What You Need : An Opposites Attract,

Hurt/Comfort Gay Romance Avril

Ashton
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 WHAT YOU NEED
AN OPPOSITES ATTRACT, HURT/COMFORT GAY ROMANCE
AVRIL ASHTON
 Copyright © 2023 by Avril Ashton
All rights reserved.
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What You Need ©2023 Avril Ashton

Proofreader: Jennifer @ Marked and Read
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Cover Design: German Creative

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the
written permission of the publisher. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or
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All product/brand names mentioned herein are registered trademarks of their respective holders/companies.
 CONTENTS

Playing Catch Up?

Please Read
About What You Need
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Author Note
Books by Av
Payhip
Audio
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About the Author

 PLAYING CATCH UP?

New to Avril Ashton’s dark, dirty, and diverse m/m universe?

*THE BROOKLYN S INNERS is where it all starts. Avril’s very first m/m series is full of “drama,
action, mystery, suspense, and romance.”

J ONESING FOR A COP / MAFIA/ GANGLAND m/m romance? Run This Town series features BDSM, friends
to lovers, age gap, second chance and so much more.

**P REFER MCs who straddle that gray line between hero and villain? Loose Ends series brings you
“stories of angst. Of second chances. And of love.”

***IN search of the ultimate Enemies to Lovers? The Staniel Duet is the dark, angst-ridden read
you’ve been waiting for. It delivers the ultimate “how is this even gonna work?” Spoiler alert…it
does.

*T HIS IS where we first meet Jack

**Ashe is mentioned here
***Daniel Nieto’s story
PLEASE READ
 TRIGGERS WARNINGS

ASHE TANNEN -NOVAK IS a Black trans man. I utilized a sensitivity reader but please keep in mind;
Black men aren’t a monolith. Trans folx aren’t monolithic. One person’s experience is just that; one
person’s experience.
My goal, in my little slice of writing world, is to offer you diverse characters. Always. In no way
can I, as a cis Black woman, claim to know what it means to be a man or a trans man, at that. Please
know that should there be any inaccuracies or inconsistencies, it comes from a place of ignorance and
never from malice.
I am open to listening and learning. As we all should be.

WHAT YOU NEED CONTAINS the following triggers:

Past Domestic Abuse, as recounted by one of the MCs.

Past Suicide Attempt
Brief reference to racial bias
Speech and acts that can be considered harmful to the LGBTQ+ community
Mental Abuse by parents
Mention of the death of a family member (grandparent)
PTSD
 ABOUT WHAT YOU NEED

ONE MAN HIDING from his mistakes. Another running toward safety. They’ll find all they need in
each other.
Jack Wellington has shut himself off from the world. Nursing a broken heart, the DEA agent is
existing on fumes and hiding from the many mistakes he’s made in the name of love. Solitude is all he
wants… until he answers a knock on the door one stormy night and comes face to face with a past he
barely recognizes.
Ashe Tannen-Novak is running from parents trying to control him, a husband hell-bent on keeping
him, and the darkness threatening to consume him. It’s been a decade since the agent with the blue
eyes saved him, but Ashe has never forgotten Jack. He’s the only safety Ashe can think of, but reality
hits hard when he finds his savior just as bruised and emotionally battered.
Neither man is the person the other once knew, but their past binds them just as their present traps
them. Lost and in need of anchor, Jack and Ashe find more than connection; they find acceptance,
comfort, and passion. Now all they have to do is hold on to it.
One of the MCs in What You Need was first introduced in The Brooklyn Sinners, but WYN can
be read as a standalone. This m/m romance features a trans MC and the following tropes/themes:
hurt/comfort, only one bed, forced proximity, Interracial relationship, opposites attract, violent,
and angst.
 My thanks to Ashley Jane for beta reading.

Dedicated to Drew Déry. Your help has been invaluable. I appreciate you.

THANK YOU ♡
 1

HE STILL FELT the sensation of the soil covering his face. Not wet, but soft enough that it stayed where
it landed. On his face. His eyes. His nose and mouth. The scent of it gag-inducing. Back then he’d
been too busy trying not to scream with his mouth open. Doing all he could, thrashing in that grave,
head flipping from side to side to dislodge the clumped earth that fell on him faster and faster.
By the shovel.
They said he spent an hour buried. Said he’d broken off his fingernails while attempting to claw
his way out. Said he was lucky to be alive.
Curled up as Ashe was now inside his linen closet, he didn’t feel so lucky. The darkness scared
him after what he’d been through, but what scared him more than that was the smell. And the sensation
of soil, cold and soft enough to mold all around him, ripped him to ribbons. That scent, though; it
haunted him in his dreams and out.
The linen closet smelled like freshly washed clothes. The powdery detergent scent kept him
grounded, at least enough to close his eyes.
It came in waves, the haunting, but he never ran too far from it. He let it catch up to him, soaking
in the hurt until his skin was all saturated, dripping pain like bathwater in his wake. But he made it
look good, didn’t he? The people around him didn’t worry anymore. They didn’t knock on his door
every hour on the hour to make sure he hadn’t finished what he’d started the day he came home from
the hospital.
The thin slashes on both wrists stopped itching a while back, but he still stroked them with his
thumb. Still picked at the scars with his nails.
“Nobody loves you but me, Ashley.”
Hiccups racked his body, each one painful in his chest as he stared with wide eyes into the
darkness.
“Nobody wants you but me…”
The words resonated now as it did then. He battled them every day, striving to be more than what
the man who almost took his life thought he was worth. Bird in a cage, wings clipped, robbed of the
very things that made him who he was. He wore the pain like a bespoke suit, made it look good, until
it was a part of who he was.
“Not your mother, not your father. I’m the only one who loves you.”
It hadn’t been a reach to believe those words. He’d lived by those words, hung onto those words,
until they lowered him into his grave, shoveling dirt onto his face while he choked on it.
Love, huh?
 He kicked the closet door open and sat with his legs spilling out into the narrow, dimly lit
hallway. The tears, there’d been no use in airing them out. He didn’t cry anymore. Not that he was
numb; he simply didn’t have anything left.
Except the pain. That shit never wore out.
He pressed against the shelves at his back, eyes drifting closed, stroking the card in his hand.
He’d found it in some of his paperwork after being discharged from the hospital the second time.
When he’d tried to end it himself.
Reopening his eyes, he brought the card up to his face. He’d already taken off his contacts for bed
and neglected to at least grab the glasses he kept on the nightstand. But he didn’t need glasses to know
what was written on the card. He’d memorized everything about that white rectangle. He’d had nearly
ten years to stare at it, after all.
The name. The title. The email and phone number.
But it was the message scribbled on the back in blue ink, a strong and careful scrawl—powerful,
even—that he would never forget.
“Ashley, you’re stronger than you think. This too shall pass. Fight. Fight to live. Fight to be
who you’re supposed to be.”
He’d cried at that message. Hunched over the bathroom sink, applying ointment to the slashes he’d
made on his wrists, he’d cried. A stranger made him feel so seen. So raw. So exposed. A stranger
cared about his life.
Jack Wellington was his name, the man who pulled Ashe from that shallow grave almost ten years
ago. He didn’t remember much but he remembered blue eyes. He recalled the impression of gentle
hands and soothing tones. He would never forget the feeling of safety.
Safety he hadn’t known since his grandfather died when Ashe was seventeen. He hadn’t known he
could remember the way that felt, but Jack Wellington gave him safety. He didn’t hurt himself again
once he read the message. He tried to live up to it.
But sometimes…
Sometimes, he fell short. Sometimes he gave in to the familiar pull and ended up in this closet.
Sometimes all he had was a card, smudged from that time he picked it up when he’d been eating
curry, so it had a nice yellow thumbprint on the lower left corner.
FBI Agent Jack Wellington saved Ashe’s life everyday. Did he know that? In his wallet, Ashe kept
his ID, his credit cards, and Jack’s card. It was the first thing he saw when he flipped the worn leather
—his grandfather’s—open.
He stroked the name now. When he’d finally gathered up the courage, he’d tried calling the
number to thank Agent Wellington for what he’d done. He was retired, they told him. Off the grid.
Ashe panicked, until he decided to dig into the trust fund he rarely touched.
Three months and a private investigator later, and he’d found Jack Wellington. Now, he had an
updated phone number and a physical address. He’d been sitting on it for a while, but he would use it.
He wanted to stand on his own two feet in front of Jack Wellington. Look him in the eye and show him
he’d done what Jack asked.
He’d fought.
He’d scraped himself off and lived. Minute by minute, until it turned to day by day.
He was who he was always supposed to be.
Those blue eyes—he wanted to look into them and thank Jack for saving him. That night and every
night since. For allowing him to remember, if only for a split second, what safety felt like.
What safety should be.
“YOU’ RE DOING WHAT ?”
Ashe ignored his sister’s incredulous stare as he shoved clothes into an overnight bag. Tsa sat
cross-legged in the middle of his bed, surrounded by clothes. The only reason she knew what he was
about to do was because she showed up at his place unannounced. He’d have done what he always
did, make moves without his family’s knowledge. He found it made his life way easier than
continuing to allow them the thought that they somehow had a choice in his decision making.
He’d learned that shit the hard way.
Once he finished stuffing clothes into the bag, he released it and straightened. Tsa—pronounced
Tee-Sah—was the youngest of his two siblings. She had it easy as the baby of the family, compared to
Ashe who was the middle child, and their brother, Leslie, or L.J., who was the oldest and the only
boy. At least, the only boy the family would accept. The Tannens were a family of expectations and
lofty aspirations. Ashe remained the disappointment they didn’t mention in mixed company. “I should
be back in a few days.”
“Wait. Wait.” Tsa grabbed his arm, preventing him from turning away. “So, you’re just gonna
show up on this detective’s doorstep?” Her wide eyes, almost translucent brown, were identical to
Ashe’s. They used to be inseparable, until Ashe put voice to the person he truly was inside. He lost
Tsa, just like he lost the rest of the family. They didn’t talk like they used to, didn’t see each other
either, but she was still the only one he was close to.
He answered his sister’s question with a jerk of his head. “Pretty much.”
She gaped at him. “Ashl—Ashe.”
That was the reason he didn’t deal with his family anymore. They stayed dead-naming him. Stayed
assigning him identities and genders that didn’t fit. Then they acted all wounded, wondering why he
didn’t fuck with them. Why he didn’t come around. Why he strode right past his mom and dad that
time he saw them on the street.
“My decisions aren’t up for debate,” he told Tsa firmly, ignoring the brief hurt that flashed across
her features. “I’m not looking for permission. You wouldn’t know about this if you hadn’t shown up
here, T.” Shit. He didn’t want to hurt her. She was still his sister and he loved her. He sank onto the
bed. “I need to get away for a few days, so I figured why not cross this off my to-do list, you know?”
He patted her knee, exposed by the jean cut-offs she wore.
Tsa pursed her lips. “Is this because Mom and Dad tried to have you—”
“Let’s not talk about that. Okay?” His parents’ most recent betrayal had been just one of many.
They kept disappointing him. And he kept wishing he was the child they could be proud of, that they
could love him even though their vision of who he should be had changed.
No dice.
Tsa worried her bottom lip with her teeth. That act, coupled with her brown skin and full lips, had
her looking so much like their mother that Ashe’s chest ached. Tsa belonged. L.J. belonged. Ashe had
always been the odd man out, trying to squeeze his square persona into the round slot his family had
carved out for him at birth. Every decision he made about his life, his folks saw as a personal affront.
As if he sat around thinking up ways to fuck with them.
This last shit they pulled wasn’t even a surprise, but it still shocked him. And wasn’t that a bitch?
“Ashe,” Tsa spoke his name tentatively. “I’m sorry.”
He cocked his head. “For what?”
 “Mom and Dad.” She waved a hand. “What they did. I didn’t—I’m sorry.” She exhaled loudly.
“That’s why I came, to tell you that. L.J.’s sorry too.”
“You’re speaking for L.J. now?”
Tsa’s expression turned reproachful. “If you’d answer when he calls, you’d hear it from him.”
But Ashe didn’t answer his brother. Not since that night he expressed exactly what he thought
about who Ashe was, in a room full of their peers. It was an embarrassment Ashe would never get
over, no matter how many times L.J. apologized via email or voicemail.
“You should go,” he told Tsa. “I’ll hit you with a text when I get where I’m headed.”
“Ashe, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, you don’t know this guy. It’s been years.”
The concern in her voice was appreciated, but a bit too late in Ashe’s view. “I know what I’m
doing.” He didn’t bother attempting to explain why he had to see Agent Wellington. Why he had to go
now. His gut wouldn’t be a good enough reason for Tsa to back up off him. “Hey.” He patted her knee
again. “Thanks for coming over. I appreciate it, T.”
She cupped his jaw, peering into his face with an expression way too close to their mother’s for
his liking. “I don’t know what you’re going through, Ashe, but I love you. I want to be here for you. If
you let me.”
She was trying, he knew that. It was more than he could say for the rest of them. “Thank you.” He
gave her a smile, a gesture he didn’t really feel, but it made the lines in the middle of her forehead
smooth out, so it was well worth it. “I love you too.” He choked up when speaking those words and
she scrambled closer, wrapping her arms around him. He held her, taking the comfort, soaking it up
since he didn’t know when he’d get it again. Or when next he’d allow himself to accept it. Then he
kissed her cheek and pulled away. “Okay, get out of here so I can finish packing.”
When she left, after getting a promise from him to keep in contact, he sat on his bedroom floor,
stroking that card. He’d waited a long time to find Agent Wellington, but something inside him said
this was the moment. Now was the time. Just as he’d felt when he made the decision to begin his
transition, his gut also told him his life was about to change.
His mouth curved at the thought.
With the way his life was set up nowadays, any change was welcome.
 2

