Ash’s eyes flare. “That’s bullshit.”
“No, it’s?—”
“No.” His voice cuts through mine. “You don’t get to blame yourself for a man who didn’t deserve you.”
I’m breathing too fast now.
“And caring for the woman who raised you?” he adds. “That isn’t something that makes you less. That’s something that makes you more.”
My chest aches. “Ash…” My voice cracks. “Stop.”
“I’m not stopping.”
“Please,” I whisper.
“No.” He leans in until our noses almost touch, the heat of him drowning the cold air.
“Lucy,” he murmurs, “if I ever hear you say you weren’t enough again, I swear?—”
“You’ll what?” I breathe.
His voice drops to a warning growl. “I’ll show you exactly how wrong you are.”
Everything inside me twists. “Ash…”
He closes his eyes briefly, jaw locked. “This is why I asked,” he mutters. “This is why I wanted to know.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been trying—really fucking trying—to give you space. To keep my distance. To do the right thing.”
“And this ruins that?”
He laughs once, a dark, frustrated sound. “You ruined that the day you showed up with glitter in your hair and told me my cabin was cute.”
My stomach flips violently. “Ash…”
He steps back suddenly—as if he knows staying this close will end in something neither of us is ready for. He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Jesus. Why does this feel like a goddamn confession?”
“Because it is.”
His eyes snap to mine.
I cover my mouth, horrified I said it. “Ignore that. Forget I said that. Erase it.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No.”
“Ash—”
“No,” he repeats, softer this time. “I’m not ignoring it. I’m not pretending.”
My pulse races. He looks at me with something dangerous in his eyes.
“You didn’t deserve what he did,” Ash says quietly. “You deserve someone who shows up. Someone who stays.”
My throat burns.
“You deserve better than lies. Better than selfish men. Better than a life spent taking care of everyone but yourself.”
