Chapter Seven
Ashley
I’ve just settled into the driver’s seat and turned the key, the engine rumbling to life when the front door opens.
I watch as my grandma walks out in her floral apron with a tray of cookies in her hands.
The scent of warm chocolate chip cookies hits the second I roll down the window.
Penny notices as well, as she perks up, lifting her nose in the air.
“These are not for you, girl,” Nana says, pointing a warning finger at Penny. “These are for Ashley’s man.”
“M-man?” I flush. “What are you talking about, Nana?”
“You’ve been getting home pretty late and smiling to yourself when you think no one’s watching. But what do I know about young love?” She shrugs, offering me an innocent smile, but I don’t miss the twinkle in her eye. “I’ve only been in love with one man for fifty years.”
“Nana.” I drop my face to my hands before spreading my fingers apart to peek at her through them. “Was I that obvious?”
“I know my baby.”
And she does, doesn’t she? She and Gramps raised me as their own when my parents up and left town.
I was born to two seventeen-year-olds who must’ve missed a lesson on safe sex because, while others were learning, they were out skipping school.
I was the result of their careless actions, and when I was born, neither of them wanted anything to do with me.
Twenty-four years ago, they left me with my grandparents and skipped town.
I don’t hate them. To hate would imply I have any feelings toward these people. To me, they were surrogates, and my real parents were the ones who walked me to school every morning, taught me how to brush my teeth, and bought me chocolate when I got my first period.
How did I think I could hide this from them?
“We’re not…” in love? I know I am, and a part of me wants to believe that Matt has deep feelings for me too. “I don’t know what we are, Nana.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, sweetheart,” she says. “Maybe the two of you can talk about it over a glass of milk and cookies?”
My heart swells with warmth. I cut the engine, push open the car door, and climb out, taking the tray from her so I can wrap her in a one-armed hug.
I smile at the mix of the sweet scent of cookies and her perfume.
“Thank you,” I say, burying my face in her hair for a moment before pulling back and settling the tray carefully on the passenger seat.
“Make sure to call us if you’re going to be late tonight.”
“Nana.” I blush at her knowing smile. “Go on inside. It’s a little chilly this morning.”
I wait for her to walk inside before climbing back into the driver’s seat. With one warning look at Penny, to which I am rewarded by what I assume is the dog version of a scoff, I restart the car.
She keeps her eyes on the tray as we drive to Matt’s place and only looks away when we approach the turn to his house.
Her ears perk up and she shifts in her seat, her body language changing subtly.
I glance at the rearview mirror, a smile tugging at my lips.
I can almost feel the surge of energy in her as we take the next curve.
And then, the house comes into view. Penny’s excitement becomes palpable.
Her tail begins to wag, a gentle thump at first, then gaining momentum, becoming a frenzied blur.
She lets out a happy yip and bounces in her seat, pawing at the window when I drive toward Matt’s. Heck, I’d wag my tail too if I had one.
She knows what’s waiting—the dog bed Matt put in the workout room after the first week, the spot by the couch where he sits and lets her press her shoulder against his thigh, the way he keeps a jar of treats on the counter and pretends he doesn’t reach for it without thinking.
They’ve built something quiet, the two of them.
He doesn’t talk to her the way I do; he just makes room for her in his life like she’s always belonged there.
Coming to Matt has felt a lot like coming home.
He feels like home, almost like how it feels to hug my grandma, but in an entirely different way.
It’s crazy. I’ve stupidly allowed myself to fall in love with the man.
The truth is, I didn’t allow myself anything.
It just happened, and now, he’s all I can think about.
“You love him too, don’t you?” I tease Penny as I park the car, then reach over to grab the tray. “Fine, we can share him.”
I clip the walking leash onto Penny’s collar before I open the back door, because greyhounds don’t get second chances on a property this big. Penny pulls toward the front door the second her paws touch gravel, and I let her tow me up the walk, shaking my head even as I share her excitement.
I don’t think much of it when the door doesn’t immediately open for us. Most days, Matt comes out to greet us when he hears the sound of the engine. There have been times when he doesn’t, though, and he mentioned I could let myself in.
