“I do with you.”
Silence crashes down around us.
She whispers, “Ash… I can’t be a replacement for her mother.”
I nod once. “I know.”
“I can’t be a temporary comfort.”
“You’re not.”
“I can’t?—”
She breaks off, struggling. I step closer, so close the air heats between us.
“You heard her,” I say softly. “She wants you.”
“I know.”
“Not as a replacement.” My voice dips, low and certain. “As an addition.”
She flinches like that lands too deep.
“Ash… what if your sister comes home and?—”
“She will.” I nod. “Eventually.”
“And then what?”
Shit. She’s asking the question I’ve been running from.
“And then…” I choke. “I don’t know.”
Her fingertips drift to her bottom lip—a nervous gesture that pulls my eyes like a magnet.
“Ash… I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I know,” I murmur.
“I didn’t want to get attached.”
“Too late.”
She lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah.”
“Lucy.”
She blinks up at me, eyes still glassy. I step close enough that our breath mingles. Close enough that if she leaned forward an inch—just one—we’d be touching.
“Whatever this is,” I say quietly, “you’re not doing it alone. I’m in it too.”
Her breathing stutters. “That scares me.”
“Me too.”
We stand there, trapped in the charged silence that keeps getting harder to walk away from.
I lift a hand, hesitating before I touch her. Not because I don’t want to. Because I want to too much. But gently—so gently—I run my thumb along her cheekbone, brushing away a tear she didn’t notice falling. She exhales like that breaks her.