“BIG STORM COMING .”

Jack placed his stuff on the counter, keeping his head down as he pulled cash out of his wallet and
slapped it down next to the beer. And the vodka. And the whiskey. He’d made the thirty-two minute
drive into town because he ran out of whiskey, but figured since he was here and all he’d also stock
up on the other essentials.
“TV says it’s gonna be a bad one.”
He didn’t know why the old guy kept talking to him, or trying to hold his gaze. Jack must have said
five words to him since he’d started coming to the store six months ago. But that didn’t stop the man
from trying. Persistent fuckers got on Jack’s nerves. He grabbed a fistful of beef jerky, the kind with
the cheese paired with it, from the box atop the cluttered counter and placed it on one of the three
cases of Bud Light.
“You all set up there?”
He jerked his head up, allowing a frown to twist his features. The old guy didn’t blanch when
their eyes met. Tough fucker.
“Flashlights and candles and water and all that stuff the TV says you need.” He scratched the
beard so thick Jack had to focus to find his lips between that bush of gray hair. “You all set up there,
son?” His gaze dipped to all the liquor then back to Jack, calmly assessing.
Judging.
As if Jack cared what he thought. He glanced past the man’s head to the small TV behind him,
playing in black and white. The screen kept freezing up, but Jack made out the Breaking News banner.
A severe thunderstorm warning had been issued for residents in the North Georgia mountains.
He was a resident in the North Georgia mountains. Maybe he should take that shit seriously?
Fuck.
He turned away from the counter with a sigh, going back through the small general store and then
grabbing one of the gallon bottles of water. Dude only had four out on the floor in the beverage aisle.
Then he grabbed some candles, a three-pack of lighters, and one of the rotisserie chickens in the
warm display case. He didn’t know how long the chicken had been there.
He didn’t care.
Maybe another bottle of whiskey too? If the storm was bad, who knew how long it would be
before he got another chance to come back into town.
Once he paid for all his shit, he nodded his thanks to the old man—Don, as he’d introduced
himself the first time Jack visited the store—and loaded up his truck. The sun was out, sky patchy
with thick clouds. The store’s parking lot was empty save for his blue F150 and another beat-up old
van he figured belonged to Don. In the six months since Jack had moved up here, he’d probably seen a
handful of people whenever he’d come to Don’s store. He liked it like that.
He drove back home, through the winding roads then the turn off, almost hidden from the main
road by dense brush he’d refused to cut when he’d bought the place. No matter how fucked up he felt,
pride always tightened his chest when his cabin came into view. It had been a rundown, abandoned
shell when he’d found it. After buying the two-room shack and the land that came with it, he’d had it
completely rebuilt. Now, it had a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen slash living room area. He’d
put in all amenities except for internet and phone. The whole point of being out here was to avoid
dealing with people.
People were the worst.
It took him two trips to bring his stuff inside from the truck, and by the time he was done, it was
drizzling and he was sweaty and thirsty. Once inside, he kicked off his boots and sank onto the couch,
whiskey in hand.
This was what many would consider a fall from grace. Jack Wellington, former FBI, decorated
DEA agent, now a hermit, guzzling whiskey, unable to pinpoint the last time he’d taken a proper
shower. Or eaten anything that didn’t come already cooked and wrapped in cellophane.
Sometimes he could blame others for his fall, but most of the time he knew the blame belonged
sorely on his shoulders. So he drank. Until he couldn’t. Until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Sleep
was a welcome thing for him. He disappeared into that void willingly to escape the voices in his head
that the liquor couldn’t quite eradicate. In sleep, it didn’t hurt so much when the man he’d spent so
many years loving didn’t return his feelings. When that man chose a murderous criminal over him.
In sleep, he avoided the blow that rejection left on the man he’d always thought himself to be. And
in sleep he absolved himself of the choices that rejection had allowed him to make.
Choices that almost left the man he’d loved for so long near death.
His heart thundered in his ear, drowning out anguished cries and bloodcurdling threats. That
thunder got louder and louder. Bigger, shaking Jack so violently he dropped out of his sleep and onto
the floor.
“Fu—”
That wasn’t his heart. That was real thunder reverberating through the cabin, chased by lightning
that streaked electric blue in the darkness. Damn. It was already night. He sat with his knees hugged to
his chest, his back against the couch, only to lurch forward when a pounding rattled the front door.
What the fuck?
Thunder crashed overhead again, smothering all other sound. Then lightning.
Then that pounding on the door.
Someone was definitely outside.
Who the hell was out there in that weather?
He stumbled to his feet with a belch, making a face at the sour taste before picking up his shotgun.
He didn’t give a fuck who was out there. He had a Trespassers Will Be Shot sign up in his yard for a
reason.
He left the interior of the cabin in darkness but swept his hand along the wall until he found the
switch for the light that was positioned outside, just above the cabin’s entrance. He turned on the light
then moved over to the door and yanked it open, pointing the gun at the drenched guy who stood on his
doorstep. “You’re trespassing.”
Dude blinked up at him with brown eyes reminiscent of the liquor that coated Jack’s tongue. He
was African-American, with hair cut to a low fade, and a smooth jaw. Pouring rain dripped off his
chin, soaking the pale blue shirt he wore and sticking it to his muscular chest and wide shoulders. He
wore a black sport coat over that, and it too was soaked along with his dark jeans and tennis shoes.
He held a bag in his hand as he gaped up at Jack.
“Are you hearing impaired?” Rain pelted Jack, aided by the heavy wind, wetting the floor. “Go.”
“J-Jack Wellington? You’re Agent Jack Wellington?”
Didn’t have to sound so goddamn miserable asking his name. “Did Dutch send you?” Dutch ran a
secret group of agents who went after some of the worst criminals. Jack was one of those agents, but
he’d already told Dutch he wouldn’t be doing any jobs for the foreseeable future. If this was one of
his men, Jack would bury his ass in the front yard and send a picture of the freshly dug grave to Dutch.
He’d warned that bastard to leave him alone.
Guy blinked. “No. I—” He wiped at his face. Lost cause, really. The rain was unstoppable. “Can
I come in? I’ll explain.”
Hell no, he couldn’t come in. Jack didn’t want anyone in his place, especially not this stranger
with eyes that—they were familiar, but he couldn’t place them. Thunder rolled again and the heavy
wind had the tall trees that surrounded the cabin swaying. Fingers crossed they didn’t come crashing
down on his head overnight. When he lifted his gaze past his unwanted visitor’s shoulder, he noticed
another vehicle, a black SUV, parked next to his truck. Lightning illuminated the darkness and the flat
tire on the front passenger side of the SUV.
“Shit.” Jack lowered the gun and stepped back. “Come in.”
 3

THERE HAD TO BE A MISTAKE.

