Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ashton
I wake to the scratch of a beard brushing against my bare shoulder blades. My eyes flutter open, and I realize I’m practically buried under Troy. At some point in the night, he must’ve curled himself around me, his face tucked into my back.
It’s ridiculous—I’m at least half a foot taller than him, and somehow I’m the little spoon.
Not that I mind. It feels nice to be held.
With his strong arms wrapped around me, I inhale slowly, catching the faint scent of my soap still clinging to his tattooed skin from last night’s shower.
My casted arm is heavy in the sling, awkwardly pinned between me and the mattress. Troy stirs, then untangles himself, steady and careful so he doesn’t jostle me too much. He presses a soft kiss to the top of my head before slipping out of bed and disappearing down the hallway.
I hear the quiet patter of his footsteps, the soft gurgle of the coffee maker starting up.
A few minutes later, he returns with two steaming mugs and the pharmacy bag tucked under his arm. He sets one mug on my nightstand before climbing back into bed beside me.
Morning light spills through the windows, pale and golden, filling the room with that quiet, early-day stillness.
Through the glass, the orchard stretches across the hills, rows of bare cherry trees cresting along the horizon like skeletal fingers.
It’s quiet this time of year, like the trees are finally resting.
Troy sits propped against the headboard, sheets pooled at his waist, his inked chest bare. His mullet is a complete disaster, cowlicks sticking up in every direction.
Which, unfortunately for my sanity, is very hot.
“Managed to find the coffee supplies,” he says.
I rub my shoulder and squint against the light. “Mmrrph.”
He glances down at me, amused. “Was that ‘thank you’?”
I grumble something that might be a yes as he leans down and presses a quick kiss to my cheek.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “You in pain?”
“I’m fine. Slept good.”
I reach for the mug on my nightstand and wrap my hands around it, inhaling the steam like it’s life-giving oxygen. Taking a sip, I glance at him over the rim.
He smiles, then turns his attention to the pharmacy bag, rummaging through it as the bottles clink softly together. “Alright,” he says, pulling out three orange bottles. “Medication time.”
I groan immediately.
“Don’t make that face.”
“I don’t like ’em.”
“I know, but you need them.”
He checks the labels carefully, then shakes three tablets into his palm and holds them out to me, expectant.
I stare at them with a grimace. With a dramatic sigh, I take them and toss them into my mouth, washing them down with a gulp of coffee.
Troy grins and squeezes my shoulder. “Good boy.”
I nearly choke. A furious blush floods my face as I cough into my mug. My stomach swirls, a pang of arousal making my cock twitch.
“You like that, don’t you?” he teases, inching closer until our chests nearly brush. “Being told you’re a good boy?”
My gaze drops straight to my coffee. “What? N-no. I just—”
“Because I love telling you how good you are.” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. “And you are. Always.”
A quiet, breathless sound slips out of me before I can stop it. He cups my face, and I lean into his touch, nuzzling against his palm.
“I love you so much,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “You’ve been so strong through all of this, baby. My big, gentle, brave man.”
Emotion lodges in my throat. I duck my head, heat creeping up my neck as my chest tightens around the words.
Taking pity on me, he lifts the mug from my hands and sets it aside before leaning in to kiss me. He shifts over me carefully, hovering so he doesn’t put too much pressure on my ribs.
I sigh into the kiss, melting against him, my cast awkwardly pinned between us.
He tastes like coffee and cigarettes and something that’s completely, unmistakably Troy.
After a moment, I nudge his shoulder, sucking in a sharp breath as we part. “Alright, alright,” I say, trying—and failing—to sound annoyed. “Sex with broken ribs is probably not a great idea, so we gotta stop before I get a boner.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh and rolls off me, settling back at my side.
We end up curled together again, a little less tangled this time, sipping our coffee in the quiet morning light. His fingers drift lazily over mine, absent and soft, like he just needs to feel me there. Outside, birds chirp as the sun climbs higher, filling the room with a gentle warmth.
“Hey,” he says gently, squeezing my knee.
“Hm?”
He studies my face like he’s searching for cracks. “How are you doing?”
I shrug. “My arm aches a little, but it’s fine. The ribs—”
“That’s not what I meant,” he cuts in, turning toward me fully. “I meant… how are you handling everything that happened with your parents?”
I freeze. My gaze drops to my mug, my throat bobbing. “Oh.”
Silence stretches between us for a moment.
“I kinda knew this would happen,” I say quietly.
