Page 64 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

“Ash…”

“I gotta go, Colt.”

“Ash,” he begs. But he doesn’t say anything else. I think part of him knows how impossible this situation is, the same way I do.

I push myself to my feet, ignoring how weak my knees feel as I walk toward the front door.

He doesn’t stop me.

But as I back out of the driveway, there’s a silhouette in the family room window, and I know it’s him. Like I know in my gut, whatever’s going on between us is far from over.

The question is…how long will it last until it inevitably ends?

28

ASHLYN

I couldn’t sleep. Too many what-ifs were fluttering through my mind like a group of caged bats to let me do anything but overanalyze my relationships with every single person I care about.

And after how I left things with Colt?

This sucks.

By the time 8:45 a.m. rolls around, I’ve already made bacon, scrambled eggs, and french toast. I’m also two seconds from knocking down Mia’s door and demanding answers because even if I don’t want to admit it, my trust in men is at an all-time low. And if Colt’s lying to me about his relationship with Mia? I’ll be wrecked.

“Do I smell breakfast?” Kate asks as she walks into the kitchen.

The girl is responsible with a capital R and is always in bed by ten, hits the gym by eight the next morning, and is sitting front and center in her first class by nine. To be honest, I feel like our paths haven’t even crossed in weeks.

Motioning to the smorgasbord on the stove, I tell her, “What’s mine is yours. Come eat.”

She rounds the kitchen island and peruses her options, asking, “What’s the special occasion?”

“Logan and I broke up.”

With a piece of bacon two inches from her mouth, she freezes. “Yikes.”

I let out a breath of laughter, and it feels good. To laugh. To not be sad for two seconds of the freaking day. To be reminded the world isn’t going to stop turning because my asshole ex broke up with me over a text message.

“Something like that,” I admit, rolling my eyes.

“Do you want me to skip class? We can talk about it.”

“I’m okay,” I lie.

Unconvinced, she props one hand on her hip while pointing the strip of bacon at me. “You sure?”

“Positive. We should’ve broken up a long time ago.”

“I agree,” she returns with a smile, popping the bacon in her mouth. “But still,” she argues, her mouth full of food. “You know I’m here for you, right?”

“I know.”

She swallows. “Do you want me to egg his house or something? Maybe figure out how to slip him some Ex-Lax into his morning cup of coffee? ‘Cause you know I will.”

“Thanks. But seriously. I’m all right.”

“Hmm.” She grabs another strip of bacon and takes a bite while giving me the side-eye. As she chews, she starts dishing up a small portion of French toast, slathers it with butter, and sprinkles cinnamon and sugar on top.

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