Regret pinched my chest, but old images surfaced—him hiding in his room years ago, flipping his phone when I came too close, like he couldn’t risk me seeing.
Ash placed the phone on my lap and pressed play.
A RevGlobe Grand Prix race flickered across the screen. Riders leaned into a corner, one pulling ahead with effortless precision. Another curve came, and he held the lead.
“He’s good,” I whispered—then the rider lost control. The bike whipped, throwing him high before slamming him onto the tarmac. The video cut.
Air punched from my lungs. “Oh my God.” I pressed play again, desperate for more—for proof he got up—but the clip ended in the same place.
“What happened after?” I asked, my voice barely a breath.
Ash gently set the phone aside. “They waved a red flag. A helicopter was ready to take him to the hospital, but it wasn’t needed. They certified his death on the spot.”
Realization sank in. There was only one reason Asher would keep watching this on a loop. “Is he…”
“My father,” Asher said, clearing his throat as if that could hide the break in his voice. His eyes misted, and the weight of his grief crushed my chest.
He’d been torturing himself with his dad’s death for years.
“I’m so sorry, Ash,” I whispered, wishing I had better words.
He rolled onto his side. “Thank you. I don’t know why I still have the video. Every time I watch, I hope for something—some clue to explain why it happened. He was too good, peque. Too good to lose control like that. And too young to die.”
I shifted, turning toward him. With only inches between us, I studied him more closely than I ever had. The tiny scar near his right brow, the rough stubble along his jaw. Even tired and hollow-eyed, he was beautiful.
“Sometimes it isn’t anyone’s fault,” I said softly. “Even though I used to blame everything for what happened to Mom.”
Asher sighed and brushed a few strands of hair behind my ear. “Whoever said time erases everything lied. I still miss him. More than anything, I want to make him proud, wherever he is now.”
The words pricked my heart like a dozen tiny needles. “If he’s anything like my mom, he’s proud anyway,” I said softly. “We don’t have to prove ourselves to the people who love us.”
Rain lashed the window, dimming the room. Ash curled his palm over my shoulder, his thumb tracing slow circles. When our eyes locked, everything else dissolved.
His fingertips trailed up my neck, setting my skin aflame. When they brushed my lower lip, my pulse spiked, anticipation flooding me.
“Quiero besarte,” he whispered, outlining my mouth.
He wanted to kiss me? My breath caught. I wasn’t imagining it—he felt it too. This was it. Everything would change, and I was ready. I’d never wanted anyone more.
“Mierda.” Ash jerked upright, scrubbing both hands over his face like he’d woken from a dream. “Peque, I’m so sorry.”
His remorseful look snuffed out my hope.
He didn’t want me. To him it was weakness. To me it was false hope, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
I slid off the bed, praying my shaky legs wouldn’t give out.
“Kaia,” Asher said gently. “I didn’t—”
“You didn’t mean it.” I tugged my hoodie sleeves down, shivering. When had the room gone so cold? “Do me a favor, Ash.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anything.”
“It has to stop. I can’t do this anymore. You take me to the beach, look after me, give me roses, say things you don’t mean, and I…” My eyes burned, but I refused to cry—not here, not in front of him. “I can’t. Whatever game this is, I can’t play it.”
Desperate to escape, I bolted. I was in my room before the tears spilled. I flung myself onto the bed, buried my face in the pillow, and sobbed like the world was ending.
He was right—time didn’t erase anything. Five years apart hadn’t erased my crush, and it was past time I learned some self-respect. He cared, but not enough. To him, I was just a naïve girl clinging to crumbs of affection.
