“My grandma got sick last winter,” I whisper. “I was her only family. I spent months driving her to treatments. Sitting beside her hospital bed. Reading to her. Feeding her. Living in this… constant fear of losing the person who meant everything to me.”
My throat tightens.
“She passed in the spring.” I feel the ground shift beneath my feet as the memory rises—cold and lonely and sharp. “Andtwo weeks later,” I say softly, “he left. Said he’d outgrown the relationship. Said I’d changed too much.”
Silence swallows the garage.
Ash’s breathing has changed. Deeper. Rougher. Controlled only by sheer force of will.
“Lucy,” he says, voice shaking with contained fury, “why the hell didn’t you tell me that sooner?”
“Because it wasn’t your business.”
“The hell it wasn’t.”
I raise a brow. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
He steps closer—too close. My back grazes the wall. He cages me there, not touching, but absolutely claiming the air around me.
“Nobody,” he growls, “gets to treat you like that. Nobody gets to break you and walk away like you’re replaceable.”
My breath stutters. He leans in, just enough that my lips tingle with heat.
“You are not boring,” he says fiercely. “You are not unlikable. And you damn sure aren’t someone a man outgrows.”
“Ash…”
He breathes hard, fighting something. Fighting himself. Fightingus.
“You don’t let people in easily,” he murmurs. “I’ve seen that. Felt that.”
I swallow. “Yeah, well. Getting burned does that.”
“Then why tell me now?”
I meet his eyes—dark, molten, consuming. “Because,” I whisper, “you asked.”
His jaw softens. Not much. Just enough to make him look painfully human.
“Lucy…” He closes his eyes for a second, like he’s fighting the urge to pull me into him. “…you deserved better.”
The words slam into me. Heavy. Real. Raw. I blink back sudden heat behind my eyes. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you mean them.”
He opens his eyes, staring at me like I’m something breakable and dangerous all at once. “I do.”
I shake my head. “Ash…”
He lifts a hand—hesitates—then rests it against the wall beside my head instead of touching me.
“Whoever he was,” Ash says, voice now low enough to curl around my spine, “he was a coward for leaving.”
I laugh bitterly. “No. He just didn’t love me enough.”