Ashe stood just inside the doorway, water dripping off his clothes and soaking the floor. The
inside of the cabin was in darkness, but the harsh yellow light above the doorway illuminated just
enough for him to make out a couch and the bottles on the floor.
What the fuck?
He swung back toward the man smelling like a distillery, holding the gun, but Jack Wellington
spoke first.
“Who are you? What do you want?” he growled. “And talk fast.” He shifted forward, the floors
creaking under him, and Ashe pedaled backward when he brought the gun back up.
“Please. I—” The weapon in Jack’s hand had his tongue all tied up. “The gun,” he whispered.
“Can you—can you put it down.”
“Tell me who you are and why you’re here, looking for me.”
“Is there light?” Ashe licked his dry lips, fingers clenching around the straps of his overnight bag.
Should have left the damn thing in the car. “Can you turn on the light?” He wouldn’t be able to
function if they remained as they were.
A click sounded and light flooded the place. Ashe blinked, meeting blue eyes. He hadn’t
remembered much about Jack, but he could never forget the blue of his eyes and the low and deep
cadence of his voice. So soothing.
Except it wasn’t, not anymore.
Ashe couldn’t say for sure what he’d been expecting, but the man before him, glowering with
what looked like sleep creases on the left side of his face, wasn’t it. Taller than Ashe by a few inches,
Jack was athletically built, with well-defined muscles that flexed when he moved. His hair was dark
blond, eyes narrowed, nose and stubble-darkened jaw sharp. Ashe noted the clenched jaw before
Jack spoke.
“Are you gonna stand there and stare or do I have to make you start talking?”
Ashe had been out of it the one and only time they’d met previously, but still, he didn’t remember
Jack being mean and angry. The private investigator hadn’t told him Jack was a drunk and living like
a hermit up in the mountains. Somebody should have told him that the one man he’d idolized other
than his grandfather would disappoint him, too.
Ashe glanced away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—” His voice broke. “I shouldn’t have come.” Maybe
he hadn’t thought this through. He damn sure hadn’t been prepared for the weather, for the sheets of
rain that had him pulling off the highway when it became impossible to see through his windshield.
He’d expected a warm welcome from this person he’d never truly met. He’d expected to sit and
reminisce, to express his gratitude and show the man who’d saved him that he’d done what he’d
asked.
He’d lived, even when he didn’t want to. That he’d shed the skin of the person he’d been
pretending to be and become who he was meant to, because of the man glaring at him with a shotgun
aimed at Ashe’s chest.
“Hey.” Fingers snapped in front of his face. “What the fuck? You show up at my door in the
middle of a storm, asking for me by name? I’m giving you two seconds to tell me who you are. And if
you’re one off Dutch’s men—”
“I don’t know a Dutch!” Ashe yelled, before catching himself. He wiped his hands on his wet
pants and grimaced. “I’m sorry. I thought—” He shook his head with a pained laugh, because who but
him would find himself in this situation? “Doesn’t matter what I thought.” He glanced around. “Can I
sit?”
Jack just stared at him, a quizzical expression on his face, that gun still in his hand, so Ashe edged
toward the couch and when the other man didn’t stop him, he sat, sinking into the sagging cushions.
His clothes were soaked; even his sneakers squeaked with water, so he toed them off, peeling away
the wet socks before sinking his toes into the gray carpet.
“Still waiting,” Jack said. “And this will be the last time I ask, who are you and why are you
here?”
“My name is Ashe.” All the things he’d planned to share with his savior didn’t make it to his lips.
He couldn’t bare himself to the gun-toting drunk with the liquored-up blue eyes. He couldn’t. The
realization brought a sharp twinge of loss to his chest. He’d been holding on to the idea of what Jack
Wellington was, only to find out that shit was all make believe. “It was a mistake coming here.” He
tilted his chin, meeting Jack’s narrowed gaze, hoping the other man didn’t notice the tremulous quality
of his words. “I mistook you for someone else, but as soon as the rain eases up I’ll leave.” He’d
passed a hotel about an hour or so away. He could stay there, maybe take a plane back home.
“Stand,” Jack barked. He heaved the gun over his left shoulder, holding it with one hand as he
approached on bare feet. Standing over Ashe, he appeared bigger than Ashe’s faulty memory allowed.
“What?” He frowned.
“On your feet. Now.”
The order set Ashe’s teeth on edge, but he wasn’t about to anger the man holding a gun. He got to
his feet slowly, stiffening when Jack got into his space and started patting him down with one hand.
“What are you doing?”
“Should have done this before,” Jack muttered to himself. “Fucking slipping.”
“Please.” Ashe cringed away from his touch, shivering. “I don’t—I don’t have any weapons. All I
have is my phone in my pocket. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Jack stepped away with a grunt. “You can’t hurt me. What you can do is cut the bullshit.” He
glanced toward the window. “Storm’s not gonna pass for a while. And you’re not going anywhere on
a flat tire.”
Shit, he’d forgotten about that.
“Start talking.” Jack frowned, eyeing him up and down. “And get those wet clothes off.”
Ashe opened his mouth then closed it again.
“You got any dry clothes in that bag you’re white knuckling?” Jack asked.
Ashe nodded.
“There.” Jerking a thumb behind him, Jack said, “Change in there.” Then he smiled, an
unexpectedly vicious gesture that left Ashe questioning his goddamn sanity. “When you’re done,
we’re talking. You better hope I like what I hear.”
That threat had Ashe snatching up his bag that held an extra set of clothes and beating a quick
retreat to the door Jack pointed at, which turned out to be possibly the world’s smallest bathroom. A
shower, no bathtub and no curtain, a sink with a scuffed and cracked mirror, and a toilet. If Ashe
spread his arms wide, he’d span the entirety of the space. He stripped hurriedly, dropping his wet
clothes onto the black fuzzy bath mat. Thank God he’d made sure to take his weekly T-shot before he
left LA. He kept on his underwear, since that wasn’t wet, and quickly stepped into the one pair of
jeans he had in his bag along with a gray t-shirt. Finished getting dressed, he splashed water on his
face and used the paper towels next to the roll of toilet paper atop the back of the toilet to dry up.
What had he hoped to achieve by coming here?
He’d wanted to thank Jack for saving him, and maybe he could still do that without going too
much in depth. Back home, he’d been so convinced that meeting Jack, talking to him, was what he
needed. The final hurdle that would free him permanently.
He’d expected Jack to save him again, like he’d done all those years ago.
Stupid. Fucking stupid.
That man out there couldn’t save himself, judging by what Ashe had seen so far.
Stupid.
You’re so needy, Ashley. Always fucking needing.
The voice came out of nowhere, familiar words ricocheting like the peals from a church bell.
Ashe swiped shaking fingers across his brow, swallowing around the thickness in his throat that was
suddenly jacking up his breathing.
Needy Ashley. You need somebody to love you. You need somebody to save you.
No! But that denial was a farce when he was here in this cabin after searching and finding a man
he didn’t truly know.
Ashe clung to the edge of the sink with one hand, the other covering his right ear as his knees gave
out and he slammed to the floor with a low cry. They were right. He was a mess. And so damn stupid,
coming here. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even stand. What made him think he could do this? He
folded in on himself on the floor of that tiny bathroom, rocking back and forth.
Humming.
Trying to drown out the voice getting louder and louder. The man who taunted and belittled him
used to love him. At least, he’d claimed to love him.
You need me, Ashley. You can’t leave me. Who’ll love you? Somebody needs to save you, and
take care of you, ’cause fuck knows you’re incapable of it.
And here Ashe was, proving that son of a bitch right. His lips trembled and he tugged on the
lower one with his teeth, tasting the salt of his tears. Some kind of a freak he was, melting down in a
stranger’s bathroom.
A bang on the door startled a cry from him.
“Hey.” The door rattled. “Open the door,” Jack called out. “What’s going on in there?”
Open the door. Ashe couldn’t even lift his head up off the cold floor. He whimpered.
“Hey. Ashe? Ashe, right?” Jack hesitated. “You okay in there?”
If he could, Ashe would laugh, but at the question, the tears poured down his face in torrents. And
of course, Jack chose that moment to kick the door in.
“Shit. What the fuck?” He grabbed Ashe’s shoulders, hefting him up to a sitting position. “Hey.
Hey.” Clasping Ashe’s face in his hands, Jack peered at him. “Are you okay? Did you take
something?”
Jack smelled of liquor, yes. But of sweat, too. And like the outdoors, fresh rain on the hot ground.
It was an unmistakable kind of scent and Ashe didn’t hate it. He grasped the front of Jack’s shirt,
vision distorted by his wet eyes. “You saved someone once,” he whispered. “She was dead and you
brought her back.”
Jack blinked. “What?”
“He buried her in a cemetery.” His grip on Jack got tighter as the memories became even more
vivid. “She’d been alive when she went into that grave. She was dead when she came out, in your
arms, and you brought her back.”
Jack’s body went stiff against his and he pulled away slowly, confusion all over his face.
“Jack.” Tears dripped off Ashe’s chin. This close, he was swamped with the sense of security
Jack represented back then, if only for a fleeting moment. It was terrifying, the difference between
memory and reality.
“I—” The other man’s eyes were wide, searching. “How do you know about that?”
“Jack.” Ashe reached for him, but Jack pulled away before they came in contact, and that
rejection, amongst the many Ashe had experienced, resonated the most. Hurt the most.
“Answer the question.” Jack pushed away from him, scrambling to his feet, leaving Ashe there on
the floor. “How do you know about something that happened so long ago?”
Ashe bowed his head and Jack was back on him that quick, his hand fisted in the front of Ashe’s
shirt, pulling tight, snarling. “Who the fuck are you?” He shook Ashe once. “And how do I know your
eyes?”
“My name is Ashe. I used to be that woman in the grave.”
 4

