Chapter Sixteen #2
We walk side by side along the nearly dry trail, the hush between us soft—not awkward, just easy.
There’s a comfort in the silence, the way Ayla’s hand brushes against mine with every step.
For once, neither of us feels the need to fill the space with words.
The world smells like wet earth and pine, sun cutting gold through the trees.
I glance over, trying to commit every detail of her to memory—the way the light catches the strands of her hair, the stubborn set of her jaw, the little frown she wears when she thinks too hard.
After a while, I clear my throat, voice low. “Does it bug you? Basically, going from one prison to another?”
She stops, turning to face me, sunlight catching in her hair and painting her in gold.
“Honestly, I’ve always been in some kind of prison.
My father, Derek… I think it just became my normal.
” She gives a wry smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Yeah, maybe this is a prison, but it’s certainly the best one I’ve ever been in.
And I like it here. I like… you guys.” Her voice wobbles just a little, but she doesn’t look away.
We stand there, woods quiet around us, and I see the honesty in her eyes—vulnerable, but at peace for the first time in a long while. I want to reach out, but I wait, letting her lead.
She hesitates, then asks, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” I say, nudging a smile into my voice.
She studies me, voice soft but direct. “What’s your story? I know Alex and Dean go back like brothers and why, but… where do you fit in here?”
I draw a shaky breath, feeling the urge to be honest, to be real with her.
“Dean and I… we were together for a couple of years before my dad ever found out. It was our secret world—late-night drives, sneaking into each other’s rooms, just trying to hold on to something good when everything else felt like chaos.
” I smile wryly. “I wasn’t ready to tell anyone.
Not my friends, not Alex, no one. Especially not my dad. ”
My voice cracks a little as I go on, the memory raw.
“My dad was strict. Not just tough-love, but angry, controlling. The kind of man who thought love had rules, and that boys couldn’t break them.
When he finally found out… it wasn’t by choice.
We were seventeen, and Dean stayed over.
I thought we were safe for just one night.
But my dad came home early and caught us kissing.
He lost his shit. Screamed at Dean to get out, then turned on me.
He beat the hell out of me, yelling that I was an embarrassment, a failure, all because I loved someone he didn’t want me to love. ”
I pause, swallowing hard, feeling the old shame and anger flood back.
“My mom was already gone—left when I was four, off chasing her next high. I never really had anyone in my corner. After that night, I couldn’t stay.
I packed my bag, disappeared. Slept in my car, curled up in parking lots, sometimes crashed at the gym or on a friend’s couch.
But I didn’t want anyone to know why I’d left.
Dean was already living with Alex by then, so when I finally let them pull me in, it was like finding my own family.
Alex never cared about Dean and me—never made me feel broken or wrong.
He let me be exactly who I was, and that’s when things finally started to feel good again. ”
I glance at Ayla, letting my guard down. “I’m still not wired to love just one person. I’ve had girlfriends, Dean’s had girlfriends, but what I feel for him has never faded. Even now, with you here, it’s not about choosing. It just means there’s more in my heart.”
She’s silent for a long moment, then, voice barely above a whisper: “So you never tried to work things out with your dad?”
I shake my head. “I reached out a few years ago. He shut me down. I never tried again. His loss. I have my family now.” I say it with a sadness that passes quickly, replaced by a new sense of belonging.
She looks up at me, her gaze searching, vulnerable. “So it really doesn’t bother you?” she asks quietly. “Dean with me? Or me with Alex?”
I shake my head, giving her a gentle, honest smile. “No. Does it bother you, thinking about Dean and me?”
Her lips curve, thoughtful. She considers it, chewing on her bottom lip—a little nervous, a little excited.
“Honestly? No,” she admits with a soft laugh.
“It’s actually… really interesting. The idea of all of us being connected, wanting each other, sharing this.
I thought it would be weird, but it feels right.
Like maybe this is what life is supposed to feel like. ”
She glances away, a shy smile blooming on her lips. “I can’t exactly explain it, but I don’t want to fight it anymore. I just want to see where it goes.”
For a moment, we just stand there, surrounded by the hush of the woods, the sunlight warm on our faces. I reach for her hand, squeezing gently, and she squeezes back, hope and something like happiness flickering between us.
The second those words leave her lips, something in me snaps—all restraint gone.
I surge forward, capturing her mouth with mine, pouring every ounce of want, relief, and pent-up feeling into the kiss.
It’s rough at first, all teeth and hunger, but there’s love threaded through it too—a desperate need to show her what she means to me.
She melts against me, her hands tangling in my hair as I pull her flush against my chest, breathing her in, letting her scent fill my head.
I break away for a heartbeat, just enough to murmur, “Then don’t,” my voice low and certain, before claiming her mouth again, this time slower, deeper, savoring the taste of her like I’ll never get enough.
We lose ourselves in each other, the world falling away until there’s nothing left but the two of us—kissing, gasping, laughing against each other’s mouths.
I slide my hands down, gripping her thighs and lifting her easily, her legs wrapping tight around my waist. She fits perfectly, her body molding to mine in a way that feels inevitable, like we were made for this moment.
The connection is overwhelming—heat and comfort, hunger and safety, all tangled together.
I hold her close, her breath warm against my cheek, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
The sharp sound of Dean’s voice shatters the moment.
“Zayn! Now!” he yells, panic and urgency bleeding through every syllable.
My heart jolts, adrenaline flooding me as I tear my mouth from Ayla’s, breath still ragged.
For a split second, I see the shock and worry flicker across her face—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, her arms still wrapped around my neck.
I press one last, fierce kiss to her forehead before setting her down gently.
“Come on,” I urge, voice rough, grabbing her hand with shaking fingers.
We take off together, feet pounding the dirt path, the weight of whatever’s waiting in the cabin tightening in my chest. Everything between us is unfinished, raw, but right now, all that matters is what’s waiting inside—and the dread I feel growing with every step.