21. Ally

Chapter 21

Ally

T he door clicked shut behind Tom, and I felt the weight of the world crash down on me. My knees gave way, hitting the cold hardwood floor with a dull thud. The tears came in a torrent, unstoppable and raw. My body trembled as I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking back and forth in a futile attempt to soothe the ache inside.

Every sob wrenched something deeper from within me. I buried my face in my hands, muffling the sounds of my grief. Images of the baby I lost, moments stolen before they could ever be lived, flashed before my eyes. And there was Tom—his kindness, his strength—woven into every painful memory.

I wanted so badly to tell him everything. To spill out the truth about the miscarriage, to share the weight I had been carrying alone for too long. But I knew what that would do to him. The anger in his eyes whenever Janet or Nick came up was a reminder of his fierce protectiveness. If he knew the full extent of my pain, if he understood what the two of them had done, he wouldn't be able to control himself.

He would storm out and confront them both, not caring about the consequences. And knowing Tom, he'd end up doing something that would get him into serious trouble. I couldn't bear that thought. The idea of him losing everything because of me was unbearable.

So, I kept silent. I held onto my secret like a lifeline, even as it tore me apart from the inside out. My sobs echoed in the empty room. It wasn't fair—none of it was—but fairness seemed like a distant concept these days.

I needed to be strong for him, even if it meant breaking myself in the process.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but eventually, I sucked in a breath and the sobs slowed. I lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, feeling like a hollow shell. The weight of everything pressed down on me, and for a moment, I couldn't move.

I didn't know what I was going to do now. The studio had fired me because of Nick's meddling, and with two weeks left until graduation, I felt utterly lost. My dream of building a career in photography seemed to slip further away with each passing second. I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever find solid ground again.

The ceiling above me blurred as tears welled up once more. How had everything gotten so complicated? My life used to have a semblance of direction, a path that made sense. Now, it felt like I was standing in the middle of a chaotic storm with no end in sight.

I needed to get up, to do something—anything—but my body refused to cooperate. It felt like gravity had tripled its pull, anchoring me to the floor with an unyielding force. The events of the past few months played on repeat in my mind: the miscarriage, the betrayal by Nick, the unexpected connection with Tom. Every moment felt like a stab wound that hadn't quite healed.

What was my next move? I didn't have an answer. And that scared me more than anything else. Tom had become a source of comfort and strength, but he couldn't solve everything for me. I needed to figure out how to stand on my own two feet again.

With great effort, I pushed myself up into a sitting position. My head throbbed from crying, and my muscles protested from lying on the hard floor for so long. I glanced around my small apartment; it felt emptier than usual.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and took another deep breath. Maybe it was time to reach out to Kara and see if she could help me find another photography gig. Or perhaps I needed to sit down and really think about what I wanted from life after graduation.

But for now, all I could do was focus on getting through the next few minutes. One step at a time. One breath at a time. It wasn't much, but it was all I had left.

My phone rang, breaking the silence that had settled around me like a heavy fog. I glanced at the screen and saw Mom flash across it. My chest tightened, a pang of longing surging through me. I hadn't realized just how much I missed her until that moment.

I took a deep breath and answered, my voice shaky. "H-hello?"

"Ally?" Her voice was gentle, concerned. "Honey, what's wrong?"

Tears sprang to my eyes again. How could she always tell? Even through the phone, she knew something was off.

"Mom…" I choked out. Another breath, deeper this time. "Mom, I don't know what to do."

"Oh, honey," she said softly. "Here. Can you drive? Come over and let's just talk. Or, if you don't want to talk, we can watch reruns of Maury and Jerry Springer ."

A small giggle escaped me despite the tears. "I'd like that."

"Come on," she urged gently. "Can you drive? Or should I pick you up?"

"I can drive," I murmured, wiping my face.

"Okay, sweetie. I'll see you soon."

We hung up, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a tiny sliver of relief. Just hearing her voice had lightened the weight on my shoulders ever so slightly.

I stood up on unsteady legs and grabbed my keys from the counter. The familiar click of the door behind me as I left my apartment was oddly comforting. It felt like a small step toward reclaiming some semblance of control over my life.

As I made my way to my car, I took another deep breath, trying to steady myself for the drive ahead.

I reached my car, the cold metal handle grounding me for a moment. I slipped inside, the familiar scent of the worn leather seats providing a small comfort. I turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I let my mind drift to the scenery around me. It was spring in southwest Michigan, and the world outside was bursting with new life. The trees along the road were budding with fresh green leaves, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Tulips and daffodils dotted front yards and gardens, their bright colors standing out against the still-muted tones of early spring.

