I swallow, feeling the tension in my chest tighten. But she doesn’t look at me with pity. No, her eyes hold something gentler. Something that asks for more. That pulls the truth from me, piece by piece.
“The children’s home,” I continue, my voice low, rougherthan usual. “I wasn’t really… wanted there. I was just the kid who slipped through the cracks. The one no one noticed.”
My hands flex in my lap, the weight of those years settling in my bones once again. The memories come flooding back—cold walls, unspoken words, the feeling of being invisible, always fighting to be seen, but never really reaching it.
“Not that I wanted anyone to notice,” I mutter, almost to myself. “I was easier to ignore that way.”
I can’t bring myself to look at her, so I keep my eyes on the screen, letting the dim light cast shadows over my face. But the truth is, it’s not the screen I’m focused on. It’s her, and the way she’s listening, the way she’s waiting for me to speak, to let her in.
“Everyone around me had their own shit going on, their own lives to live,” I say, my voice turning a little darker. “And me? I just… kept to myself. I learned how to survive by staying out of everyone’s way. How to be the ghost in the room, the one who never asked for anything because I knew I’d never get it.”
The air between us grows thicker, and I feel a pressure in my chest, as if admitting these things might open up something inside me that I’m not ready to face. But Dove doesn’t pull away. She’s still right there, her presence gentle but insistent, like a soft hand on my back.
“You don’t have to keep hiding,” she says quietly, her words slipping into the space between us like a whispered promise. “I see you, Ashton. All of you.”
I turn my head then, meeting her gaze. For the first time, I let myself really see her—her eyes soft but unwavering, her face open, unguarded.
And something inside me snaps. A line I didn’t even know was drawn across my chest is broken, and all the walls I’ve built around myself crumble, one slow breath at a time.
“I wasn’t meant for this life,” I confess, the weight of it all crashing down on me. “The Riley name—it’s a curse. I wasn’t cut out to carry it. To be the person they wanted me to be. I don’t belong in their world, and I sure as hell don’t belong in anyone else’s. Not really.”
Her fingers brush mine, light and tentative at first, as if she’s afraid of shattering something fragile. But when I don’t pull away, she lets her hand rest there, and the heat of her touch steadies me.
“You belong with me,” she says, her voice so quiet, so certain, it stuns me into silence. “You always have.”
I can’t breathe for a moment. Her words cut through the years of isolation, through the loneliness that’s followed me since I was a kid. And in that moment, I realize that she’s offering something I never thought I could have. Something real. A place. A connection.
And for the first time in my life, I feel like I might actually belong somewhere.
The room feels smaller now, the weight of our closeness pressing in on me. But it doesn’t feel suffocating. It feels like I’ve been holding my breath for so long that I’m finally allowed to exhale.
“Dove…” My voice is hoarse, barely a whisper, as I lean in closer to her. “I don’t know what you see in me. But I?—”
She cuts me off, her hand moving to the back of my neck, pulling me gently, insistently, until her lips are just a breath away from mine.
“I see you,” she repeats softly, the words not just spoken but felt. “I see you, Ashton. And I’m not going anywhere.”
For a heartbeat, we sit there, our faces so close that I can feel the warmth of her breath, hear the steady rhythm of her pulse in my ears. The tension between us is thick, palpable, like the air just before a storm.
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m not the ghost I thought I was.
Maybe, with her, I can finally be real.
I feel her breath on my lips, warm and steady, and I realize that the world around us has faded into nothing. The only thing that matters now is the soft pressure of her hand against my neck. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer—asking me to close the distance that’s been between us for so long.
For a moment, I hesitate. I should pull away. I should push this back, fight it like I’ve fought everything else in my life. But the pull of her—the way she looks at me, the way she feels so damn real—has me frozen in place. My heart beats faster, and I wonder if it’s ever beaten this hard before.
Her lips brush against mine, gentle, tentative, as if she’s testing the waters. And that’s all it takes. Something inside me snaps, the last of the walls I’ve kept between us crumbling like dust.
I kiss her then—soft at first, a slow exploration, like I’m trying to understand every inch of her, every way her lips move against mine. It’s a kiss filled with so much heat, so much want, but also tenderness. A side of me I didn’t know I had, a side I didn’t even think I could still feel, emerges as I let myself sink into her, into this moment.
She’s not just a prisoner anymore. She’s not just someone I’ve kept locked away in this house. She’s Dove, the woman who sees past all the darkness in me, the one who sees the parts I’ve hidden for so long. The parts I never thought I could let anyone see.
I pull back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes, to see the uncertainty mixed with something else—something softer, something that makes my chest tighten with a strange kind of need.
“You’re not afraid of me?” I whisper, my voice rough, almost disbelieving.
She shakes her head, a slight smile curving her lips. “I’m not afraid of you,” she says, and there’s something in her eyes that feels like truth. “Not anymore.”
