Chapter 21 Ashton #2
There’s a warmth in her words, something that strikes deeper than I expect.
And for a second, I find myself caught—unable to look away from her, from that openness in her eyes.
I feel myself soften. The walls I’ve kept up around her slipping, just enough that I can feel it.
This is dangerous ground, a place I swore I’d never go.
But with her, it’s like the rules I set for myself don’t apply.
“Careful, Dove,” I say, my voice lower, rougher than I intended. “You keep looking at me like that, and I might start to believe you actually want me around.”
Her smile softens, something like understanding flickering in her gaze. “Maybe I do,” she whispers, so quiet it feels like a secret.
The words hang between us, heavy and warm, and I feel the urge to reach across the table again, to touch her, to close this distance that suddenly feels too wide. But instead, I keep my hands where they are, letting the moment stretch, letting her see every part of me I usually keep hidden.
“Stay,” I find myself saying, the word almost an ache, a crack in my armor that I can’t seem to fix. “Just… stay.”
She nods, and that’s all it takes for the tension to ease, for something that feels like relief to settle into my chest. We don’t say anything else. We just sit there, letting the quiet fall between us, letting the moment linger like a promise.
The soft hum of the home theater fills the room as the overhead lights dim, casting everything in a warm, amber glow.
The leather seats are plush beneath us, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and the faintest hint of popcorn lingering from earlier.
There’s an intimacy to the space, a kind of hushed comfort, as if it were made for moments just like this—moments when the world fades out and all that’s left is us.
Dove settles beside me, her legs tucked beneath her, her body turned just enough so I can feel the heat of her skin.
She’s so close that I can hear the quiet rhythm of her breathing, the gentle flutter of her pulse.
It’s like she’s in my space now, but not in a way that feels suffocating.
Instead, she feels like a breath of fresh air in a room that’s been sealed off for too long.
“Do you watch movies often?” she asks, her voice breaking the quiet, though it’s not loud enough to disrupt the calm between us.
“Not really.” I lean back in the seat, letting the leather mold around me as I stretch my legs out in front of me. “I don’t have much time for it.”
She glances at me, her eyes searching. There’s a softness in the way she watches me now, like she’s trying to peel back the layers I keep carefully guarded.
It feels different than it has before, like she’s not just observing from a distance anymore, but truly seeing me.
And I can’t hide from that, not when it feels so real.
“I used to watch them when I was a kid,” I say, my voice quieter than usual.
I didn’t plan on saying that. I didn’t plan on opening up at all.
But there’s something in the way she’s looking at me, something that makes the words spill out before I can stop them.
“It was… the only way to escape, you know? Just disappearing into someone else’s world for a while. ”
The words hang in the air, but I don’t regret them. Not yet.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me, and I can feel the weight of her gaze. Like she’s waiting for more.
I swallow, feeling the tension in my chest tighten. But she doesn’t look at me with pity. No, her eyes hold something gentler. Something that asks for more. That pulls the truth from me, piece by piece.
“The children’s home,” I continue, my voice low, rougher than usual. “I wasn’t really… wanted there. I was just the kid who slipped through the cracks. The one no one noticed.”
My hands flex in my lap, the weight of those years settling in my bones once again. The memories come flooding back—cold walls, unspoken words, the feeling of being invisible, always fighting to be seen, but never really reaching it.
“Not that I wanted anyone to notice,” I mutter, almost to myself. “I was easier to ignore that way.”
I can’t bring myself to look at her, so I keep my eyes on the screen, letting the dim light cast shadows over my face. But the truth is, it’s not the screen I’m focused on. It’s her, and the way she’s listening, the way she’s waiting for me to speak, to let her in.
“Everyone around me had their own shit going on, their own lives to live,” I say, my voice turning a little darker.
“And me? I just… kept to myself. I learned how to survive by staying out of everyone’s way.
How to be the ghost in the room, the one who never asked for anything because I knew I’d never get it. ”
The air between us grows thicker, and I feel a pressure in my chest, as if admitting these things might open up something inside me that I’m not ready to face. But Dove doesn’t pull away. She’s still right there, her presence gentle but insistent, like a soft hand on my back.