He waits patiently for me to continue, his palm still resting against my leg, anchoring me.
“Their presence in my life has always been… conditional,” I continue, staring at the blank wall across the room. “If they ever found out I was gay, I knew it’d be a problem.”
I let out a slow breath.
“They needed me to be the version of their son they wanted. The straight one. The one who carries on the family name. Takes over the farm. Upholds their pristine reputation.” My fingers tighten slightly around the mug. “Anything outside of that makes me a liability to them, not an asset.”
The words land heavy in the room. My throat tightens.
“That’s why I spent so many years trying to avoid it. Trying to make it stop. Trying to change.” I shake my head faintly. “But now…” I exhale, some of that tension slipping loose. “It’s almost a relief.”
He lifts a brow. “A relief?”
I nod. “Yeah. The truth’s finally out there.” I drag in a breath through my nose. “And I think… if we stopped hiding completely, I’d be okay with that.”
A small, surprised smile tugs at his lips. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I huff out a quiet laugh. “All I ever really feared was my parents finding out—and now they know.” I shrug.
“I don’t care about anyone else. My siblings have my back.
My best friend does too. So… fuck it.” Another soft laugh slips out.
“If I lose business over it, if people in town want to gossip, I don’t give a shit.
Anyone who actually matters won’t have a problem with it. ”
“You have plenty of people who love you, Ash.”
“I do,” I say, something warm blooming in my chest. “And yeah… it hurts. What my parents did—how they basically decided they wanted to stop being my parents the second I didn’t fit their mold.” I swallow. “But I’m not broken by it. I’ll be okay.”
He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “You’ll be more than okay. You’re strong as hell, Ash.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “And if Mom and Dad ever want to apologize,” I add, “they know where I live. They have my number.” I take another sip of coffee. “But I’m not gonna be the one to initiate it. That’s on them.”
He squeezes my knee, firm and grounding. “I’m proud of you.”
I wave it off with a shrug. “You know how it is. Parents just… suck sometimes.”
Then I glance at him, a crooked smile tugging at my lips.
“You’re the one who told me that thing once,” I say. “About how sometimes distance from those who hurt you is the happy ending. Not, um… reconciliation or whatever.” I squint thoughtfully. “I definitely butchered that. You said it better.”
Troy chuckles. “You got the gist.” He bumps his shoulder lightly against mine.
After a moment, his gaze drops to his coffee. “My mom was great,” he says quietly. “I know she would’ve loved me unconditionally.”
The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. He’s usually so confident and carefree, seemingly unshakeable.
“I don’t remember her much,” he continues, rubbing his thumb along the rim of his mug. “But everyone who knew her says she loved me more than anything.”
I shift closer, pressing my thigh firmly against his.
“She kept a diary when she was pregnant with me. Little notes to me. About how excited she was to meet me.” He huffs out a quiet breath. “I still have it.”
My chest tightens. “I would’ve loved to meet her.”
“Yeah,” he says with a sad smile. “I would’ve loved that, too.”
He clears his throat, then looks back at me.
“I was thinking… maybe next summer we could go to Chicago. Catch a Cubs game. She loved baseball.” He swallows. “And while we’re there… maybe visit her grave. I’d like to introduce you.”
My eyes sting, but I blink it away. “I’d love that.”
I lean in and kiss him, gentle and warm, cradling his face in my hand. The motion pulls at my ribs, a dull ache flaring through my side, but I don’t stop.
I’d happily endure the temporary pain to feel the warmth of Troy’s skin beneath my fingertips.
He’s more than worth it.
Two days into my recovery, Phoebe shows up on my front porch, holding a large plastic container filled to the brim with homemade chicken noodle soup.
I accept it happily, already eager for a real home-cooked meal.
She follows me into the kitchen, where I set it on the top shelf of my fridge, which is admittedly looking a little pathetic—nothing but condiments and a few bottles of Troy’s new fall-inspired beer.
Luke is lounging on my couch. He’s been hanging around while Troy’s working at Black Cat, even though I’ve insisted I don’t need a caretaker.
But after everything, they both seem a little shaken, and I can’t blame them.
If it were me who’d found Troy or Luke in the state I was in… I’d be a wreck too.
So I’ll let them baby me if it makes them feel better.
Luke gives Phoebe a lazy wave as she walks past.
Despite the thoughtful gesture, she looks furious when she leans against my kitchen counter. Her cold eyes flicker between the two of us before finally settling on me. Her jaw is set tight, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Ash,” she says, her voice eerily calm. “It’s just your arm that’s injured, right? Your legs are fine?”
