Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Troy
The cold bites sharper now that November’s turned a corner—the kind that sneaks through your jacket and settles into your bones if you stand still too long. But Ashton’s hand is warm in mine, our fingers laced tight, and it makes the chill a lot easier to ignore.
We walk side by side down the sidewalk, our arms swinging in an easy rhythm. His other arm is still tucked in that damn sling, pressed to his chest like it belongs there. Three more weeks, the doctor said.
Being together in public like this still takes some getting used to.
Not long after the accident, Ashton told me he didn’t care about hiding anymore.
He didn’t want to make some big social media announcement—said it wasn’t anyone’s business—but now that his family knew, he was done sneaking around.
If being gay cost him customers, then he didn’t want their money in the first place.
He’s come a long way since we first met.
I couldn’t be prouder to have him by my side.
I glance over. He’s practically buzzing, green eyes bright, talking about the movie we’re about to see like it’s the most exciting thing in the world.
“…and the trailer made it look insane,” he’s saying. “Like, full-on explosions, car chases, the whole thing—”
I smile, squeezing his hand. “You’ve told me.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think you fully understand how cool it’s gonna be.”
“I think I do,” I say dryly. “Loud noises. Things blowing up. Probably some guy jumping off a building for no reason.”
He grins, dimples and all. “Exactly!”
I shake my head, laughing under my breath. Action movies aren’t really my thing—I’ve always preferred comedies and rom-coms, anything that can make me laugh and cry. But Ashton loves this shit. Thrillers, explosions, adrenaline.
And I’d sit through a hundred of them if it means seeing that look on his face.
The little single-screen theater comes into view at the end of the block, its old marquee sign glowing against the gray sky. The scent of buttered popcorn drifts out to meet us, and my stomach growls in response.
As we get closer, I feel his grip tighten just a little, his excitement bleeding through the contact.
He’s been restless these past couple weeks.
Luke and Phoebe have been helping with the barn—tearing things down, hauling lumber, doing the heavy lifting—but I can tell it’s eating at him. Not being in control. Not being the one doing the work.
Doesn’t stop him from trying, though.
I still haven’t recovered from walking into the barn the other day and finding him hammering one-handed, holding the board steady with his knee, a nail clenched between his teeth. Sweat sliding down his neck, muscles flexing with every swing.
Completely reckless.
Completely stupid.
And… completely fucking sexy.
But it didn’t stop me from scolding him. The last thing he needs is to get hurt again and drag this recovery out even longer.
I clear my throat, dragging my focus back to the present.
We’re passing the Italian place on the corner when Ashton suddenly slows.
I follow his gaze—and my stomach drops.
Mark and Debbie.
They’re standing just outside the entrance, Debbie clutching a take-out box, bundled against the cold. For a second, no one moves. We just stare at each other, the moment stretching tight and thin.
The air turns brittle.
They haven’t reached out to Ashton since they left the hospital. Not once. No calls. No texts. Nothing.
Ashton’s hand stiffens in mine, but he doesn’t let go.
Mark’s eyes drop immediately to where our fingers are intertwined. His mouth tightens, a scowl pulling at his lips. Debbie just stares, her fingers gripping her purse strap so tightly her knuckles turn pale.
Something sharp and protective rises in my chest. I take a subtle step closer to Ashton, our shoulders bumping together.
Beside me, Ashton’s jaw flexes. He squares his shoulders.
“Hello,” he says flatly.
Mark’s expression darkens almost immediately. He shifts like he’s about to turn away, like this whole interaction isn’t even worth his time, but Debbie grabs his elbow.
“Mark,” she says, voice tight. “Please.”
He exhales sharply through his nose. “I don’t have anything to say to him.”
“Please,” she insists, her grip tightening. “He’s your son.”
Something cold flickers across Mark’s face. He looks Ashton dead in the eye, his expression hard as stone.
“Not anymore.”
Ashton goes completely still beside me.
Mark doesn’t wait for a response. He just pulls his arm free and turns away. “I’ll be in the truck,” he mutters to Debbie before heading off down the sidewalk without another glance back.
Debbie watches him go, her shoulders sagging. When she turns back to Ashton, her eyes are already glassy. “How… how are you feeling?” she asks quietly.
Ashton’s posture stiffens. “I’m fine.”
It’s clipped and distant—nothing like the way he used to talk to her.
She nods quickly, like she’ll take whatever she can get. “That’s good. That’s… good.” Her expression shifts, her eyes hardening. “Listen, Ashton… I need you to talk to your siblings.”
He frowns. “About what?”
“They won’t speak to us,” she says, frustration creeping in. “None of them. When we’re home, Chloe and Justin won’t even look at us. They just ignore us.”
Her voice wavers, almost like she’s seeking sympathy.
“It’s bad enough losing you,” she continues, her eyes shining. “You didn’t have to turn the rest of them against us too.”
Something sharp flashes across Ashton’s face.
“You didn’t have to lose me,” he says, his voice steady but edged with steel. “You chose to walk out of my life.”
Debbie flinches.
“And my siblings can do whatever the hell they want,” he adds. “I’m not controlling them. I never have.”
