Ashley and I are different, though. We’ve been friends forever, since before my mother died from cancer when I was just a kid. We slept over at each other’s houses since we were young—and in each other’s beds when we were teenagers. I always thought—and still do to this day—that she was the most beautiful, kick-ass girl on the planet. That straight auburn hair with the one wavy lock she could never tame—and her hazel eyes with violet flecks always saw right through me. I loved her from the moment we met at recess in elementary school. And despite how much I cared for this girl…
Nothing ever happened.
Because I never deserved her. And I never wanted to disappoint or hurt her. My girl had been through too much pain already in her life. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I added to Ashley’s pile of shitty relationships. Her family was bad enough.
I dated girls I wasn’t friends with. Ones where I didn’t know their favorite color or what t-shirt they preferred to sleep in at night.
At one point, I almost caved. Shortly before Dad was murdered, I had a moment of boldness where I considered asking Ash to Prom. She knew it, too. She made it clear she would say yes. Then Dad died, and any risk I was willing to take burned out. Like the light in my eyes.
I was suddenly parentless at seventeen. It’s a heavy burden to carry for four boys from the wrong side of town who didn’t have a fucking clue how to support themselves. All we had was hockey.
Hockey became not only my goal—it became my obsession. I poured all my grief, all my worries, all my rage into making it to the pros one day.
Going to Prom took a backseat. So did any thoughts I had of being good enough for Ashley.
Here I am, all these years later, and I still don’t think I’m good enough for her. But I’m going to be living with her for the next month.
Inhaling her honeysuckle scent, sitting across from her at the breakfast table while we sip our coffees, looking into her hazel eyes with the violet flecks and the bottomless depths of emotion.
That’s sweet torture if I’ve ever heard it.
But it’s a torture I can’t imagine walking away from. Not without a fight.
CHAPTERSIX
Ashley
It’s dark when I wake up. I’m disoriented, and for a moment, I have no clue where I am.
Then it all comes back to me.
Montana.
Cabin.
Jared.
“Oh, God.” I pull the covers over my head.
Maybe Jared’s already found a solution to our problem.
I lie there quietly for a few more minutes, but my hunger gets the best of me.
I slide out from underneath the soft, silky covers and grab a small bag from one of my suitcases before I make my way into the bathroom across the hall. I splash cold water on my face before looking in the mirror.
I look exactly the way I feel—messy. I’m dehydrated and can’t wait for a drink; my hair, normally straight and well-tamed except for one irritating lock, is a frizzy mane around my head. The altitude combined with the long flight has not been kind to my hair or my skin, which is a combination of blotchy and dry.
I finger-comb my hair and pull it back into a ponytail with an elastic band from my bag. Then I brush my teeth and apply clear lip gloss. I rarely wear makeup, and I don’t feel like changing things up tonight.
I leave the bathroom and grab my phone, checking my messages as I walk down the short hall.
Emerson texted to welcome me to Montana and ask if I want to meet for coffee later this week. I text her back ayes. She’s engaged to Max Storm, and I knew her when she lived in New Orleans as a kid. She’s kind and sweet and brilliant, and I’m happy to have someone else besides Jared here that I already knew, even if it’s been years since Emerson and I hung out.
I keep scrolling through my phone. Winter left me a voicemail. She and Peyton are my two best friends from home, and Winter and Jared’s younger brother, Hunter, are getting married this year.
I smile when I think about it. Peyton’s already in a serious relationship, and now Winter’s about to become a wife. And not just anyone’s wife. A Storm brother’s wife. It’s hard to fathom.
“Hey.”
