Dash wasn’t angry Slate had agreed to banish Theodore and Wilbur. Couples disagreed—they’ddisagreed before. Slate’s mistake was in not making sure Dash was heard. The older generation dismissed his question without answering it. They basically told Dash, ‘let the adults handle this,’ patted him on the head, and told him to run along while they decided important things. And Slate said nothing.
That wasn’t how partners were supposed to act.
Slate finished his tour of the room and left. He couldn’t undo what he’d done, but he could try to make things right with Dash.
When Dash left, he hadn’t said where he was going, but he’d left Blackwood Manor. Given the situation, Slate knew where Dash had gone to get air.
The converted Victorian mansion where Dash had rented an apartment when he arrived in Oriskany Falls was six blocks from the Commons. His parents never told Slate the house had once belonged to the Reeves family, but he was certain they knew. They’d brought Dash to town under false pretenses and then helped him ‘find’ a place to rent before he arrived. It was too convenient to be a coincidence. What even they hadn’t known was that the ERP Foundation, led by Dash’s grandfather, had purchased the building decades ago.
Dash used his position as co-head of the foundation to keep a key to the building. Slate hadn’t called Dash out when he suggested they keep a copy, “just in case.” Total pretext—they paid a management company to handle emergencies—but if it made Dash happy, Slate wasn’t concerned with the details.
Now he understood.
Slate turned the doorknob to find it unlocked. Had Dash expected Slate would follow? He took the stairs two at a time. The creak of his footsteps on the old wood filled the stairwell. At the top of the third floor, the door to the roof sat open.
Dash sat on the ground of the fenced balcony. He’d slid his legs in between the gaps in the wrought-iron safety fence, and his feet dangled over the edge. Seeing him that close to the edge, panic rushed through Slate. The only thing keeping Dash from falling was a wrought-iron fence that probably predated World War I.
The old book Esmerelda had given them a year ago lay open on the ground beside Dash. He held the thin black bars and stared out into the darkened town. He looked like a prisoner in an old Western movie, searching for someone to free him.
The image wasn’t too far off.
Dash’s shoulders tensed when Slate stepped closer, but he didn’t turn.
Sitting with his back to the wall, he let the silence linger. Dash wore just a hoodie—surprising only because it got cold at night. As if on cue, a cold October breeze swept across the small space and Dash shivered.
Slate’s heart wanted to hug the cold away, but Dash sat on the roof for a reason.
“I’m sorry,” Slate said.
“For what?” Dash’s voice was flat. Not angry, just emptied out. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
If that were true, Dash wouldn’t be sitting on a balcony, shivering, with the book at his side. “Yes, I did. I didn’t make them… I didn’t give you a chance to explain. They shut you down like a kid, dismissing your opinion. We’re partners—more than partners. I love you, I stood there and let it happen. How is that not wrong?”
Dash drew in a deep breath. Seconds ticked before he exhaled. “Thank you.”
The tightness around Slate’s heart loosened a little. “I know it’s way too late to ask, but do you want to talk about it?”
“Does it matter?” Dash turned, and the streetlight caught his face. “Theadultstold us what to think. And I guess I was a bit mad at you, but you fixed that.”
Dash smiled, and it banished the ache inside Slate. “The adults need us. They can’t make us do things their way. I meant what I said, Dash. You’re not invisible to me. I just… didn’t let you know in the moment.”
“They overpowered both of us,” Dash said. “Which is why I wasn’t really mad at you.”
“But you were a little.” Slate smirked and was rewarded with a smile.
“Like I said, you made things better.” Dash pulled his legs back onto the platform, moved closer. “If you still feel bad, a hug would totally be welcome.”
A laugh huffed out of Slate, but that didn’t stop him from collecting Dash into his arms. After a few seconds, they shifted, and Dash sat with his back against Slate’s chest. When he shivered again, Slate wrapped his arms around Dash and hugged him tight.
“We need to get you thicker hoodies for winter,” Slate said.
“A coat would probably make more sense.” Dash wrapped his arm around Slate’s. “Or so my super-smart and practical boyfriend tells me.”
They sat together, and Slate enjoyed the silence for a few more seconds. “Why don’t you want to banish Theodore and Wilbur?”
Slate tried his best not to make it sound like he thought it was a foolish idea. Whatever the reasons, they upset Dash enough that he ended up freezing on a roof to work through them.
“When your great-grandmother opened the second rift and nearly lost control, Ezra didn’t have to step through the breach.” Dash slid the book closer. “But if he hadn’t, dark souls most likely would’ve escaped before they closed the rift. Those spirits would’ve caused a lot of trouble before someone banished them.”