IT WAS THE EYES . So much like the color of the cheap whiskey Jack found in the old dusty store. One
sip always laid him out, put him on his back, vision swirling as he swore he’d spring for the better,
more expensive stuff next time.
Except somehow, he’d keep drinking until the bottle was dry.
Then he’d snatch up the same damn no-name drink on his next store run. Head spinning, tongue
damn near numb, he couldn’t stop drinking it.
Ashe’s brown eyes were wet, glistening, his thousand-mile stare punching holes in Jack’s gut as
he gritted his teeth. The words he’d uttered, dry and desolate, ping-ponged inside Jack’s head.
“I used to be that woman in the grave.”
Been a long time, but the memories were there, just below the surface, waiting to be excavated. A
woman so still in his arms. Cold to his touch. Packed dirt in her passageways. He’d placed her so
carefully on the ground, begging her to breathe as he performed CPR, his fingers numb, nails broken
and bleeding from clawing at the freshly dug grave.
“Jack.”
He blinked hard, peeling his fingers away, releasing his grip to throw himself against the wall.
Ashe. Ashe. The man watching him with the clumped lashes was muscular, as if he spent a good
amount of his time in the gym, with a prominent nose and full, trembling, lips, skin a hypnotizing
shade of medium brown. There was nothing of that woman, except for the eyes.
Jack would call this Ashe a liar. Toss him out under the dark skies spitting thunder and lightning
for attempting such a sick joke.
Except for the eyes.
He remembered when emergency services finally arrived at the cemetery, they’d tried to stop him.
Tried to pronounce her dead. Tried to haul him off her. But he’d fought them off.
One last time. Let me try one last time, he’d begged. He’d never looked up from her face, so
pale, so still, but he’d felt their pity for him, because he couldn’t let her go. Couldn’t accept that this
woman he didn’t know could be gone. He’d ignored them and performed CPR one last time and when
her lashes fluttered open, it’d been all he could do to not collapse onto her battered and broken body.
The pained confusion in her eyes gutted him then.
The pained loss in Ashe’s expression pissed him off.
“You gave me this.” Ashe held out a card that he pulled from the pocket of the wet jeans he’d
taken off.
Jack snatched it from him, squinting at it. His card from his days working out of the Los Angeles
FBI’s field office before he abandoned them to join the DEA and move back to Atlanta. None of his
contact information was the same, of course. He flipped it over, reading the words in his familiar
scrawl out loud. “Ashley, you’re stronger than you think. This too shall pass. Fight. Fight to live.
Fight to be who you’re supposed to be.”
Ashe sat straighter, his back against the toilet, hands all fidgety in his lap. “You helped me.” He
cleared his throat, lifting his chin to meet Jack’s stare head on. “When I had no one, I had your card
and your words. When I didn’t believe in myself, I had you believing in me.”
Christ. It was too early for the kind of heavy shit this guy was talking. Jack licked his lips, hunting
for the taste of liquor that was evaporating faster than any hopes he had for solitude. “Why are you
here? How did you find me?”
“Hired a PI.” Ashe glanced down at his hands, fingers all twisted around each other, then back to
his face. “I needed to get away.”
A laugh barreled its way past Jack’s lips, coming out harsh in the small space. “And you came to
me?” Oh, this was just getting better by the minute, wasn’t it?
The vulnerability that had Ashe’s eyes shining before disappeared and in its place was a fierce
spark that Jack almost admired. “I came to thank you for saving me. I came to tell the man who
believed in me and encouraged me—a stranger—way before I had the strength and courage to believe
in myself, that his efforts weren’t ever in vain.” He swallowed, nostrils flaring, his chest rising and
falling rapidly as his wavering words settled uncomfortably in Jack’s gut.
“I’m nobody’s hero.” God’s honest truth right there.
Ashe grimaced. “Lucky for both of us, I’m not looking for a hero, Jack.” He spoke Jack’s name
like a caress. Shit was…weird. “You’re a door I need closed. I’m here to do that. Step one on my
journey to saving myself.” He leaned toward Jack. “Rest easy, Agent Wellington, I’m not here to drag
you away from your guns and your liquor. Your services aren’t required.”
More than ever Jack needed a drink. “Is that why you’re in a fucking heap on my bathroom floor?”
Ashe simply stared at him under furrowed brows, lips tightly pressed together. “Thank you, Jack,”
he said finally. Softly. “For bringing me back to life, in more ways than one. Your words kept me
going, kept me alive, kept me fighting even on the days I couldn’t make it out of bed. I don’t know if
you understand, Jack, and I don’t care to go deeper than I already have, but I am grateful. Forever
grateful.”
You’re welcome seemed such a shitty and inadequate thing to say after that. He wanted to ask
questions, find out what happened to the woman he’d pulled from that grave. What happened to the
man opposite him with broken shadows in his eyes and false courage in his words?
A rumble of thunder shook the cabin. Ashe jumped with a gasp, arms wrapping around his body.
Jack mourned the bottle of vodka he’d left out in the living room, the one he didn’t get to finish.
“I’m sorry for just showing up.” Ashe was hoarse suddenly, as if he’d spent a good few hours
shouting at the top of his lungs. Jack frowned, flipping the card between his fingers. “I didn’t—didn’t
know a storm was coming. I’m usually better prepared.” He uttered a self-deprecating laugh. “I was
just excited to finally meet you.”
Jesus. “Why was meeting me so important?”
Lightning flashed, an otherworldly electric blue in the depths of Ashe’s eyes. “Sometimes you’re
a ghost with eyes I can’t ignore, calling my dead-name until she appears. And I disappear.” Emotion
roughened his voice and Ashe cleared his throat. “Sometimes the only thing that keeps me from taking
a razor to my wrists—again—are the words on the back of the card.”
Fuck. Me.
 “I had to make sure you were real,” Ashe rasped. “I had to touch you, just once. Tell me, Jack…
are you real?”
That question had layers Jack wasn’t drunk enough to peel back. Not that he was about to on this
cold bathroom floor with a stranger with familiar eyes. “No.”
At that answer, Ashe slouched backward, throat working.
“The man you think I am, he doesn’t exist, Ashe.” That guy had long since burned out, died out.
He’d seen too much. Done way more, none of it good. “Don’t make me responsible for you. That’s the
surest way to be disappointed.”
“Who do I think you are?”
“Some type of savior?” Jack scoffed, shrugging. “You’ve got the wrong one. That shit isn’t real.”
Ashe’s lips twisted. “Jack, you pulled a gun on me, threatened to hurt me, yet the instant I looked
into your eyes tonight all I’ve felt is safe. The idea of what you give me is as real as the fear in your
eyes.”
“Fear?” Head cocked, Jack asked, “What do you think I’m afraid of?”
The saddest smile creased Ashe’s round face. “Memories. Same as me, I’m guessing. Reminders
of a time when you weren’t this person, hiding up in the mountains, liquor coming out of your pores.”
He pursed his lips. “What happened to you, Jack?”
Jack opened his mouth to tell him to mind his own fucked-up business.
Thunder boomed.
The lights went out, plunging them into darkness.
And Ashe started screaming.

“L OOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO .”

One minute Ashe was good and the next he was in darkness, the taunting words ringing over and
over in his ears. Hands at his throat, choking him as he tried to scream, but he couldn’t hear his own
voice, pleading for his life. He heard those words as he sank into the darkness that enveloped him so
thoroughly.
“Look what you made me do, Ashley.”
He was supposed to fight, but something held him down. He was supposed to be louder, but those
screams…
Those screams, all they did was tear his throat up. Helplessness wasn’t unfamiliar; neither was
the pain. The shame. Fighting back would solve nothing. Long ago he’d learned to take it, accept it so
that it could all end sooner.
“Ashe.”
But he was so tired of being broken. Tired of hunting for the lost pieces of himself while on his
knees with a boot in his back.
“Ashe.”
Tears cascaded down his cheeks, tangible proof of his weakness.
“You want to leave me? The only way out is death.”
Then Ashe was in that grave, clawing, lungs burning, terror an ice bath he couldn’t get out of.
He’d pissed himself when reality set in that he was dying. Chewed his tongue bloody with the fear.
Until everything just floated. Until he couldn’t move, couldn’t hear.
 So heavy. Everything was heavy and he wanted to sleep to escape the pain. To escape the horrors.
A hand settled on his shoulder, shaking him.
Ashe flailed, finding his voice again to scream although he knew nobody would hear.
“Ashe. Goddamn it!”
He jerked, the sobs getting all tangled in his throat, escaping as a hiccup as his wet lashes flew
open.
Oh.
Shit.
“Jack.” He was in Jack’s lap on the floor. The other man’s eyes were panicked, a thin red scratch
decorating his left cheek. Ashe instinctively knew he’d been the one to deliver that mark. He’d lost it
again; after weeks of not having flashbacks, he was losing it left and right in front of this man. “Jack.”
He reached out to touch Jack’s face, but Jack jerked his head away, out of his reach. “I’m so sorry.”
Ashe blinked away the tears from his eyes. “Jack.” It was like he couldn’t stop saying that name. It
grounded him somehow, kept him from falling right back down that deep, dark hole.
He eased out of Jack’s grasp, sitting up and hugging his knees to his chest.
“The lights went out,” Jack told him in a monotone.
Yeah, he remembered that. Except… “They’re back on now.” How long had he been sobbing on
that floor? Fuck, he needed to get his dumb ass back home. This was a mistake. His parents would
love this shit; it would be one more nail in Ashe’s coffin where they were concerned.
“Generator kicked in.” Jack’s jaw ticked when Ashe chanced a glance at him.
He’d really inconvenienced this man, hadn’t he? Showing up on Jack’s doorstep unannounced was
one thing, but this? “I’m so sorry,” he said again. “I’m—” Licking his dry lips, he shrugged.
“Obviously, I have some issues.”
“Don’t we all,” Jack grumbled. “You wanna get out of here? You’re good to move back out
there?” He nodded at the door.
“Yeah.” Ashe hauled himself to his feet and almost crashed right back onto the floor with his
wobbly ass, if Jack hadn’t grabbed his arm.
“Whoa. Easy.”
“I’m okay.” He pulled away from Jack, grabbing onto the sink to keep himself upright. “I’m
good.” He was so far from good, that shit wasn’t even funny. But he’d humiliated himself enough in
Jack’s presence. Head bent, he gulped air into his lungs. “Breathe, breathe,” he whispered to himself.
Behind him, Jack didn’t move. He just stood there silently watching Ashe grapple with calming
himself down. “I’m fine.”
He respected Jack so much for not laughing in his face at that statement.
“I’m sure you think you are.” Jack’s deep voice made the tiny bathroom feel even smaller, the
walls seeming to come at Ashe from all sides. “I just want to know why you’re here, Ashe. And don’t
feed me that regurgitated shit you did before.” He was suddenly at Ashe’s back, a menacing shadow,
but the only thing touching him was Jack’s breath at his ear. “You’re here for more than just to thank
me.”
“I already told you why I’m here.” Ashe’s legs felt steadier, so he turned around slowly. Oh. Jack
was so close, Ashe made out the tiny freckles scattered along the length of his nose. Distance made
his lashes look dark, but up close they were blond. Jack Wellington wasn’t gorgeous or anything like
that. He was just…arresting. In some weird way, Ashe just wanted to stare at him, take him in, make
sure he was really real.
Make sure his parents hadn’t succeeded in their threats and he wasn’t in some facility, medicated
out of his mind and conjuring Jack because he was the safest thing. The safest place.
The only safety.
He wrinkled his nose at the thought. How pathetic was his life that a stranger represented safety to
him?
“Hey.” Jack snapped his fingers in front of Ashe’s face. “You with me?”
Ashe sniffed, narrowing his eyes. “I am. Can I have something to drink? Do you have water or…”
Jack watched him closely, sizing him up, expression making it impossible for Ashe to figure out
his thoughts. Couldn’t be anything good, though. Finally, Jack nodded and stepped back. “Yeah. Come
on.”
Ashe smothered his sigh of relief and followed him out of the stifling bathroom.
“Sit.” Jack motioned to the couch as he strode over to the kitchenette area, which was just as
small as the bathroom.
Ashe sat, mostly because he was tired as hell and his bum knees weren’t acting right. Hands
folded in his lap, he looked on as Jack took a bottle of water from a fridge almost as tall as Ashe’s
knee. Just as Jack handed him the water, a deafening crash came from outside.
Ashe lurched to his feet. “What the—”
Jack dashed over to the window, hands cupping either side of his eyes as his forehead banged
against the glass. “Goddamn it!”
“What?” Ashe knelt on the couch and peered out the window. Outside was pitch black, which
made it difficult to see anything at first, but a flash of lightning remedied that quickly, illuminating
Ashe’s vehicle.
And the huge tree that had apparently landed on it, smashing the windshield.
“Shit.” A flat tire was bad enough, but this?
Jack spun away from the window and grabbed the bottle of liquor that had been languishing on the
floor near the couch. He paced as he drank straight from the bottle to the head as Ashe watched him
with mounting anxiety.
Shit. “I—I can call Triple A,” Ashe said. “I mean, it’s fine. Once the rain eases up, I’ll call them
so they can send somebody out.”
“No cell phone service up here.” Jack didn’t stop pacing. “And do you know why that is?” The
liquid slashed as he brought the bottle to his lips and swallowed.
“Why?” Ashe whispered.
“Because I wanted to be alone!” Jack roared. “Because I don’t want to be bothered. Because I
want to wake up drunk and fall asleep drunk, and not have somebody around giving me shit about it.
Somebody like you with your—with your haunted eyes filled with expectations.”
“Jack.”
“And the way you say my fucking name like that!” Jack ran up on him so quickly, Ashe didn’t have
time to step back or cower or anything. Jack was just…in his face. Chest to chest. “Quit that shit.”
Ashe blinked. He had no idea what Jack meant. “I-I’m—”
“Why are you here, Ashe? Hm?” This close, Ashe could get drunk off Jack’s breath, could taste
the fire in the liquor the other man sipped as though it were water. “Answer that for me,” Jack
murmured, head tilting closer to Ashe’s. “Answer that and I won’t put you outside in that monster of a
storm.”
“You can’t do that.” Ashe gaped at him.
Jack smiled at him, his head cocked, expression indulgent. “You won’t be the first person to tell
me what I can and can’t do. You also won’t be the last one disappointed when I prove ’em wrong.
Answer the question, Ashe.”
He’d chided Ashe for the way he spoke his name, but when Jack used Ashe’s name like that, he
felt present. Seen. Accepted. Which was fucked up, because Jack damn sure didn’t mean it in that
way.
Why was he afraid to tell Jack the truth? What did it matter, if after this moment in time they
would never see each other again? He stared into Jack’s blue eyes, dulled the tiniest bit by the liquor.
“I ran away.”
Jack straightened, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
“I’m hiding from my parents,” Ashe continued, and Jack’s eyes just kept on narrowing until Ashe
could barely see those tempting blues anymore. “They’re trying to get me committed. They think I’m
crazy.”
“Are you?”
Ashe huffed out a laugh. “You should never ask a crazy person if they’re crazy, Jack.”
“I’m not asking a crazy person, I’m asking you.” Jack moved in the barest bit, nose brushing
Ashe’s. “Are you crazy, Ashe?”
 5