Her mouth tightens. “Is this really worth it?” she asks, her tone going brittle. “All of this? For… this?” She gestures vaguely between us, her frustration barely contained.
“Yes,” he says. “He’s worth it.”
His response is immediate, certain and unshakable. Warmth blooms in my chest.
Debbie just stares at him, like she doesn’t recognize the person standing in front of her anymore.
Ashton doesn’t give her the chance to respond.
“We have a movie to catch,” he says, already turning away. “Bye.”
He tugs gently on my hand, pulling me with him down the sidewalk. I go without question, squeezing his palm as we walk. After a few steps, I glance up at him.
His shoulders are squared, his chest lifted. There’s something different in the way he carries himself now—something solid. Like he’s no longer trying to make himself smaller. Like he finally fits in his own skin.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
Ashton smiles and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Yeah, I am.” His voice is steady and confident. He nods toward the theater. “Let’s go get some overpriced candy. I’m starving.”
I grin as we head for the door. “I want Raisinets.”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course you do, old man.”
I snort. “Who the hell are you calling old? I’ve got more stamina than you.”
“Only because I’m injured.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and turn to face him, brows raised. The fading evening light catches in his blond hair, carving soft shadows along the sharp lines of his face.
“We’ll see who’s got more stamina tonight, baby,” I tease.
Ashton’s cheeks flush. “Asshole,” he mutters, ducking his head.
I laugh under my breath and lean in, brushing a quick kiss over his cold lips. He melts into it, his hand sliding down to my hip. He exhales softly into my mouth, all the remaining tension in his body melting away.
When he pulls back, his green eyes are wide and a little hazy, warmth shining through them. A soft smile curls across his glistening lips.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
I rise onto my toes and press a peck to his flushed cheek. “Love you too, baby.”
I nudge the theater door open with my shoulder, and we’re swallowed by warmth and the rich scent of fresh popcorn. The hum of the popcorn machine and the hiss of soda fountains fill the concession area, blending with the low murmur of voices.
We step into line, and I feel it almost immediately—gazes catching, heads turning, whispers that aren’t even trying to be subtle.
But Ashton doesn’t react. His attention is fixed on the candy display, eyes scanning the glass case like it’s the most important decision of his life. The woman standing behind the cash register looks at us expectantly, her lips smacking loudly around a piece of gum.
“Extra large popcorn, please,” Ashton says. “And…” His gaze drags across the options again. “Sour Patch Kids. Those watermelon ones. Gummy worms. And—yeah, those sour strips.”
I blink at him. “You trying to strip the enamel off your teeth in one sitting?”
He shrugs. “Life’s too short not to enjoy sour candy.”
I shake my head, stepping closer to the counter. “Box of Raisinets too.”
Ashton snorts under his breath.
“What?” I shoot back. “Some of us have evolved palates, Ash.”
“I wouldn’t call chocolate-covered raisins evolved.”
I scoff. “It’s an elite candy choice, babe. Don’t be a hater.”
“You’re lucky you’re handsome,” he mumbles.
The girl behind the counter goes still for a second, her throat bobbing as she tries to keep her expression neutral, eyes flicking between us. Ashton doesn’t notice—or doesn’t care.
“And a large cola,” he adds, gesturing to the drink sizes. “The biggest one you’ve got.”
After I pay for our criminally priced concessions, we push through the double doors into the theater.
Previews flicker across the screen, casting a dull glow over the aisle.
The place is a little dingy, a little worn—faded red seats, some patched with tape, the screen just slightly warped at the edges.
The resolution’s fuzzy, the speakers a little tinny.
It feels like nothing’s been updated since the eighties.
But for a town like Claremont Shores, it fits right in.
As we step down the center aisle, scanning for our seats, I feel it again. Eyes tracking our every movement. Whispers breaking out in soft bursts as we pass. It crawls up my spine, that old instinct to shrink and protect Ashton, to pull away—but he just keeps walking with his chin held high.
My fingers tighten around the popcorn, then loosen as I match his pace.
We find our seats near the middle. Ashton carefully wedges the massive drink into the holder while I settle the popcorn between us. He bumps his knee against mine, a small, grounding touch.
Then he reaches in, grabs a single kernel, and presses it to my lips.
I open automatically, smiling as I chew, savoring the salty, buttery crunch.
When he pulls his hand back, he licks the salt from his fingers—slow, deliberate—his eyes locked on mine. The slight curl of his lips, the lazy flick of his tongue as he sucks on his thumb. Heat coils low in my stomach.
This man…
“You’re such a tease,” I growl, my voice low.
Ashton snickers, shooting me a wink. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
I huff with annoyance, subtly adjusting myself. “You better.”
The opening scene abruptly explodes across the screen—noise, chaos, and light flooding the dark.
Ashton leans in instinctively, his focus locking onto the movie as he chews on a piece of sour candy.
His shoulder presses into mine, his hand warm and steady on my thigh, his eyes glossed over like he’s completely absorbed.
The shifting light flickers across his face, catching in his eyes, softening the sharp lines of his expression.
But despite everything unfolding on-screen, I can’t take my eyes off him.
When I look at him, I see my future—and that’s far more exciting than anything playing out in front of us.