Chapter 28 ASH
ASH
The L-Word
Fuck.
My hands are still shaking, adrenaline burning through my veins like I’ve just come offstage in front of fifty thousand people—but there’s no high, just the crash. The ugly, bitter taste of a moment gone sideways.
That wasn’t how Liam was supposed to find out.
Hell, he wasn’t supposed to find out at all. Not like this.
He looked at her like she was a stranger. Looked at me like I’d stabbed him in the back and twisted the knife just for fun.
And maybe I did. Maybe I am that guy. Maybe everything he said is true.
I don’t do relationships. I don’t do sticking around. I’ve made a career out of vanishing when things get too real. Break it off, blow it up, burn it down—before anyone can do it to me.
But Olive…
She’s not just another pretty face I’ll forget in a week. She’s not some fling, not a groupie, not a notch on the bedpost. She’s Olive. Sweet. Smart. Fucking radiant.
And Liam’s right. She’s not built for something casual. She’s the kind of girl who reads love stories for comfort, who still believes in soulmates, who makes me want to believe, too. She’s all in, or not at all.
So what the hell am I doing?
Olive appears beside me, holding out a fresh pack of ice. I take it and gingerly press it to my throbbing face.
“You okay?” she asks, voice low.
I want to tell her yes. I want to shrug it off, make a joke, let her believe this didn’t get under my skin. But the truth is wedged somewhere behind my ribs, heavy and uncomfortable.
“I’ve been better,” I say finally, leaning back into the couch cushions. My voice sounds rough, even to me.
She frowns, crossing to the kitchen, and comes back with a glass of water. I take it from her, our fingers brushing, and drink just to have something to do.
“You didn’t deserve that,” she says quietly.
I huff out something that’s not quite a laugh. “Depends who you ask.”
Her brows knit. “Ash—”
“Don’t,” I say, more sharply than I mean to.
Her expression flickers, and I run a hand through my hair, forcing my tone softer.
“It’s just… I hate that he found out like that.
He’s protective of you, and I—” My words stall, the truth tasting bitter on my tongue.
“I don’t want to be the reason things get screwed up between you two. ”
She sits beside me, her thigh warm against mine. “You’re not.”
I let out a long breath, staring at the glass in my hands. “Aren’t I? I don’t know about that.”
She cups my jaw, and I swear her fingers are made of cool water. Careful on the dark bloom spreading under my cheekbone, she ghosts her thumb along the edge of the bruise like she’s mapping a coastline no one’s supposed to know exists.
“Be gentle, Doc,” I murmur, trying for light. It comes out sandpapered and too low. “What’s the prognosis on my face? Am I salvageable or should we just replace the whole unit?”
Her mouth tips. “The patient is dramatic.” Her thumb pauses, and her eyes, God, those eyes, search mine. “But he’ll live.”
Olive’s fingers spread, one hand cradling beneath my ear, the other steady on my jaw. She leans in, tentative, like she’s stepping onto thin ice. I hold still. My breath stalls. Her lips press to mine—soft, careful, a question more than a kiss, as if she’s testing whether I’ll break.
I don’t. I lean into it.
Her mouth tastes of mint and something purely her. When she pulls back a fraction, her eyes flick to the bruise again, then to my mouth. “Does that hurt?”
“Only in the ways I like.”
“Ash,” she warns, but there’s a tremor in it, a heat that wasn’t there a minute ago.
“Sorry,” I say, not sorry at all, and I chase her this time. The kiss deepens—slow to warm, then catching quick like paper touching flame. She answers with a small sound in her throat that goes straight through me.
Everything tightens. The anger I’ve been tamping down all morning cracks and leaks out of me in the only way I know how to let it go. I slide a hand to her lower back, palm spreading over the small of it, and tug gently. “Come here.”
She goes without argument, knees on either side of my thighs, dress rustling as she climbs into my lap. I curve my other hand around the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair, and hold her there, exactly where I need her.
“This okay?” I whisper against her mouth, because the world can be on fire but this part cannot be careless.
Her breath shivers over my lips. “Yes.”
The word unlocks something I’d kept bolted shut.
I tilt her, opening her to me as I kiss her deeper, hungrier, trying to drink her in, to steal enough softness to erase the hardness in my chest. She angles her mouth, meets me with equal heat.
The kiss isn’t neat anymore; it’s messy and consuming and real.
Every time I think we’ll come up for air, we find a new way to press closer.
Her hands start at my neck and move down—over my collarbone, the chest I tried to square against Liam, where I’m still wired with adrenaline. She flattens her palm, like she’s smoothing out the tension. “Hey,” she murmurs between kisses, “you’re still wound tight.”
“I know.” I swallow, tasting us. “Keep going.”
My left hand slides up beneath the hem of her shirt. My palm finds warm skin, the kind of warmth that unknots everything. I splay my fingers against the curve of her spine and pull her flush. She fits like she was made to.
“God, Olive,” I say into her mouth. “You’re—”
“Right here,” she finishes, kissing me again like it’s the only language we share. “I’m right here.”
Anger and need knot together under my ribs.
I want to say something that explains both, that apologizes for letting Liam get to me, for letting his fear echo my own, but words are slow and my body is fast. I drag my mouth along her jaw and to the edge of her ear.
She shivers. I breathe her in and try again.
Her fingers hook in the front of my shirt, fisting the fabric. A rough laugh cuts from me. “We’re a disaster.”
“A sexy, fixable disaster.” She rolls her hips, and I forget how to breathe for a second. “And you do need… medical attention.”
“I’m in your capable hands,” I manage, voice thick.
Her mouth curves against my neck. “You trust me?”
“With my life,” I say before I can think better of it, because it’s true in a way that terrifies me.