THE MAN who stood before Jack as if he hadn’t just screamed bloody murder while fighting against an
enemy only he could see, had a mole just under his right eye and a small, healed scar almost
completely hidden under his left eyebrow. Ashe was like an onion; it had barely been an hour since
he’d destroyed Jack’s stillness with his presence, and already he’d exposed so much.
But Jack needed to know if Ashe was indeed crazy, because his life could only accommodate one
nutjob at a time, and Jack had first rights. So, he asked again, “Are you crazy, Ashe?”
Ashe grinned, nothing real about it, but his slightly crooked teeth captured Jack’s attention for a
moment. She’d been missing her two front teeth, the woman he’d pulled from that grave.
“Maybe I am.” Ashe cocked his head. “Does that make you wanna grab your gun, Jack? I think
nobody would fault you.”
It wasn’t the words that had Jack’s spine straightening. It was the bitter pain, a jarring thread
running throughout Ashe’s every syllable. “Somebody wants you dead?” What the fuck did he care?
Ashe chuckled and sank onto the couch, sitting back with his knees apart as he stared up at Jack.
“Do you have siblings, Jack? Do you know what it means to be the middle child? At least, for me?”
He didn’t give Jack a chance to answer. “You get left out, you get forgotten. You get passed over,
because the oldest has responsibilities and the youngest is the baby. The middle child gets invisibility
disguised as freedom. Sometimes it’s good, you get away with shit. But if you’re me, you go looking
for someone to fill your empty spaces. And you choose the very last person you should, but you stay
despite the red flags, hoping the moment you show them who you truly are, they’ll give you what your
family never could. Acceptance.”
“Ashe.” Maybe it was the liquor, but Jack’s chest burned and he fisted his hands at the urge to rub
it. He mourned the loss of his solitude, hated the man who stole it from him, but Jack wanted to hear
Ashe out. Find out what happened to him. How he ended up in the grave. How he ended up here,
fucking with Jack, yanking instincts he thought he’d drowned with liquor back to the surface.
“I’m not crazy, Jack.” Ashe’s lips twisted, eyes red-rimmed but dry. “But trying to kill yourself
once or twice kinda puts your mental health into question. Know what I mean? Rejecting my parents’
ideas of who I should be in favor of who I know I am also didn’t help.”
“What does that mean?”
Ashe hummed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It means, I didn’t come here to feed you my sad
story.” He swallowed. “Said it before, but I’m sorry for just showing up. I mean that.”
“You said you ran away.” This man ran from his family and ran to Jack. How fucked was that?
“Yep.” Ashe nodded. He picked up his water and took a sip, gaze holding Jack’s in an intense
grip. “I admire you for doing this, isolating yourself. I imagine sleeping is easier.”
He imagined wrong, but Jack didn’t correct him. “I don’t like people.”
Ashe barked a laugh. “Oh, yeah. People are just the fucking worst.”
That laugh was genuine and Jack stared at him, at the sudden lightness that flooded his eyes for a
moment as if Ashe had forgotten about the invisible load on his back and attempted to take flight.
Only to crash right back to earth.
“Jack.”
Jack blinked, taking a step back. For a second, Ashe sounded like someone else. Like Jack’s ex.
They spoke his name the same: with weighted expectations, until Shane’s turned to disappointment.
Only a matter of time before Ashe followed suit.
Something for Jack to look forward to.
“Jack.”
But he closed his eyes briefly, battling the what-ifs Ashe dropped at his feet. He hadn’t lost all his
senses, otherwise he’d have shoved Ashe out into the wailing storm for speaking Jack’s name the way
only one other man ever had. He reopened his eyes, staring into Ashe’s. “What?”
“Um…” Ashe licked his lips. “Since I’m obviously not going anywhere tonight, is there
somewhere I can sleep? I’m—All those hours on the road are catching up with me.” He smothered a
yawn with the back of his hand. “Sorry.”
He kept saying that. “You can sleep where you’re at.” He jerked his chin to indicate the couch.
“I’ll get you a sheet or something.” Did he have sheets? Were they clean? He turned away, stomping
over to the bedroom he hardly ever entered. He didn’t sleep on the queen-sized bed. What was the
point? He slept right where he drank, on the couch.
He found a couple sheets in one of the drawers and grabbed them, bringing them back to Ashe,
who was now stretched out on the couch, arms up behind his head, eyes closed. He looked
vulnerable.
Alone.
Jack shook out one of the sheets and covered him, leaving the other one on the back of the couch
in case the other man needed it. Then he turned off the light. As he turned to make his way back into
the bedroom he’d never slept in, Ashe called his name.
“Jack?”
It was a kind of low-key torture, every time Ashe said his name. He didn’t turn around, though he
did pause. “Yeah?”
“Can you stay until I fall asleep?” His voice was different, softer but full of fear, almost as if he
was afraid of the impending slumber. “And, can you leave the light on?”
Jack didn’t want to feel the sudden urge he had to protect Ashe. If he opened his mouth, he’d have
declined his guest’s request out of his own self-preservation. So he didn’t speak; instead he turned on
the light, just long enough to rustle up the candles he’d bought as backups for any kind of emergency.
He lit them, all twelve of the tall, skinny, tapered candles, tipping each one over so their wax
could drip before sticking them on strategic surfaces around the cabin. Then he turned off the
overhead light.
Ashe sat up, the sheet falling to his waist as he gazed around with big eyes. “Jack.”
Goddamn it. Jack clenched his jaw. “Lie back down.” Gruff as hell, but he was allowed, wasn’t
he? “Sleep.”
Ashe didn’t seem to mind his barked command, because he settled back onto the couch, both
hands gripping the sheet, bringing it up to his neck. Jack went to him, sinking to the floor next to the
couch, missing his liquor.
“Thank you, Jack,” Ashe muttered, voice leaden with exhaustion. “You save me every time.”
Fuck. Jack simply grunted. He didn’t want to be anybody’s savior, but Ashe didn’t seem to care.
What would the expression on his face be when he realized Jack wasn’t someone he could rely on?
Would it be the same as Shane’s? Jack’s ex’s had been filled with disappointment, with a knowing
that Jack could never be enough, could never be what Shane needed him to be.
He’d never measure up and sooner or later, Ashe would get the memo.
Jack grabbed the spare sheet and stretched out on the floor, covering up. If he was lucky,
tomorrow the road should be passable and they’d be able to get Ashe’s vehicle fixed. Get the other
man on his way and out of Jack’s space.
I ran away.
What kind of life had Ashe escaped from? Nothing good, that was for damn sure. But it didn’t
matter, couldn’t matter to Jack. If he was lucky, they’d both go their separate ways and never see each
other again.
But he wasn’t lucky at all.
Because Ashe came awake screaming his name. “Jack! Jack! Jack!”
Jack lurched upright. “Ashe?”
The other man’s eyes were open, but he wasn’t truly awake, not with the potent fear pouring off
his heaving frame. “Jack!”
Jack scrambled over to him, touching his shoulder gently. “Ashe, it’s okay. I’m here.”
Ashe launched off the couch and into Jack’s arms, knocking him backward. The back of his head
thudded against the floor and he hissed at the sharp pain that lanced through his skull. Ashe climbed
his body, clutching him tightly, sobbing against Jack’s throat.
“It’s okay,” Jack murmured. “You’re safe.” Jesus. He wanted to mean that promise. Wanted it to
be true. “Ashe, you’re safe.” From what, though? The way Ashe cried rattled Jack’s soul. He
wrapped both arms around the other man, who refused to release him, keeping Jack on his back there
on the floor.
Ashe kept sobbing his name and nothing else, warm tears sliding along Jack’s neck. What had this
man been through?
“Ssh.” Jack stroked his back, up and down. Damn, he hadn’t known he still possessed the ability
to give comfort. “Hush.” He rolled them sideways, cupping Ashe’s nape to keep him pressed to his
chest. Pulling one of the cushions off the couch, Jack grunted as he forced it under his head with one
hand. He shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Sleep,” he told Ashe softly. “I’ve got you.”
For tonight.
He could only afford to care for one night.
 6