I drove past rows of houses, each one a little different from the last. Some had kids playing in the yards, their laughter carried on the wind. Others had elderly couples sitting on porches, sipping iced tea and watching the world go by. It was a reminder of simpler times, when life seemed less complicated.

The sky above was a clear blue, with only a few wispy clouds lazily drifting across it. The sun hung high, casting a warm glow over everything it touched. It was one of those perfect spring days that made you forget about winter's harshness and look forward to summer's warmth.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent of blooming flowers that wafted through my open window. It was as if nature itself was trying to soothe my troubled mind, offering a momentary escape from my worries.

As I continued driving, fields of wildflowers came into view. They stretched out on either side of the road like vibrant carpets of color. Pinks, purples, yellows—they swayed gently in unison as if dancing to some silent melody only they could hear.

I passed by a small creek that wound its way through the landscape. The water sparkled in the sunlight, creating tiny rainbows as it cascaded over smooth stones. Ducks paddled along its surface while birds flitted from tree to tree overhead.

Each scene seemed more idyllic than the last; yet beneath this beauty lay an undercurrent of unease within me.

But for now—for just these few moments—I allowed myself to be enveloped by spring’s gentle embrace, and getting lost in the memories.

Spending the weekend at Tom's house felt like stepping into a dream. The moment I walked through his door, the world outside ceased to exist. We slipped into a rhythm that felt both natural and exhilarating.

We started in the kitchen, cooking together. Tom moved with an ease that belied his rugged exterior, chopping vegetables with precision while I stirred a simmering pot of sauce. The aroma filled the room, mingling with our laughter.

"You're not too bad at this," I teased, nudging him with my elbow.

"Well, don't expect a Michelin star meal," he said with a boyish grin, flipping the spatula in his hand.

We ate at his small wooden table; the conversation flowing effortlessly between bites. We talked about everything—his career, my photography, even silly childhood memories. Each word brought us closer, each shared glance deepened our connection.

After dinner, we moved to the living room. The fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a warm glow across the room. Tom pulled me onto the couch, his arm draped over my shoulders. We talked for hours, but words eventually gave way to silence as we lost ourselves in each other’s presence.

When he kissed me, it was slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment. One thing led to another, and soon we were entwined on his bed, our bodies moving together with a desperate intensity. The world outside faded completely as we lost ourselves in each other.

We spent the rest of the weekend in a blissful haze. Mornings began with soft kisses and lazy sex, followed by breakfast in bed. Afternoons were filled with more talking and laughter; we’d sit on his porch watching the world go by or take leisurely walks around his property.

"Do you ever get tired of this place?" I asked him once as we sat on his porch swing.

"Never," he replied, looking out at the sprawling landscape. "It's my sanctuary."

I understood what he meant. Being here with him felt like a sanctuary for me too—a place where all my worries melted away.

Evenings brought more intimacy—sometimes tender and slow; other times passionate and raw—but always deeply satisfying. We’d fall asleep wrapped around each other, only to wake up and do it all over again.

By Sunday night, I realized I didn’t care about what tomorrow might bring or whether Tom saw this as something more than just a fling. For now—for this weekend—I was happy. I deserved this joy after everything I’d been through with Nick.

As we lay together under the covers one last time before I had to leave, Tom brushed a strand of hair from my face and looked into my eyes.

"Stay," he whispered.

And in that moment—with no promises or expectations—I knew this had been the best weekend of my life.

Monday morning crept in through the window, soft light casting shadows across the room. I woke to find Tom still asleep, his arm draped protectively over me. I slipped out from under his grasp, careful not to wake him, and padded quietly to the bathroom.

The hot water cascaded over me, washing away the remnants of sleep. I closed my eyes, letting the steam envelop me. The door creaked open, and I felt a presence behind me. Before I could turn, Tom's hands were on my shoulders.

"Couldn't wait for me?" he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

I smiled, leaning back into him. "Thought I'd let you sleep in for once."

He chuckled softly and joined me under the spray. His hands moved to my back, lathering up soap and gently working it into my skin. The sensation was soothing, almost meditative.

"You're good at this too," I said, closing my eyes again.

"I have my talents," he replied, his voice low and intimate.

His hands roamed lower, gliding over the curve of my hips. Each touch sent ripples of warmth through me. He took his time, exploring every inch with deliberate care. His fingers traced patterns along my spine before slipping around to my front, making my breath catch.

"Tom," I whispered, not sure if it was a plea or a warning.

He responded by pressing closer, his lips brushing against the nape of my neck. "I've got you," he whispered back.

The heat between us intensified as his hands moved higher, caressing and teasing until I could hardly stand it. Every touch felt electric, every movement deliberate and full of intent. It was like he was mapping out my body anew, claiming it in a way that left no doubt about his desire.