I dig around the fake flower on his front porch and unlock the door, letting Penny walk in first before following her. I walk into an empty kitchen, and my brows furrow at the half-crumpled beer cans tossed on the counter. Matt is a neat freak, and the mess, however slight, worries me a bit.
“Matt,” I call out, leaving the cookie tray in the kitchen before looking for him.
He’s not in the workout room or any of the others on this side of the house, so I head down the hall to his room and walk in just as he’s stepping out of the shower.
I start to smile, but it freezes when I get a better look at his face.
He looks like he hasn’t slept. The dark circles under his eyes are deep enough to look like bruises, and there’s a hollowness to him I’ve never seen before—like someone scraped him out overnight and put the shell back without the rest.
“Matt?”
He doesn’t look up or respond. Instead, he walks to his closet and starts pulling clothes out.
Refusing to be ignored, I walk into the room and step next to him, confused by the tired lines on his face.
I drop Penny’s leash so she can settle without pulling, because whatever this is, it isn’t a moment to be juggling a dog. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“No,” he grunts, yanking off his towel to get dressed.
“What happened?” I start to reach out to touch him, but he moves away, and something in me cracks. It’s a little slice to the heart, but I push it aside even as I let my hand drop. “Something’s wrong. Do you have a headache again?”
“No.”
His reception breaks my heart, and I question what has changed. This isn’t him. This is a man wearing his body—going through the motions of the morning while something underneath has come apart.
All you have to do is ask, mocks a small voice in my head.
“Did something happen?” I ask, afraid to reach out again and be met by rejection. “Matt, can you stop and talk to me?”
He stops mid-reach for his shirt and turns to look at me. For a second, his eyes meet mine, and what I see there nearly breaks my heart.
“I don’t think this is going to work out.”
The crack widens, and blood drips from the slice to the heart. “What is not going to work out?”
“Everything,” he hisses, grabbing the shirt and pulling it on. His hands shake on the buttons. He doesn’t seem to notice. “You, the physical therapy. Everything.”
Another piece falls as the crack grows. “I told you I’m not going to quit.” I’m not giving up on you, is what I really want to say.
“You don’t have to quit,” he grinds, running a hand through his hair. “Just—just go, Ashley. Please.”
I step in his way when he goes to turn away. “What do you mean, go? Yesterday, you—”
“Yesterday was a mistake!” The words come out too loud, and he flinches at his own voice. “All of it. The whole—everything. It was a mistake. I’m not who you think I am, Ashley, and I’m not going to keep pretending I am for one more goddamn day.”
“A mistake.” I say it slowly, tasting it, hating it.
“Matt, two weeks ago, you couldn’t lift your left arm above your shoulder without your face going gray.
Yesterday you finished a full upper-body set with the resistance bands, three rounds, no compensation.
Two weeks ago, you couldn’t crouch to feed Penny without bracing on the counter.
Yesterday, you dropped into a full bodyweight squat and came up clean—and the version of you from week one wouldn’t have made it halfway down before his knee went out. ”
I pause, taking a deep breath. But I have to continue.
“Don’t tell me yesterday was a mistake when I have the data on what your body can do now versus what it could do when I first walked through your door. You have made progress, Matt. Real, measurable progress. We both know it.”
He’s silent. His jaw works. He doesn’t look at me.
“Matt.” My voice cracks on the word. “Look at me. If yesterday was a mistake, what about the day before? What about the day you let me massage your head when the migraine almost put you down? What about the day Penny first leaned against your leg, and you stood there like she’d handed you something fragile? Were those mistakes too?”
“Leave,” he says. Quieter this time. It sounds less like an order and more like a man holding the door shut against his own grief.
This time, there is more than just blood that spills from the ruthless slice he keeps delivering to my heart. There are tears, too, but I refuse to let them fall.
Pride keeps the question in my throat. He doesn’t get to make me beg him for an answer.
“You’re a coward, Matt Galloway.” My voice doesn’t shake, which surprises me. “That’s what this is. You’re scared of whatever happened in your head last night, and you’re taking it out on me because you think it’ll be easier to push me away than face me.”
He flinches—a real one this time, the kind that goes through his whole body—but his face shutters fast. “Leave.”