THE WARMTH WOKE ASHE. So much of it was pouring into him, sweat trickled down the small of his
back. He shifted on whatever hard surface he lay on, lifting his hand to scratch at his nape. At least,
he tried to lift his arm.
Something held him. Tight. Snug.
What—
His breath left him on a hiccup and he blinked his eyes open. He was in darkness, and that
surface?
It was a person.
That tightness?
It was their arms around him, keeping him from moving, from getting away.
No. No. His pulse galloped, chest rising and falling, and he drew deep breaths, trying to think,
trying to figure out—
“Ashe.”
His heart stuttered at the familiar voice. “J-Jack?” Oh shit. Everything came flooding back and he
froze. Why was he on top of Jack? “What happened?” His voice cracked. “Why are you holding me?”
Around him, Jack’s arms flexed and he made a low sound as he rolled to his side, taking Ashe
with him. Not once did his grip ease up. “You, uh…You had a nightmare.” Under Ashe’s chest, Jack’s
voice rumbled in the smoothest, most soothing way. “You jumped into my arms and wouldn’t let me
release you.”
Jesus Christ. Ashe bowed his head, causing his chin to brush Jack’s chest. Shame and
embarrassment heated his neck, climbing to his face and ears. This was turning out to be just the best
of times, wasn’t it? “I’m sorry.” Jesus, it felt as if that was all he’d been doing since he knocked on
Jack’s door. Apologizing. “You can let go, I’m fine now.”
But Jack didn’t and Ashe couldn’t truly say he minded. On their sides on the hard floor, they were
chest to chest, thigh to thigh, bodies pressed so close. It wasn’t a comfortable position. In fact, Ashe’s
back and shoulders ached, but Jack was all warmth. All comfort, even if he might not want any part of
Ashe.
He was a good man.
“You remind me of my grandfather,” Ashe murmured.
Jack’s body jolted when he snorted. “Wow. That’s flattering.”
“No, I mean…” Stupid mouth. He spouted the weirdest shit when he was uncomfortable. “He was
the only one who listened, who didn’t judge. He comforted me even when he didn’t understand.”
 “I’m on the floor of my cabin, holding on to a stranger I can’t seem to say no to,” Jack murmured.
“Oh, there’s a lot of judgment.” But he didn’t sound upset about it, he couldn’t be when he still had his
arms around Ashe. His breath whistled when he breathed, the faint heat licking at Ashe’s forehead.
“What do you see?” he asked. “In your nightmares, what do you see?”
Ashe inhaled sharply. He didn’t like talking about his nightmares; they put him in the most
vulnerable state. But this was Jack. “I see you.” He couldn’t help the apology in his tone. Jack hadn’t
asked for this and here Ashe was, dumping all this crap at his feet, but he’d had nobody else who
knew exactly what he’d been through. Nobody who’d get it. Did Jack get it? “You keep trying to pull
me from that grave, but the ground gives out and I sink deeper.” He paused, inhaling. Exhaling. “You
scream for me and I can’t answer because I have no voice and I have no strength to fight. So I let go. I
let go every time.” He turned his face away. The candles Jack lit earlier were out, but Ashe didn’t
know if Jack could see his face clearly when he peered at him. He didn’t want the other man seeing
the tears in his eyes.
He blinked them away.
Jack touched the small of his back, rubbing him in slow circles. Ashe really should move away,
put some distance between them, but he just wanted to soak all of Jack up, experience as much as he
could for when the time came that he didn’t have this anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“What for?”
Ashe turned back to him, licking his lips, tasting their tremor. “I’ve been holding on to the memory
of you in my head for so long…” He paused, drawing his hand up to tentatively brush a finger to the
base of Jack’s throat. “Now that I’ve touched you, I can’t let you go.” He swallowed. “Do I have to
let you go, Jack?”
“Ashe.” Jack’s chest rose and fell steadily. “I have nothing you want. Trust me.” His voice was
gruff, sad.
Ashe pushed away from him then, rolling away, eyes closing briefly as the cold wormed its way
back into him. Inch by inch, wiping away all of Jack’s warmth. He sat with his knees to his chest,
back against the couch as Jack sat up as well, just a touch away, watching him with cautious blue
eyes.
Even in the shadowed room, Ashe could never not find himself caught in those eyes. They were
like lights from a lighthouse, guiding him to safety. And Jack didn’t think he had anything Ashe could
want. “When I was eighteen, I met someone who didn’t mind me dressing masculine, wearing boots
and hoodies and shit like that. He loved that I wanted to hang with my brother and his friends instead
of with my little sister doing ‘girly-type shit.’” He used air-quotes for that last bit. “He had no
problems letting me fuck him with my strap-on, and he’d boast to his friends about all the shit his
girlfriend did that theirs didn’t. He loved me.”
Jack got to his feet, re-lighting the candles then sitting back down, never once speaking.
Ashe continued, “He loved me, that’s what I thought. Even though the first time I mentioned
wanting to be called Ashe instead of Ashley, he took away all my clothes and left me locked up naked
and alone in the house for an entire weekend.”
Jack stiffened.
“He loved me, I swore he did, but when I told him I’d be using my inheritance to start my
transition, he punched me so hard, he fractured my jaw.”
“Christ.” The word exploded from Jack, making Ashe flinch. The other man scrubbed a hand over
his face in obvious agitation. “Fuck, Ashe. I’m so sorry.” He’d pulled Ashe from a grave, but was
still worked up at hearing about a punch?
Ashe shrugged. “Not your fault. I loved him and I stayed with him, because unlike my parents, his
face didn’t scrunch up in disdain when I entered the room. He didn’t treat me as if I was sick and
simply needed a couple of Xanax and some sleep. As if all I needed were some prayers and a new
dress.” A bitter smile curled his lips. “It’s astounding what the promise of belonging will trick you
into accepting.”
Jack leaned forward, the candles casting arresting shadows on his face and neck. Ashe couldn’t
look away from him. “What happened that night?”
That night. Ashe had lived the past few years deliberately trying to forget that night. “I’d gotten
the first part of my inheritance when I turned twenty-one, and secretly started the process.” He
remembered the fear, the excitement, the anxiety. The loneliness at going through all of it alone. No
one to hold his hand. No one to talk to. “I couldn’t wait anymore.” His eyes burned as he touched his
throat. “I was suffocating, Jack. I was dying and I wanted to live, I wanted to be free, to be Ashe.”
Jack came to him then, grabbing his hand. The weight of him, the warmth of his skin, was the best
anchor, grounding Ashe. Righting him.
And he thought he had nothing Ashe could want.
“He found out.” To this day Ashe had no clue how that happened. “I didn’t lie when he asked
about it.” He should have. If only he’d known what would happen. “He flew into a rage. I didn’t see
the first punch coming and by the time my head stopped spinning and my eyes refocused, I was on the
floor and he was kicking me. Jack…” He linked their fingers, clutching Jack’s hand to his chest as the
memories choked him. “I thought he loved me, but he only wanted Ashley. He didn’t want Ashe. He
didn’t want a man in his life, in his bed, he wanted a woman, and I’d never been that even when my
outside said differently.”
Jack cupped his chin, tugging him closer. “He was a fool,” he bit out, stroking Ashe’s jaw with his
thumb. “You’re amazing.”
Under that thumb, Ashe felt amazing. Locked in place by Jack’s sure gaze, he felt amazing. “He
knocked me out.” He cleared the hoarseness from his voice. “I came to in that grave, with him
shoveling dirt on my face.” Ashe’s ex left and then called the cops, crying to them that he’d just killed
his girlfriend.
“I’d been living in LA for two years, working out of the FBI field office there.” Jack’s voice was
a ripple of sound over Ashe’s battered soul, cooling, calming. “I was helping the local PD on a
separate case when the call came in about you. There’d been some confusion as to which cemetery
you were in.” His eyes flashed. “I was the only one who had it right. I was the only one there.” That
thumb? It trembled against Ashe’s skin.
“You rescued me.” Ashe cupped his face. “Jack, you keep fucking rescuing me.” Was it too much
to touch him? To caress him? Because Ashe did, dragging his knuckles down the side of Jack’s neck.
God, he was everything warm. Ashe repeated the gesture.
Jack’s eyes seemed to darken. He shuddered and his lashes dropped, hiding his expression. They
were practically in each other’s lap, touching, faces so close they could breathe each other in.
Ashe took a covert sniff, inhaling the scent of Jack’s skin. His musk. Oh man. His lower belly
clenched. Oh man.
Jack’s lashes lifted and those blue eyes zeroed in on Ashe, locked on him. “You done sniffing
me?”
Christ. Ashe gulped. “Y-Yeah. You, um…You smell good.”
Jack’s jaw ticked. “I smell like you.” His stare dipped from Ashe’s eyes to his lips then back. “I
need to get up.”
“Okay.” Ashe nodded then realized his hands were all over the other man, preventing him from
moving. “Oh.” He snatched his hands away and scooted backward. “Sorry.”
Jack stood and paused, staring down at him. “Stop apologizing, Ashe. There isn’t a goddamn thing
you should be sorry for.” He strode away with Ashe gaping after him.
This man—Jack fucking Wellington—thought he had nothing Ashe could possibly want, while
Ashe sat on his numb ass wondering how he’d get himself back into Jack’s arms.
Because he wanted back in.
 7

J ACK TURNED ON THE LIGHTS — THANKS to the generator that kicked in automatically—then plugged in
the electric kettle with his back to Ashe, ignoring the fine tremor vibrating his fingers. It was unfair,
the familiarity of Ashe. The solid weight of him. The strength in his voice despite the tears making his
eyes shine like precious stones.
So fucking unfair that Jack wanted to stay on that floor and let Ashe sniff him to his heart’s
content.
“Jack.”
His body jerked, something coming awake and stretching inside every single time Ashe spoke his
name in that way—with a hoarse ache, a wicked tenor Jack could listen to all night.
Christ. He cast his gaze to the microwave he’d purchased at a secondhand store when he’d first
arrived at the cabin. The clock had gotten messed up when the power went out, so Jack quickly reset
it, using his watch to get the accurate time. It now read 12:20 a.m. Ashe had shown up at his door
around 8, not even a proper five hours, and he was already turning Jack inside out.
Fast work.
He schooled his features and turned around. Ashe remained on the floor, staring at him with those
eyes. Goddamn it. How had this happened? Listening to Ashe’s story sparked so much fury in his
belly. He wanted to find that son of a bitch who hurt Ashe and make him suffer. Destroy him.
Dropping the hands he’d folded over his chest, he fisted them at his sides, out of Ashe’s view. “I
didn’t know anything about you except the first name they gave me, but I remember the profound relief
when you finally opened your eyes,” he said softly. “I remember taking a breath only after you’d taken
one. I remember you clung to me so tightly.” Those memories, he hadn’t ever unpacked them and now
they were a garrote at his throat, threatening to take his neck off. “You didn’t want me to let me go.”
He hadn’t wanted to let go either, but he’d had work, responsibilities that couldn’t wait. “But I
couldn’t stay,” he said softly. “That’s why I left the note.”
Ashe stared at him. Jack rocked on the balls of his feet, fighting the desperate thing inside urging
that he go to Ashe. Touch him again. Experience that otherworldly shit again.
“I had to put you aside.” He glanced away. “Because I went undercover for a time and I couldn’t
worry about the beautiful woman I’d pulled from a fucking grave.” He returned his gaze to Ashe, who
sat there unblinking. “Time and distance meant I could forget you. And I did.”
It felt wrong now. Forgetting.
Ashe swallowed. “What else were you supposed to do, Jack? I’d never been your responsibility.”
He scrambled onto his knees, gaze still on Jack. “Should I hate you for leaving me behind?”
 He should. Shane hated Jack for leaving him behind. Work got in the way. Duty over everything
else, no matter who got caught in the fallout. He wasn’t supposed to feel the aftereffects of the
wreckage, but he always did. Every time he chose duty, he cut off a little bit of himself.
The kettle whistled at his back and he focused on that, pouring the boiling water over the honey
and tea bag he’d placed in a chipped mug. He stirred it some then brought the cup to Ashe, who lifted
an eyebrow but took the tea anyway.
“It’s chamomile,” Jack said as he sat beside him. “My mother swears by it. Says it helps her
sleep.” He’d tried it a few times, but he preferred to let liquor be his sleep aid.
Ashe’s lips quirked as he blew into the cup. “Thank you.”
Jack shrugged. “I just hope it helps.”
“Why are you hiding up here, Jack?”
“Your private investigator didn’t tell you that?”
Ashe didn’t flinch away from the harsh question. “I didn’t ask him for your life story. I only
wanted your location.” He took a loud sip of the tea then regarded Jack steadily. Fuck those eyes,
shredding Jack methodically. “Someone hurt you? Is that it?”
“My business is mine,” Jack shot at him. “Mine alone.”
Ashe’s jaw flexed and he put the cup down between them on the floor. “What if I want to make it
mine?”
Fuck. Me. “Ashe—”
“What did they do, this person that sent you running to lick your wounds up in these mountains?
That’s got you swimming in the bottom of a bottle?”
“You don’t know shit!” Jack leaned forward into Ashe’s face, nose to nose. He heard his own
rasping breaths as he glared at Ashe. “Don’t presume to know anything about me.”
“Ah, Jack.” The cup came back into view as Ashe brought it to his lips without looking away. “I
don’t have to presume. Your actions, and that wounded look in your eyes, speak clearly.”
This fucking guy with honey on his breath and fatigue in his eyes… This fucking guy. Jack stared
at him—the flare of his nostrils, the curve of his lips, the way those same lips shined when Ashe slid
his tongue across the bottom one. The sight gripped Jack by the throat, making breathing impossible.
His heart hammered and his lower half burned with the most languid and unexpected heat.
He jerked backward.
“Jack.” Ashe reached for him, grabbing him by the knee.
Jack hissed, eyes slamming shut, and it had nothing to do with Ashe’s nails clawing at him through
his jeans. There was a relief in Ashe’s touch that he didn’t deserve. A relief he shouldn’t want.
“Don’t do that,” he spoke without opening his eyes.
“Don’t touch you?”
He opened his eyes slowly, immediately getting sucked in by Ashe’s gaze. “Yes,” he whispered.
Ashe snatched his hand away. “Because you don’t want my touch?”
Shit. The shame in Ashe’s voice hit Jack in the gut. “Not because I don’t want it,” he rasped.
Before he allowed himself to yank Ashe’s hand back and place it where it’d been, he got to his feet,
holding out a hand. “Come.”
Ashe blinked up at him. “Where?”
“To the bedroom. You’re tired, I can see it.”
Ashe’s lips curved. “Thought you weren’t about to have me sleep in your bed?”
Great, now all Jack wanted was Ashe sleeping in his bed. He shrugged nonchalantly. “If I’m
gonna be holding you all night, we need something more comfortable than the fucking couch.”
 Ashe’s eyebrows shot up. “Holding me all night?”
Shit. “Yeah. Uh.” He scratched the back of his head, glancing away briefly. “You slept—you slept
better when I was holding you, so I figured…” Which was stupid.
Ashe wrapped both hands around the mug and seemed to rock back and forth for a second there.
“And you?” he asked softly. “How did you sleep when you were holding me, Jack?”
Like a man who should know better. Like a man who didn’t give a fuck about the ache in his back,
the cramp in his arms, or the crick in his neck. “Good.” He coughed lightly. “I slept good.”
Ashe searched his face before nodding once. “Okay.” He held out the hand not holding the mug to
Jack, who took it, clasping him tightly and hauling him upright.
And they stood there, not touching, but close enough that Jack could once again experience all
those unfair things like the heat of Ashe’s body and the scent of him—whatever that cologne was that
made Jack want to go hunting for it under Ashe’s clothes, nose first.
It was unfair.
He turned away, but Ashe gripped his chin, forcing Jack to look back and face him.
“Jack, you’re a revelation.”
He had nothing but rapid blinks as Ashe smiled at him, fingertips on his chin.
“Whatever they did, that person who hurt you, you didn’t break,” Ashe whispered. “You’re still
so strong.” Those fingers trailed the curve of Jack’s jaw, teased his earlobe. “Still the same man I
saw when I opened my eyes after coming back from the dead. I know who you are. They don’t, so
fuck ’em.”
This. Fucking. Guy.
 8

