I see the free bo bend the sand echoing themagh the empty house.
Three crisele, siless shell–was where I been long for the past years, ever since Ashley and 1 pamet way. I midn’t hang myself to sts in the house wedd. Not after everything. Not when every momed to echo her absence, every inch of the place a pnful senioder of the
we halt and then lost
pembe became my ger made it was my rism I couldn’t decide
The Imeliness has crept in the moment I valled through fat doen. No matter how many nights and spent here, how many hows I’d worked wil my back bardly move, it was never enough to drown out the silence. I should be prown used to it by now. Bell me I had. But it still graved at me.
I senged off my jacket and need it over the arm of the cruch before heading for the bat. It was the my thing that seemed to make any sense these days.
I painted a bottle of whiskey from the shef and poured myself a generous amount, watching the amber liquid swirl around in the glass. With a deep breath I hoped it back, letting the hum wash over my throat. And then, let my brain wander to the past
Come on. dance wit me shy ted her laughter filling the room as she caught sight of my grimace.
“Text: once,” she praised her ces starting with that mischievous gimt I couldn’t resist. I sweat, you won’t combust into fames.”
“Debate. “I met my eyes, but despite mysel. I reached for her outstretched hand. I hated looking foolish, but there had never been a time I could deny
her anything
It was our four–north wedding anniversay, and instead of the usual dinner in a fancy restaurant, we’d decided to celebrate at home. Just the two of us. It feh might that we ever thigh part of me wanted mare something grander. Still, she was always content with the small moments, and that’s what made
& gente rester died through the open vintios, carrying the warm scent of summer with it. From the comen, an old record player spun a slow, soulful TUTE. A WORTET ́S vic–ad, taming Comed through the speakers, weaning is way around us.
estley grinned and tugged me toward the center of the living room, her movements fluid and light. Don’t worry. It isn’t that hand,” she assured me, placing my hands on her hips. To hold me like this…
I did as she sat feeling the sat, familiar curse of her body against mine. Her cheek pressed against my chest, the warmth of her breath catching as 1 brusted my hand gently over the delicate fabric of her dress.
You just sway with me,” she whispered.
I tucked my chin against the top of her head, inhaling the subtle scent of her hair, and dosed my eyes. The world outside the room faded, leaving only the music, the soft dyim of our bodies moving together, and the steady thrum of my heart…
Wy non used to play this song witenever I did something wrong” Ashley murmured. “I heard it a lot.”
I raised an eyein, my curiosity piqued. “On, really?” I grinned, teasing her further. “Do tell. I’m sure you’ve got some wild stories from your rebellious
Astley laughed. “You have an idea Mell, I was about eight or nine,” she started, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, and I decided I was tired of muy rosati’s males. You how, the usual staff–no dessert before datter, no staying up late, no sneaking candy. She paused. “So, one day, when my mom was om sunning escends, I figned I’d have a little fun.”
1 leated in, itigued
To seen my nom put all her baking ingredients in the pantry cher that morning, so I decided to make my own cookies. The thing is, I didn’t quite understand the difference between sugar and salt at the time.”
I blicked, processing what she was saying “Wait, so you baked cookies… with salt instead of sugar?”
Her grin widened, her eyes dancing with the humor of her own memory. “Oh yeah. I didn’t stop there, though. I went big. I used a lot of salt. Like, a sidiculous amount. I thought it would make them extra sweet, you know? And I might’ve gotten distracted watching TV because I definitely forgot to check the recipe more than cre
I could already feel the secondhand embarrassment creeping up my spine. “You’re telling me you baked a whole batch of cookies with nothing but salt?”
1/2
A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER
Chapter 25
KYLE
I slammed the front door behind me, the sound echoing through the empty house.
This place–this cold, sterile, soulless shell–was where I’d been living for the past two years, ever since Ashley and I parted ways. I couldn’t bring myself to stay in the house we’d once shared. Not after everything. Not when every room seemed to echo her absence, every inch of the place a painful reminder of the life we’d built and then lost.
So, the penthouse became my refuge. Or maybe it was my prison. I couldn’t decide.
The loneliness always crept in the moment I walked through that door. No matter how many nights I’d spent here, how many hours I’d worked until my body could barely move, it was never enough to drown out the silence. I should’ve grown used to it by now. Hell, maybe I had. But it still gnawed at me.
I shrugged off my jacket and tossed it over the arm of the couch before heading for the bar. It was the only thing that seemed to make any sense these days..
I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the shelf and poured myself a generous amount, watching the amber liquid swirl around in the glass. With a deep breath, I tipped it back, letting the burn wash over my throat. And then, let my brain wander to the past
“Come on, dance with me,” Ashley teased, her laughter filling the room as she caught sight of my grimace.
“Just once,” she promised, her eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint I couldn’t resist. “I swear, you won’t combust into flames.”
“Debatable.” I rolled my eyes, but despite myself, I reached for her outstretched hand. I hated looking foolish, but there had never been a time I could deny her anything.
It was our four–month wedding anniversary, and instead of the usual dinner in a fancy restaurant, we’d decided to celebrate at home. Just the two of us. It felt right that way, even though part of me wanted more–something grander. Still, she was always content with the small moments, and that’s what made her so damn captivating.
A gentle breeze drifted through the open windows, carrying the warm scent of summer with it. From the corner, an old record player spun a slow, soulful tune. A woman’s voice–rich, haunting–crooned through the speakers, weaving its way around us.
Ashley grinned and tugged me toward the center of the living room, her movements fluid and light. “Don’t worry. It isn’t that hard,” she assured me, placing my hands on her hips. “Just hold me like this…”
I did as she said, feeling the soft, familiar curve of her body against mine. Her cheek pressed against my chest, the warmth of her breath catching as I brushed my hand gently over the delicate fabric of her dress.
“Now, just sway with me,” she whispered.
I tucked my chin against the top of her head, inhaling the subtle scent of her hair, and closed my eyes. The world outside the room faded, leaving only the music, the soft rhythm of our bodies moving together, and the steady thrum of my heart..
“My mom used to play this song whenever I did something wrong,” Ashley murmured. “I heard it a lot.”
I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “Oh, really?” I grinned, teasing her further. “Do tell. I’m sure you’ve got some wild stories from your rebellious youth.”
Ashley laughed. “You have no idea. Well, I was about eight or nine,” she started, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “and I decided I was tired of my mom’s rules. You know, the usual stuff–no dessert before dinner, no staying up late, no sneaking candy.” She paused. “So, one day, when my mom was out running errands, I figured I’d have a little fun.”
I leaned in, intrigued
“I’d seen my mom put all her baking ingredients in the pantry earlier that morning, so I decided to make my own cookies. The thing is, I didn’t quite understand the difference between sugar and salt at the time.”
I blinked, processing what she was saying. “Wait, so you baked cookies… with salt instead of sugar?”
Her grin widened, her eyes dancing with the humor of her own memory. “Oh yeah. I didn’t stop there, though. I went big. I used a lot of salt. Like, a ridiculous amount. I thought it would make them extra sweet, you know? And I might’ve gotten distracted watching TV because I definitely forgot to check the recipe more than once.”
I could already feel the secondhand embarrassment creeping up my spine. “You’re telling me you baked a whole batch of cookies with nothing but salt?”
