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Chapter 33

Thirty-Three

Three days after Aria shows me the article about Damien investing in Ash's company, he shows up at the coffee shop where I'm writing. Or, more accurately, where I'm staring at my laptop screen and telling myself I should be writing.

Really, I'm thinking about Ash.

Which is why I about jump out of my skin when he slides into the seat across from me.

"Can we talk?"

I shake my head.

He doesn't argue. He just stands and goes away.

I frown, then try to focus on my book. But now I really can't.

All I can think about is him.

The next day, he shows up at the coffee shop again. "Can we talk?"

I meet his eyes, tilt my head, and say, "No."

He leaves again.

Three more days. Three more times.

Then on the next day, instead of asking if we can talk, he slips an index card to me. I turn it over. Can we pass notes?

I can't help it. I laugh. And, damn me, I nod.

He passes me a note: Why?

I read the note, then close my eyes and take a deep breath. I tug the note toward myself, then write: Because I'm not strong enough.

What does that mean?

I start to write an answer, then just shake my head. "Rory," I say. "The bastard broke me."

"Broken things can be fixed. Think about who you're talking to. I've got more cracks in me than cheap pottery."

As he speaks, he reaches for my hand. I don't tug it away. I want him—I do. But I'd wanted Rory, too.

"I talked to Aria," he says. "You don't trust me?"

I grimace, wishing I could kick Aria's ass for not only talking to him, but for getting it wrong. "I don't trust me. "

His brow furrows. "She told me about the nightmare. She told me that I turn into Rory."

I nod.

He meets my eyes, his voice soft as he says, "You do understand that dreams aren't reality."

I yank my hand back. "Don't," I snap. "Do not patronize me."

"I'm not. But it's the truth. I'm not Rory. I'm not a monster. And I'm not going to hurt you."

I blink, and a single tear snakes down my cheek. "I want to believe that," I say, so softly I doubt he can hear me. "I do believe it. Except..."

I trail off because how do I explain that my reality is as distorted as my father's. I believe in the Ash I touched and felt and kissed and fucked. And at the same time, I'm terrified that all of that will be ripped away to reveal something I never suspected. Never saw coming.

Except that I did see it coming in my dreams. And the only sane thing to do is stay away.

But I miss him. With every day that passes, I miss him more and more, and I have to remind myself of the dreams. Of Rory and Kari.

"Hey," he says, his voice gentle. "Talk to me."

"I don't trust myself." The words are barely a whisper, but I know he hears them.

He leans back in his chair, his brow forming a V over his nose as he studies me the same way I've seen him look at technical documents. Finally, he leans forward again, his elbows on the table and his eyes locked on mine. "You haven't pushed Aria away."

"What?"

"You've had this epiphany. This realization that you can't trust your own judgment. And yet Aria is right there. Hearing all your fears. Protecting all your secrets."

"What the hell?" I snap. "Are you trying to fuck with my friendship?"

"I'm just pointing out that she's still at your right hand."

"I've known her all my life."

He nods slowly. "So that's it? Aria and her parents and your parents? Those are your people now? Your only people?"

"Ash, I—" I cut myself off, not sure how to respond. He's messing with my head.

"Sometimes you trust, and you get hurt. Sometimes you trust, and it's wonderful."

I say nothing. He's right. But how the hell can I make that leap, especially when I know better than anyone how deep the hurt can go?

As if he's read my mind, he says, "The only way to move forward is to trust again. If you don't, Rory wins."

I open my mouth to answer, but only manage a small sob.

"Don't let him win, baby. Take a chance. We're worth it."

Tears are streaming down my face, and I brush them away with the back of my hand. "I'm a mess," I say. "Why the hell do you even want me?"

"Because you're kind and creative and funny and smart. Because you make me laugh. Because you make me hard. Because I wake up every morning alone, and the first thing I think is that I want you beside me. Because every day has been gray since you walked away. I want you, Bree. I want you because I love you."

I'm crying in earnest now, and I'm pretty sure everyone in the place is staring at me.

"I don't want the nightmares," I whisper, reaching for his hand.

He takes it. "They'll go away. I'll love you hard enough that they'll have no choice."

"Ash." I can barely make out his face through my tears, but I don't need to see him. I feel the love—and the truth of his words—in his hand.

Then before I know it, he's standing beside me and pulling me to my feet. Then I'm melting in his arms as his lips claim mine for a long, deep, perfect kiss.

I know I haven't been magically cured. I know that I'll still have nightmares.

But I also know that Ash will be there to hold me. To help me.

To love me.

I'm still crying when we break apart, but they're happy tears now. And I don't even mind that all around us, customers are snapping pics with their phones. This time, I'll buy the tabloids and print the Instagram snaps myself. Because this is a moment I will cherish forever.

"I love you," I whisper. "I don't want to ever be apart again."

"That's what I was hoping to hear," he says. "And I promise that not a day will go by when I don't show you just how much I love you, too."

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