“THIS IS STUPID .” Ashe hovered in the bedroom doorway, still fully clothed, in bare feet. He stared
from Jack to the space next to him on the bed.
Honestly, it was stupid as hell. Jack didn’t know what the hell he’d been thinking when he’d
suggested he’d hold Ashe while the other man slept. But he had, so here they were, Jack acting as if
he didn’t want to call this shit off right then and there. But he’d made the offer. Ashe accepted, and
now Jack just had to deal with this torture.
It would be torture.
The only thing left undecided was whether it would be the good or bad kind.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he told Ashe. “I just figured…” He shrugged. He
just figured Ashe needed something and he could give it, provide it. That part of him had been in
hibernation for a long time, only to wake at Ashe’s appearance at his door.
He’d done his best to smother the part of him that didn’t like to see another person in pain. All the
better to get the job done. It’d worked so well for him when it had come to Shane. He’d watched his
ex suffer and done nothing to stop it, not even for a man he’d loved forever, it seemed. But Ashe only
had to speak his name in that haunting tone of his and suddenly Jack was offering up his bed, his arms,
his fucking sanity.
Ashe walked toward the bed with hesitant steps, eyes on Jack. “Can I sleep closest to the door?”
“Yeah,” Jack reassured him quickly then cleared his throat. “Whatever you need.”
Ashe’s mouth curved and he got onto the bed when Jack scooted backward, then he turned, giving
Jack his back as he settled, shifting restlessly. “You found clean sheets, huh?”
“Yeah.” Jack smoothed his palm along the mattress, over the solid gray sheet he’d hurriedly used
to make the bed while Ashe used the bathroom. “Uh, I forgot my sisters bought me this set.”
“Wait.” Ashe glanced over his shoulder. “You have siblings?”
Jack smirked at his wide-eyed stare. “Did your PI not tell you anything about me?”
“I told you already. I literally gave him your name and told him to find you.” Ashe faced forward,
head on the pillow. “What did I need to know your life story for?”
Jack eyed the curve of his neck. His exposed nape. His body heat was like a forest fire, no less
smothering. But somehow, Jack could only think about getting closer, and doing things he’d had no
desire to do for a very long time. Ashe’s presence in his life, in his bed, was pure fucking destruction.
“You want to know my life story now, don’t you?”
Ashe made a soft sound. “I want to know what you want to share.”
Jack couldn’t stop staring at him, the way he held himself there so still. “What if I don’t want to
share anything with you?”
“That’s on you.” Ashe still didn’t look at him and his voice was softer, lower. “But you promised
to hold me, Jack. I’m gonna insist you keep that promise.”
He was more than ready to make good on that promise. Which was why Jack hadn’t done so yet.
“Why?”
He didn’t think Ashe would answer, he remained quiet for so long. Jack held himself as stiffly as
Ashe did, breathing softly, gaze riveted to the back of Ashe’s head. It was the most captivating thing
he’d seen since he’d exiled himself to this cabin.
“Because I want it. And because I need somebody, somewhere, to keep a promise to me. Just
once.” His words were so low, Jack had to lean forward in order to hear him, making the mattress
groan in the process.
“So I can touch you?”
“Yes.”
The shaking started in his stomach and somehow made it to his fingertips. Lying on his left side,
Jack lifted his right hand, hovering it over Ashe’s shoulder. “I can put my hands on you?” he asked
hoarsely.
“Yes.” Ashe’s voice was no better, all thready and shit.
Outside, the driving rain had died down, but the wind still howled. Every now and again lightning
flashed. They’d kept the bedroom light off, but the door open, and the light Jack insisted on leaving on
in the kitchen shined brightly still, enveloping the room in a yellowy spotlight with just enough
shadow.
One minute the bed felt like an ocean, never-ending, but the instant Jack put his hand on Ashe’s
shoulder and felt the other man’s flinch, there suddenly wasn’t enough space.
He surged as close as he could to Ashe’s back without their bodies coming into full contact. “Are
you okay?” he asked at Ashe’s nape.
“Jack.”
“Yeah?”
“Put your arms around me.”
Jack had never had the misfortune of proposing to someone, or having someone ask the same of
him, but those words, Ashe’s request, somehow felt as big as that. As monumental. And Jack had been
running and hiding from big things for a while now.
But it didn’t matter, right?
He was simply doing Ashe a favor. It was no big deal. All he had to do…
All he had to do was get in closer, until his nose bumped the back of Ashe’s head. Jack inhaled
and fuck! Focus. All he had to do was this simple thing, lower his arm around Ashe’s waist. Just.
Like—
Oh, he felt good.
God, he felt good.
Jack swallowed a groan, eyes squeezing shut only to reopen quickly when Ashe touched his hand,
the one resting near his stomach.
Caressing him. “You feel good, Jack.”
How was it that those four words just about slayed him here in this bed? Nothing he could do to
hide the tremors now running through his limbs, except maybe pray. “Go—” He cleared his throat,
swallowing roughly. “Go to sleep.” He wouldn’t be sleeping, not while spooning Ashe, the other
man’s cologne all up in his nose, doing fucked-up things to him while his body heat incinerated Jack’s
common fucking sense.
He would not be sleeping.
But he held Ashe in the curve of his body, trying not to be too obvious about nosing his nape as he
closed his eyes and spoke. “I’m an Army brat,” he said softly. “Born in Germany. I have two older
sisters.”
“You’re the baby,” Ashe breathed.
“I am, but I’m also the only boy. There were expectations.” Some he accepted, most he rebelled
against. “My parents are divorced, but they still live together. Last I checked my dad was doing his
best to scare away my mom’s latest boyfriend.” He couldn’t help a grin at that. His old man was a
character and he’d never been shy about wanting his woman back. “My sisters are both married with
kids and they co-own a bunch of clothing stores all over Atlanta.” He was proud of them, and he
actually liked being an uncle.
“Sounds like you have a great family, Jack.”
“I do, yeah.” He nodded even though Ashe couldn’t see.
“So why are you here in this bed with me?”
Jack blew out a breath. He didn’t like talking about Shane. It showcased all his mistakes, all his
failures, and the fact that he simply hadn’t been enough. “I loved someone. We worked together, did
most everything together.” Except live together. The moment he’d brought that up, he’d lost Shane.
“He went undercover and I was his handler, it’s how we always did it. This time he fell in love with
one of the bad guys.”
“Oh.”
Yeah. Pablo Castillo hadn’t been their target, but that was simply because they could never make
anything stick to his ass. “Shane had requested we take a break before he went under, but I thought…”
“You thought he’d come back to you.”
Jack’s breath hitched when Ashe linked their fingers. “Yeah. I—Except he had a choice, I gave
him a choice, and he chose the killer instead.” Never a good feeling when someone picked a killer, a
gunrunner, instead of you. How bad do you have to be to lose in that contest? “He got hurt, his identity
got compromised, and I wasn’t there to save him. The criminal he loved saved him.” Yet another hit
to the ego. “He came back to work and I asked him to go on another undercover assignment.” This
time he full on buried his face in Ashe’s nape, eyes shut tightly as he dealt with those fucked-up
memories. “He had to act as a meth user while surrounded by the real thing. People dealing and using.
I was supposed to watch out for him, to protect him, and I didn’t.”
“Jack.”
Jack shook his head, tightening his hold on Ashe. “He didn’t check in with me for over a month
and I told no one, alerted no one.” The guilt was unrelenting, even now. “I knew from day one, the
second he didn’t check in at our regularly scheduled time, that something was wrong, but I waited and
I waited and I waited.”
“Why did you?” Ashe glared over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed.
“Because his man would come in and kill everybody, and I needed to make my case. The job
came before everything, Ashe. Even the man I loved.” He’d never stopped loving Shane. He hadn’t
stopped believing he was the better man. Until the moment he saw Shane in that hospital bed. “I
finally caved and contacted his man.” He remembered the punch Castillo threw when Jack delivered
the news. A punch that knocked him on his ass and almost ended his life. And he remembered that
moment when Shane managed to find a phone. His one call hadn’t been to Jack. “He did what I knew
he would. Killed everybody and saved Shane.” His lips twisted. “I thought I was better than him, you
know. Better than the man who killed people like it was nothing. Who wore violence the way some
people wore fucking bespoke suits. I thought I was better than him, until Shane was in that hospital
bed hooked up to machines because he’d been shot up with so much shit he almost died.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ashe whispered.
“They’re married now. That man I called a criminal? He walked away from everything to be with
Shane. He sacrificed everything for him. And I know for a fact that the only reason he hasn’t killed me
yet is because it would hurt Shane.”
“Is that why you’re up here, you’re hiding from that guy?”
Jack snorted. “No.” He’d never been afraid of Pablo Castillo, though he damn well should know
better. “I’m up here because I needed to figure some things out. All the shit I’ve done throughout the
years, I need to figure out what it all meant. I need to figure out when exactly I stopped being human
and became a machine focused on just the job.” And how it happened that he’d allowed jealousy and
spite to dictate his actions.
“Has it been working?”
Hell no. The silence only echoed back his own flaws and faults, which in turn sent him to the
bottom of a bottle. “Why don’t you try to close your eyes and rest, huh?” He was done talking about
himself.
Ashe sighed and snuggled back into him with a low hum. Jack gritted his teeth at the feel of him
rousing his body. He couldn’t help it, not with the way Ashe fit so perfectly against him. He brought
his left hand up, draping it over Ashe’s head on the pillow, fingers somehow finding their way to
Ashe’s head, scraping his scalp.
Shit.
He was out of control, but Ashe didn’t seem to mind the touching. In fact, his breathing evened out
as Jack’s fingers danced over his scalp. There was something about this man that made it impossible
for Jack to hold on to the standoffish facade he’d been cultivating recently. Something about Ashe and
the way he smelled, the way he felt, the way he spoke that made it difficult for Jack to not want to do
anything to make him smile. In just the span of mere hours he was fucking Jack’s shit all the way up.
He held Ashe as he succumbed to sleep, until Jack’s fingers stilled and his arms went numb. But
Ashe didn’t move, save for his chest, so Jack didn’t either. Even though being so close to Ashe had
him sweating, his body tight and aching for things it would never get. He held Ashe.
Even when the other man started flailing in his sleep, crying out jumbled words Jack couldn’t
understand. He shushed him, rubbed his hip, and murmured against his nape. Twice, Ashe came
awake crying and twice Jack held on to him, lips at his temple, whispering shit he had no business
whispering.
Promising things he had no business promising.
But he whispered. He promised. And he didn’t let Ashe go.
 9