Her breath catches. That softness in her eyes deepens into something weighty and bright. She kisses the corner of my mouth, then the other, then mouths over the bruise as gently as a prayer. “Good,” she whispers. “Then let me take care of you.”
I tip my head back and let her. She maps me with patient kisses, like she’s recalibrating me to this room, this moment, to her.
Every pass of her lips is a reminder of where I am, what matters, what’s real.
Her hands move under my shirt again, pushing the hem up, and I lift my arms without being asked.
The shirt skims off, and the air against my skin feels like permission.
She takes her time, fingers tracing the lines of muscle like a study, and yeah, I preen a little. “You always this thorough?” I ask, half teasing, half strung tight.
“Only with my favorite patients.”
I catch her hand and kiss her palm. “You’re such a flirt, Hart.”
When I reach for the hem of her shirt, she nods, eyes steady on mine. “Yes.”
I peel it up slowly, the fabric slipping over her head—and I forget every lyric I’ve ever written. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Her hair falls messily around her shoulders; her cheeks are flushed; her mouth is swollen from our kisses.
“Beautiful,” I say, helpless.
Her throat works. “Ash.”
I cup the back of her neck and bring our mouths together again, softer now because soft can be its own kind of urgent.
She makes that sound again and melts into me.
My hand traces the line of her spine. Her body arches, and the tension that’s been vibrating through me loosens, rewires, becomes something cleaner and hotter.
We move together like a memory we’re making as we go—her nails scratch lightly at my shoulders; my fingers draw slow circles at her waist. The world blurs—just our breath, the couch creaking, the distant hum of the city like static.
I tuck her closer, letting the weight and heat of her settle the last of the storm inside me.
We’re chasing the same thing now—a way out of the fight, a way back to each other.
“Ash,” she breathes, and it sounds like please.
“Yes,” I say, and it sounds like I will.
My hand slides to the small of her back again, guiding, anchoring, and she arches into me. I cradle her head with my other hand, thumb stroking her temple, keeping her close. Every kiss is a decision. Every breath is consent. Every movement says more than either of us can right now.
“Tell me what you need,” I say into her mouth.
“You,” she whispers. “All of you. Right now.”
Need flares bright and clean. I kiss her hard, then slow again, unwilling to rush the thing that’s saving me. The bruise throbs, a dull echo of earlier, but her hands on me are louder. Her mouth is louder. Her yes is the loudest thing in the room.
“Then take it,” I say, and she does—meeting me, matching me, leading and following in turns. The heat builds like music—steady, climbing, inevitable. The angry edges inside me soften, dissolve, are replaced by something raw and honest.
When we finally align and she sinks down onto me, my breath leaves in one long, rough exhale.
She’s warm and tight around me, and I can feel the faint tremor in her thighs.
I grip her hips gently, anchoring her, my thumbs stroking her skin.
“Take your time,” I tell her, because I want this to be hers as much as mine.
Her fingers thread through my hair, her forehead dropping to mine. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The words hit like a chord I didn’t know I’d been waiting to hear.
My hands slide up her back, pulling her closer until our chests are pressed together.
We move like that—slow, deep, staying connected everywhere we can.
Her mouth brushes mine with each breath.
Sometimes she kisses me, sometimes she just lets the space fill with quiet.
And yeah, it’s intense. My whole body’s humming with it.
Every so often, she murmurs something against my skin. “Feels good.” “Stay with me.” “You’re not alone.” I answer in the only ways I can—hands on her, lips at her throat, the steady rhythm of us together.
We shift without losing contact—me rolling her beneath me, our legs tangling. She wraps around me, ankles locking at the small of my back. My mouth finds her shoulder, tasting salt and heat. Her nails skim my ribs, light but enough to make me shiver.
Her eyes catch mine again, and the way she’s looking at me… it’s not casual. It’s not fake. It’s not even safe, if I’m honest. It’s real in a way that makes me want to both pull her closer and run like hell.
Instead, I kiss her—long, slow, like I’m pouring something into her I can’t name. She kisses back the same way. Our bodies move together, unhurried but certain, every shift drawing another gasp, another whispered word.
I can feel her building beneath me, the tension in her thighs, the way her breath comes quicker.
I keep my pace steady, keep my mouth on hers, because this is about staying with her the whole way.
Her fingers grip my jaw, holding me there as she tips over the edge, her eyes locked on mine the entire time.
Watching her fall apart like that—close, quiet, still holding on to me—undoes me in turn. I press my forehead to hers, groaning low as the heat coils tight and snaps. I stay buried in her, shaking with it, my breath ragged against her cheek.
When it ebbs, I don’t pull away. I can’t. I just stay there, my body draped over hers, our heartbeats syncing in the leftover heat.
We lie like that, not talking. I smooth her hair. She traces circles on my chest. That’s when I feel something trickling down my chest.
Wet.
Just a little.
At first, I think it’s sweat. But then it trails slowly across my chest in a way that has nothing to do with heat or friction.
Tears.
She’s crying.
Panic flashes through me.
“Olive?” I murmur, my hand stilling on her back.
She doesn’t pull away. She shifts slightly, lifting her head just enough to meet my eyes.
And what I see there—Jesus. I forget how to breathe.
Her cheeks are damp. Her eyes are shining, her lips are curled in the softest smile I’ve ever seen—so full of wonder, like she’s looking at something rare. Like I’m something rare.
She reaches up and cups my face, her fingers brushing gently along the edge of my jaw. Right near the bruise Liam gave me. Her touch is so tender it makes my throat ache.
“I’ve never felt this way before,” she says quietly. “With anyone.”
My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. Because I know what’s coming. I feel it in the air between us, thick and charged and impossible to outrun.
No. No. No. No. No.
“I love you.”
Three words. That’s all it is.
My mouth parts, but no sound comes out.