“She’s your wife.”
“Not like Lucy is your wife. This is business.” The rage builds again, that familiar hatred for Hampton Kean and his entire family. They took everything from me, my parents, my first love, the man I used to be. They turned me into the man I am now, a man I don’t much like. For that they have to pay.
“It doesn’t have to be just that. Not if you like her.”
Looking at Flint now, seeing the contentment in his eyes, I feel the weight of everything I've lost. He found his way back from the darkness. He has Lucy, baby Flynn, a real future. Meanwhile, I'm still trapped in that burning house, choking on guilt and regret.
The Keans didn't just murder my family, they murdered my chance at happiness. At love. At the kind of life Flint has built with Lucy. And now here I am, married to an innocent young woman who deserves better than the broken shell of a man I am.
Flint's fist connects with my jaw, sending me stumbling backward. I deserve it. I deserve worse for what I've done to Hannah.
“You need to stop living in the past, Ash. It doesn’t do you any good and it doesn’t change what happened.”
"I should have saved her!" The words tear from my throat. "If I hadn’t left her to play video games with you, I’d have?—”
"Then you'd be dead too." Flint drops his guard, his eyes burning with intensity. "Is that what you want? To have died with her?"
For years, part of me has wished exactly that. It would be easier than living with this guilt, this endless cycle of grief and rage.
“It’s not your fault. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Dad’s. He didn’t see Hampton’s betrayal coming.”
I roll my eyes. "It's not his fault."
"So blame who's really at fault, the Keans."
He's not wrong, and yet… "I should have sent her home."
"For God's sake, Ash, Meghan loved you. You really think she'd want you spending your life wallowing in guilt? I love you, man, but it’s getting fucking old."
I swing, wanting to hurt him for being an ass. He ducks away. I feel the fight draining from me. "I don't know how to let her go."
"It's not about letting her go. It's about letting yourself live again. Love again." Flint grips my shoulder. "Hannah's not Meghan. She's her own person. And she's good for you.”
My chest tightens at Hannah's name. The warmth in her eyes when she looks at me. The way she accepted my past without judgment. How desperately I want to deserve that acceptance.
“You can't keep punishing yourself for surviving. Meghan wouldn't want that. And Hannah doesn't deserve it either."
I hear the words. A part of me understands them. But deep in my soul, I can’t accept them. I lash out again, this time connecting with Flint.
“You know I’m right,” he manages to say once he’s recovered. “You hit harder when you know I’m right.”
“Fuck you.” I say it to Flint, but really, it’s directed at me. I’m an A-1 asshole for leaving Hannah alone, especially after fucking her. God, she must be sore. Confused. Hurt. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Flint’s fist lands, and I’m knocked back, falling on my ass. He stands over me. “Get your head out of your ass, out of the past, Ash, and live, man. Hampton will get what’s coming to him. He’ll pay for taking our parents and Megan. But trust me when I say revenge only goes so far to fix what happened that night. Lucy and Flynn, they’re what life is about for me. You need to let Meghan rest in peace and find a new purpose.”
Is that the problem? I've been so focused on keeping Meghan's memory alive, I've forgotten how to actually live? The Keans took my family, my first love, but I'm the one who's kept myself imprisoned in grief.
Flint found his way back to life through Lucy. It's everything Meghan and I planned. Would she really be okay with my finding it with someone else? If she were alive, the answer would be no. Just as I wouldn’t want her to be with another man. I need to honor that, right?
But even if Meghan appeared and gave her blessing, I can’t let myself fall again. Flint is right. This isn’t just about betraying Meghan. It’s about protecting my heart. Heartbreak is a bitch. I won’t ever allow that to happen to me again.
17
HANNAH
Ilie in bed, staring at the empty space beside me where Ash should be. Five days have passed since he touched me, since he made me feel amazing pleasure followed by the pain of rejection. Five days of him avoiding me like I'm carrying the plague.
My fingers trace the silk sheets, remembering how his hands felt on my skin, how his body moved against mine. The memory burns sweet and bitter at once. I understand why he acts like he does, and I even sympathize with him, but it doesn’t dull the pain.