A HUFF of breath on the back of his neck made Ashe stir. Made him shiver. And the instant he roused,
he recognized where he was and the identity of the man holding him. Didn’t stop him from wanting to
squirm away, though, especially when he remembered bits and pieces of the restless sleep.
Jack’s grip on him as he cried.
Jack’s whispers soothing him, urging him back to sleep.
His left side ached from him being in one position too long, but he remained curled up, his back to
Jack, mind searching for a way for him to crawl out from under Jack’s heavy arm without waking him.
The ideal thing would be to get dressed and get the fuck out of here before Jack woke. But that was
fanciful thinking given the condition of his vehicle.
He’d have to call Triple A, and he couldn’t even do that in the cabin with no cell service.
Another huff of breath.
Ashe inhaled. He needed to pee and his belly rumbled since he hadn’t eaten anything in God knew
how long. If this were any other time, he wouldn’t move. He’d stay in the surprisingly comfy bed,
practically mummified in Jack’s arms.
Jack stiffened behind him.
Oh shit.
Ashe held his breath.
The arm around him flexed, but didn’t move.
“Morning.”
Jack’s voice rumbled, shrouded in sleep, vibrating against Ashe’s neck. The hair on his body
stood on end.
“Good morning, Jack.” Ashe didn’t budge, didn’t turn his head even an inch. He kept his gaze on
the bathroom door, his bladder protesting. “Thank you for last night.” Even overtaken as he’d been by
his nightmares, Jack’s presence had been impossible to ignore.
He felt Jack’s shrug. “No big deal.” So easily he dismissed himself. As if anybody else would
invite a strange man to their bed and help ease his nightmares. “Sounds like the storm has passed.”
“Uh…” Outside did seem strangely quiet after all that racket last night. “Yeah.”
“We should get up.” But he didn’t sound as if he wanted to.
And Ashe wanted to, he did, but he didn’t.
“You okay?” Jack’s fingers spread on Ashe’s hip. “You’re not looking at me.”
Ashe huffed. “I don’t know what white-boy potion you’ve been sipping on that’s got you thinking
morning breath doesn’t exist, but um…I’m gonna need to see a toothbrush before I look at you.”
 Jack coughed. “Toothbrushes are under the sink. New,” he said quickly. “Did you know the dollar
store sells, like, a ten-pack for a dollar?”
Apparently that’s what they were doing, discussing toothbrushes while Ashe struggled not to pee
the bed. He eased himself closer to the edge of the bed. “I’m—I have to pee.”
“Oh.” Jack flung himself backward, ripping his warmth away so thoroughly, Ashe had to bite his
lip to silence a sound of protest. “Shit. Sorry. Go.”
Ashe rolled his eyes. “Thank you for the permission, Jack.” He got off the bed and made his way
to the bathroom, making sure to close the door behind him. His lower belly cramped as he sat on the
toilet and went about relieving himself. He’d struggled with dysphoria in the early days when, despite
his top surgery and the physical transformation his body went through, he still had to sit to pee. He’d
tried using STP—Stand-to-Pee—devices, but found even the top-of-the-line ones to be horribly
uncomfortable. Peeing in public had been a nightmare for him because he’d linked his identity as a
man to using the bathroom standing up. In one of the groups he used to belong to, it had been a
dividing topic. Some trans men didn’t link their identity with STP, while others did. For Ashe, it took
a while but he finally understood that some cis-guys–even those identifying as straight–sat to use the
toilet because of health issues or just personal preference.
Now, it wasn’t something he allowed himself to fret about, even in public settings.
When he finished, he wiped and straightened his clothes before washing his hands and brushing
his teeth. Then he washed his face and returned to the bedroom to find the rumpled bed empty.
“Jack?” Ashe went in search of him. The cabin’s front door was open and Ashe gaped when he
stood in the doorway. The front yard was a mess; large tree limbs littered the ground. His SUV was
all fucked up, tires flat, the windshield busted out and yet another massive limb on top of the vehicle.
“Shit.”
Jack appeared, coming from the direction of the main road, the soft ground squishing under his
black work boots as he climbed over the fallen branches. His hair was all ruffled as if he’d been
running his fingers through it, and he’d changed. At least, the t-shirt was different. The jeans were the
same.
“What’s going on?” Ashe asked, as if he didn’t see the wreckage in front of them.
“Road’s closed in both directions for the next few hours according to the workers out there.”
Jerking a thumb in the direction he'd just come from, Jack didn’t look at Ashe as he squeezed past and
into the cabin. “You’re stuck with me for now.”
Ashe turned to him, closing the door softly. “I’m sorry.” More than he could ever say. Jack didn’t
want him in his space, he’d always known that. Ashe didn’t blame him one bit. Who’d want him and
all the shit he came with?
“Are you hungry?” Jack’s glare was directed at the loaf of bread Ashe hadn’t seen before now. “I
can make you something.”
“You can cook?”
Jack jerked his head up at the question. His demeanor from last night was back, aloof, put out,
making Ashe feel as unwelcome as he’d felt the night before. “I’m a grown man who doesn’t like the
idea of starving, so yep. I can cook.” He stuck two slices of bread into a toaster as Ashe stared at
him.
“Listen, I know you don’t want me here.” Ashe closed the distance between them slowly. “If I
could just get cell service I can make a call and be out of here in no time.” Jack had no idea the
resources Ashe had at his disposal.
“You don’t know what the hell I want.” Jack slammed a small frying pan down on the counter.
 “Then tell me,” Ashe snapped. “I don’t read minds, Jack. That’s not my superpower. What the hell
do you want?” He swallowed. “I thought—” Could he even say it, all the things he’d been thinking?
“You thought what?” Jack’s eyes narrowed as he straightened, meeting Ashe’s gaze head on.
“I thought we had some kind of truce.” He licked his lips. Jack’s eyes appeared to get brighter,
becoming a brilliant blue Ashe found himself getting lost in, invisible ropes pulling him closer,
deeper into the middle of that swirl. “I can leave,” he continued. “I can walk to the store down the
road.” And by down the road he meant the general store he’d passed a few miles back when he’d
arrived last night. “One call gets me out of here and out of your life, Jack.” A life he hadn’t meant to
be in this long. “You can go back to guzzling your liquor in peace.” Low, but he couldn’t hold back the
dig.
Jack’s nostrils flared.
Frustration swelled in Ashe’s chest. “Do you want me to leave, Jack?”
“The roads are closed, you can’t leave.”
“But do you want me to?” Ashe almost reached out and touched him, missing the solid weight
he’d gotten used to in such a short time. Missing the warmth Jack emitted like a superhuman force
field. “You haven’t held your tongue since I showed up on your doorstep last night,” he said softly.
“Why start now? Tell me to leave and I’m gone, Jack.” His stomach chose that moment to let out a
hungry rumble.
“You should eat something.” Jack turned away, but Ashe grabbed his wrist.
“Hey.” Was it him? Was he crazy, or had that been a tremor under his fingertips? Was Jack
trembling in his grasp? “Jack.” Fuck, it was too fucking early to be this breathless. “I’ve been where I
wasn’t wanted before. Tell me to get gone and I promise you—” He licked his lips again and Jack’s
gaze, lit with blue flames, dropped to his mouth. “I promise you it’ll be like I was never here.”
The muscles in Jack’s face seemed to spasm. “That would be impossible.” His head lowered, his
cheek almost brushing Ashe’s as he rasped, “There’s no forgetting you.”
The toaster went off, startling Ashe and jerking Jack upright. The other man pivoted, giving Ashe
his back as he spread butter on toast, leaving Ashe with his jaw unhinged and his heart doing things…
Feeling things.
Was it one way, those feelings? Or was Jack experiencing them as well? Ashe would never know,
because he could never make himself ask. That’s how you got your feelings hurt, asking dumb ass
questions. What did it matter in the end? Jack didn’t know his full identity, but no doubt the shit he
already knew was enough to put him off Ashe.
Who wanted to saddle themselves with his mess? He carried around enough garbage to fill a
landfill. And Jack was…Jack was already fucked up on his own.
Still, Ashe wondered.
“Eat.”
He stared down at the plate Jack shoved in front of him. Eggs and toast. Orange juice in a red
plastic cup.
“I’ve got peanut butter, but I didn’t know if you were allergic so…”
“You’re not eating?” He only saw the one plate.
“I’m good.” Jack backed away, motioning. “There’s more, if you want.” He strode past, headed to
the bedroom, then stopped. “Ashe.”
Ashe lifted his head, a forkful of eggs in his mouth. “Yeah?”
Jack’s back was to him, and he didn’t look over his shoulder when he said, “I’m—I don’t want
you gone.” He disappeared into the bedroom. Moments later the shower came on.
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