“You don’t have to keep hiding,” she says quietly, her words slipping into the space between us like a whispered promise. “I see you, Ashton. All of you.”
I turn my head then, meeting her gaze. For the first time, I let myself really see her—her eyes soft but unwavering, her face open, unguarded.
And something inside me snaps. A line I didn’t even know was drawn across my chest is broken, and all the walls I’ve built around myself crumble, one slow breath at a time.
“I wasn’t meant for this life,” I confess, the weight of it all crashing down on me. “The Riley name—it’s a curse. I wasn’t cut out to carry it. To be the person they wanted me to be. I don’t belong in their world, and I sure as hell don’t belong in anyone else’s. Not really.”
Her fingers brush mine, light and tentative at first, as if she’s afraid of shattering something fragile. But when I don’t pull away, she lets her hand rest there, and the heat of her touch steadies me.
“You belong with me,” she says, her voice so quiet, so certain, it stuns me into silence. “You always have.”
I can’t breathe for a moment. Her words cut through the years of isolation, through the loneliness that’s followed me since I was a kid. And in that moment, I realize that she’s offering something I never thought I could have. Something real. A place. A connection.
And for the first time in my life, I feel like I might actually belong somewhere.
The room feels smaller now, the weight of our closeness pressing in on me. But it doesn’t feel suffocating. It feels like I’ve been holding my breath for so long that I’m finally allowed to exhale.
“Dove…” My voice is hoarse, barely a whisper, as I lean in closer to her. “I don’t know what you see in me. But I—”
She cuts me off, her hand moving to the back of my neck, pulling me gently, insistently, until her lips are just a breath away from mine.
“I see you,” she repeats softly, the words not just spoken but felt. “I see you, Ashton. And I’m not going anywhere.”
For a heartbeat, we sit there, our faces so close that I can feel the warmth of her breath, hear the steady rhythm of her pulse in my ears. The tension between us is thick, palpable, like the air just before a storm.
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m not the ghost I thought I was.
Maybe, with her, I can finally be real.
I feel her breath on my lips, warm and steady, and I realize that the world around us has faded into nothing.
The only thing that matters now is the soft pressure of her hand against my neck.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer—asking me to close the distance that’s been between us for so long.
For a moment, I hesitate. I should pull away. I should push this back, fight it like I’ve fought everything else in my life. But the pull of her—the way she looks at me, the way she feels so damn real—has me frozen in place. My heart beats faster, and I wonder if it’s ever beaten this hard before.
Her lips brush against mine, gentle, tentative, as if she’s testing the waters. And that’s all it takes. Something inside me snaps, the last of the walls I’ve kept between us crumbling like dust.
I kiss her then—soft at first, a slow exploration, like I’m trying to understand every inch of her, every way her lips move against mine.
It’s a kiss filled with so much heat, so much want, but also tenderness.
A side of me I didn’t know I had, a side I didn’t even think I could still feel, emerges as I let myself sink into her, into this moment.
She’s not just a prisoner anymore. She’s not just someone I’ve kept locked away in this house. She’s Dove, the woman who sees past all the darkness in me, the one who sees the parts I’ve hidden for so long. The parts I never thought I could let anyone see.
I pull back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes, to see the uncertainty mixed with something else—something softer, something that makes my chest tighten with a strange kind of need.
“You’re not afraid of me?” I whisper, my voice rough, almost disbelieving.
She shakes her head, a slight smile curving her lips. “I’m not afraid of you,” she says, and there’s something in her eyes that feels like truth. “Not anymore.”
And in that moment, I realize that I don’t need to fight it anymore. I don’t need to keep running from this feeling that’s been simmering inside of me. I don’t need to hide from her. I want her, in a way I can’t put into words, but I feel it all the same.
I lean in again, this time with a hunger that’s been building since the moment I laid eyes on her. The kiss deepens, this time more urgent, more desperate. I feel the heat of her against me, the way her body fits against mine, and I know—I know—that I can’t let this go. I can’t let her go.
“Come here, little bird.” I call to her in barely a whisper.