I turned to face him, water streaming down both our faces. His eyes were dark with want as they met mine. Without a word, he lifted me slightly, pressing me against the cool tiles of the shower wall. Our bodies fit together perfectly; it felt like coming home.

His mouth found mine in a searing kiss that left no room for hesitation or doubt. The water continued to pour over us as we lost ourselves in each other once more. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only this moment—raw and unfiltered—where nothing else mattered but us.

Time seemed to stand still as we moved together under the spray, each touch and kiss deepening our connection until it felt like we were one person instead of two. When we finally emerged from the shower, breathless and spent, I knew that whatever came next didn't matter because we had this—this undeniable bond that neither time nor distance could break.

Right now, I was content to just be with him.

"Are you sure you have to go to class?" Tom asked as he dried me off, his hands lingering on my skin.

I laughed, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the towel. "You're not sick of me yet?"

"Impossible," he said with a scoff, shaking his head like the idea was absurd.

I rolled my eyes but didn't comment. The thought of him getting tired of me felt like a distinct possibility, especially after Nick, and it was a fear that lingered at the edges of my mind.

"Don't you have work?" I asked, trying to shift the focus away from my insecurities.

"Not till the afternoon," he said. "And even then, that's debatable."

I laughed again, a sound that felt foreign and wonderful coming from me. "You're a bad influence."

"That's what I'm hoping for," he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

Drying off became an unspoken dance between us—his hands moving with deliberate slowness, mine mirroring the same pace. Each touch seemed to say what words couldn't: I didn't want to leave.

The thought of going back to my routine—classes, assignments, the mundane grind—felt like a cruel jolt back to reality. I wanted to stay in this bubble we had created, where time didn't matter and nothing else could intrude.

"You don't really have to go," Tom said again, his eyes searching mine as if willing me to stay.

My heart ached at the thought of leaving him behind. What if this was just a fleeting moment? What if I never saw him again?

"I have responsibilities," I said, trying to convince myself as much as him.

He nodded, but didn't look convinced. "So do I. But sometimes you have to make time for what really matters."

I bit my lip, torn between what I should do and what I wanted. Staying here felt right in ways that defied logic or reason. But I couldn't shake the fear that leaving would mean losing this connection we had rekindled.

"I don't want to leave," I admitted softly, the vulnerability in my voice surprising even me.

His hand reached up to cup my face, thumb brushing against my cheek. "Then don't."

In that moment, all my fears and doubts melted away. For now—for this morning—I would let myself be happy.

"Ally, I want to see you again," Tom said firmly.

My heart skipped a beat. "Really?" I whispered, barely trusting my voice.

"I know it might be… a lot," he continued, his eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation. "I know you just got out of a serious relationship, but… I…" His voice trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging between us.

Before I could respond, he pulled me into a passionate kiss. All my doubts and fears melted away as his lips claimed mine.

I dropped my bag, my hands finding their way to his hair. The kiss deepened, our tongues dancing in a rhythm that felt both familiar and new. His hands roamed my back, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.

The taste of him was intoxicating—a mix of mint and something uniquely Tom. Each movement of his lips sent shivers down my spine, igniting a fire within me that I thought had long been extinguished. It was as if we were trying to pour all our unspoken words and pent-up emotions into this one kiss.

His grip tightened around my waist, anchoring me to him as if he were afraid I might disappear. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer. The intensity of the kiss left me breathless; it was raw, consuming, and utterly perfect.

Time seemed to stand still as we lost ourselves in each other. The only sounds were our mingled breaths and the faint hum of the outside—distant and unimportant compared to this moment.

"Come with me to this charity event," Tom murmured against my lips, his breath warm and inviting.

"An event?" I pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes.

"It's a charity event my team sponsors every Halloween," he explained, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "At the college."

"That's, like, weeks from now," I said, trying to keep my tone light.

He nodded, not missing a beat.

"You think we'll still want to be around each other in a few weeks?" I tried to make it sound like a joke, but it fell flat.

His eyes softened, and he took my hand in his. "I won't get sick of you, Ally," he said firmly. "I want you to come. With me. As my girl."

My heart skipped a beat. The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. Would agreeing make me seem too eager? But it wasn’t like he was pushing me for sex—we’d already crossed that line. And honestly? I wanted to go.

"All right," I murmured, feeling a rush of excitement and apprehension. "I'll go with you."

He smirked, pulling me closer. "It's a date," he said, sealing the promise with another kiss.

I smiled. It sounded crazy, maybe more romantic than I cared to admit, but at that moment, everything felt right in the world, like nothing could go wrong.