Ashton groans, his body still limp against the ground. “Everything. I can’t—” He chokes, wincing as another wave of pain crashes through him. “Hurts to move.”
“We’re gonna have to carry you to my truck,” Luke says quickly. “It’s gonna hurt until we get you to a hospital. Think you can handle that?”
For a second, Ashton just breathes through his teeth. Then the faintest smile twitches across his lips—the first glimpse of his personality pushing through the pain.
“It’s fine,” he hisses. “I’m tough.”
I know he is. Ashton is the strongest person I’ve ever met.
“Let’s get you sitting up first,” I say, sliding my arms under his shoulders.
The moment I start lifting him, he groans, a sharp hiss tearing through his teeth as his body shifts. Something warm and slick runs across my hand. When I look down, my vision swims.
Blood coats my fingers, and in the middle of Ashton’s forearm, a bit of bone is pushed through the torn skin.
“Oh, shit,” I whisper.
Luke glances over, his eyes going wide. “Fuck. That’s bad,” he says softly. “The weight of the ATV was probably cutting off the bleeding.”
Ashton groans, confused, trying to turn his head to see.
“Don’t look,” I say firmly, grabbing his chin. “Don’t look, Ash.”
I move fast, shrugging out of my hoodie and wrapping the sleeves tightly around his upper arm. My fingers shake as I pull the fabric tight, knotting it into a makeshift tourniquet.
As I tighten it, Ashton hisses in pain.
“Sorry,” I say, my stomach twisting at the thought of hurting him. “I gotta stop the bleeding.”
Luke grabs Ashton’s uninjured arm, looping it around his shoulder. “I’m gonna help you stand now.”
With a grimace, Ashton is pulled to his feet.
I slide an arm around his waist, steadying him as he hobbles toward Luke’s truck.
His eyes are glassy, unfocused, his head drooping in a way that makes my stomach tighten with dread.
My hoodie, tied around his arm, is already soaked through with blood, the gray fabric a deep crimson.
“Sit in the back with him,” Luke shouts, yanking open the door. “Make sure he stays awake.”
We carefully lift him into the back seat of the truck. Ashton groans and curses through the pain, his body folding in on itself as I hold him against my chest. Luke guns the engine, zipping through the orchard so fast the trees blur past in streaks of shadow and light.
I cradle his face, brushing dried tears from his cheeks with my thumb. “Stay with me, baby,” I whisper. “We’re gonna get you help. You’re gonna be fine.”
His eyes flutter, half-lidded, as they meet mine. His skin is cold and clammy, damp from lying on the ground and coated in dirt and dew. He’s shivering.
“Troy,” he murmurs, each word slow and heavy. “I… love you.”
I inhale sharply. He wouldn’t be saying this out loud if he were fully aware of what’s happening—if he was conscious enough to understand we aren’t alone. I catch Luke’s brief glance in the rearview mirror, knuckles white as he grips the wheel, his eyes flicking toward us with something unreadable.
I tuck Ashton’s hair behind his ear and press a trembling kiss to his forehead. “I love you too,” I whisper.
A weak, loopy smile curls across his lips, and his eyes drift closed in my arms. I brush my palm over his cheek, feeling the coldness of his skin, the absence of its usual warmth.
My fingers are still streaked red, soaked with the blood of the man I love.