I blink at her, confusion knitting my brows together. “Um… yeah? I mean, my ribs are fractured too, but my legs are okay—”
She drives the toe of her boot straight into my shin. Not hard enough to actually hurt, but definitely hard enough to get the point across.
“Ow!” I yelp.
“That’s for scaring the shit out of me,” she snaps.
I wince as I bend down to rub my shin. “What the hell—”
She turns and kicks Luke in the leg too, a little harder this time.
“And that’s for not calling me while Ash was in the goddamn hospital,” she scolds.
Luke curses under his breath and shoves her away, grimacing.
We’ve always been like this—roughhousing and bickering like siblings for as long as I can remember. She’s strong as hell… and fiercely protective.
I gape at her. “It’s not my fault they didn’t call you! I was unconscious, Phoebs!”
Her shoulders sag a little, the anger cracking just enough to reveal the worry underneath. “Troy could’ve given me a heads-up too,” she mutters. “I was completely in the dark. I had to find out what happened from Olivia, days later.”
I frown. “I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it. “I’m okay, though. Really.”
“Are you actually, though?” she says, raising a bushy eyebrow. “I heard what happened with your parents.”
I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “I’m okay,” I say truthfully. “Honestly, I’m mostly just pissed about not being able to work on the barn renovation.”
From the couch, Luke perks up. He jumps to his feet like he’s suddenly too energized to sit still.
“Oh shit, that’s right,” he says, eyes wide. “Didn’t you get the building permits approved last week?”
“Yeah, but… it doesn’t matter anymore.” I lift my casted arm slightly. “Obviously.”
His brow furrows. “Dude, what the hell are you talking about? I can help!”
I scoff. “Luke—”
“No, seriously,” he insists, already getting fired up. “I’m more than capable of using power tools. Don’t doubt my skills.”
Phoebe crosses her arms, looking at him skeptically. “You’re volunteering for manual labor?”
Luke shrugs. “Why not? It’ll be fun.” A slow smirk curls his lip. “And I know it’ll piss off our parents, so that makes it even better.”
Phoebe huffs, but there’s a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Well, if you idiots are starting a construction crew, I’m in.”
I blink at her. “You too?”
She straightens proudly. “Of course. I’m excellent with a hammer.”
Luke snorts. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It should,” she shoots back, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re still on my shit list for not calling me.”
Luke groans, exasperated. “Phoebs, I’m sorry! It was just so hectic—”
She holds up a hand. “Whatever.”
My gaze flickers between them, a tight knot coiling in my chest. A voice that sounds like my father echoes in the back of my mind, telling me I shouldn’t need anyone’s help, that real men handle things on their own, that I shouldn’t be weak.
“You guys don’t have to do this,” I say softly. “Seriously. The renovation was a dumb idea anyway.”
Phoebe tilts her head, her curls cascading down her shoulder like a waterfall. “Ash,” she says gently, “for once in your goddamn life, please accept some help.”
Luke nods. “Yeah, man. Besides, you’ve been talking about fixing up that barn for years.” He grins. “Now you’ve got a crew to help you.”
I shake my head, picking at a hangnail. “You sure you’d be okay with me bossing you around, Luke?”
He laughs. “You’ve been doing that my whole life, man. I’m used to it.”
I glance down at the floor. “I can’t possibly ask you guys to help me with this. It’s… a lot.”
“You’re not asking,” Luke insists, squeezing my bicep. “We’re offering help. So take it, you stubborn asshole.”
Phoebe nods in agreement. “Seriously.”
A tight smile tugs at my lips. “Thanks, guys. I—” I pause, clearing my throat before my voice cracks. “I really appreciate it.”
Phoebe wraps me in a hug. “You’re not alone, Ash. We got your back.”
Their voices blend together as they start debating the logistics of demolition, sketching loose plans on a discarded takeout menu on the kitchen counter like they’re plotting a battle strategy.
My eyes snag on the crumpled blueprints shoved to the side.
The paper is wrinkled and worn, the neat lines of the barn sketched across it like a promise.
For the first time since the accident, the hopelessness in my chest doesn’t feel suffocating.
All my life, I fought tooth and nail to become someone I’m not, chasing impossible expectations. Somewhere along the way, that fruitless effort fractured something inside me.
Now, those old cracks don’t feel quite so deep anymore.
Maybe the old barn isn’t the only thing being rebuilt.