A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 106: CHAPTER HUNDRED & SIX

KYLE.

She reached down to the golden retriever and gave its  ears one last scratch, murmuring something under her breath that made the dog’s tail thump lazily against the floor.

“I could stay here all day,” she said eventually, not looking at me. “But I think if I do, I’ll try to adopt every animal in this building.”

I glanced around. A tabby cat was eyeballing her from across the room, like it was already claiming her. “That one’s plotting how to sneak into your bag.”

She chuckled, standing slowly and brushing the fur off her jeans. “Let’s not tempt fate. I’ve got Mochii at home giving me side-eyes just for being gone too long.”

“Then we should probably get you back,” I said, stepping aside as she moved past me.

She hesitated just before the door, her hand on the frame, and looked over her shoulder. “Thank you again… for everything.”

I just nodded, not trusting myself to say more. Not yet.

We walked out together into the fading evening light. The sounds of the shelter—barking, laughter, a low meow—followed us to the car. 

I unlocked the car with a quiet beep. She slid into the passenger seat without a word, resting her head back as I started the engine. The shelter faded in the rearview mirror, but something about it stayed with me. Clung to me, even as I shifted into drive.

For a while, we said nothing.

The radio hummed low—something acoustic, a soft male voice singing about holding on and letting go. Fitting. Ashley leaned her head against the window, her eyes fluttering shut. She wasn’t asleep, not really. Just… peaceful. The kind of peace I hadn't seen on her in a while. The kind I’d stolen from her once.

I glanced at her at a red light. Her hand was resting lightly on her thigh, fingers curled, nails short—probably bitten. She used to paint them a different color every week. I’d forgotten how much I’d noticed back then.

My phone buzzed in the cupholder. A message from Mark.

“Update: IT’s still digging. No trail yet. Whoever this is covered their tracks well.”

My fingers hovered over the screen. I should’ve cared. Hell, a few months ago I would’ve pulled over, made a call, barked out orders. But right now?

Right now, there was something more important in the seat beside me.

I locked the screen without replying..I will later.

Ashley stirred slightly. “You didn’t answer that,” she murmured, eyes still closed.

“I will later,” I said.

She smiled faintly. “That’s a first.”

I glanced over, heart twisting a little. “Trying something new.”

Her eyelids fluttered open. She turned to face me, quiet for a beat. “Thank you… for today.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” I said.

“Yeah. I do.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full. Laced with everything we weren’t ready to say out loud yet.

When I pulled up outside her building, the sky was a deep lavender, the streetlights blinking on one by one. She unbuckled slowly, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted the day to end just yet.

Her hand hovered on the door handle. Then she turned back to me.

“You surprised me, Kyle.” She paused, like she needed to get it right. “No one’s ever done something like this for me, Kyle. Not like this. It wasn’t expensive or loud or perfect. But it was kind. Thoughtful. You saw something that mattered to me and… you showed up. That means more than you know.”

My throat felt tight. “I’m not trying to earn points.”

“I know,” she whispered. “That’s what makes it worse.”

I turned into her street, slowing to a crawl. The world outside the windshield faded as she leaned closer.

“Back then, I wanted you to fight for me. Just once. But you were too busy holding everything else together. You never made space for… this.”

She reached out, gently resting her hand over mine where it gripped the gear shift. Her touch was light, tentative, like she wasn’t sure if I’d pull away.

I didn’t.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “Of what this means. Of what it could be again.”

I looked at her, really looked at her, and I couldn’t pretend anymore. “So am I.”

She looked up, and something in her eyes—raw and shining—nearly undid me. Her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but no words came. Just the sound of our breath between us. Shallow. Charged.

Then I leaned in.

She met me halfway.

The kiss started slow—like we were both testing the water, remembering the shape of this thing we’d once drowned in. Her lips were soft, familiar, but there was a new kind of fragility here—like neither of us knew how much pressure we could put before it cracked.

And then she sighed into my mouth, and something inside me broke.

I cupped the back of her neck, angling her closer, deeper. Her hand curled into my shirt like she didn’t trust herself to let go. It wasn’t frantic or possessive—it was emotional, aching. This kiss wasn’t about want.

It was about missing.

About mourning all the versions of us that had died along the way.

About hope.

She kissed me like someone who remembered everything—every late-night whisper, every fight, every apology that came too late. And I kissed her like a man trying to rewrite the ending.

This kiss felt like a beginning and an ending all at once.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathless. Her forehead leaned against mine, our noses brushing in the softest collision.

Then, slowly, she pulled back.

Her eyes didn’t avoid mine—but they held something else now. A softness, yes, but also restraint. Resolve.

She reached for the door handle, fingers hesitating just slightly. “Bye, Kyle,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.

I blinked. “Ashley—”

I opened my mouth to reply, but she was already getting out. I watched her walk to her door, keys jangling softly. She paused before going inside, turning just slightly.

I wanted to call out. To ask her to stay. To say Don’t go yet, I’m still learning how to do this right.

But I didn’t.

She disappeared inside.

I sat there for a long minute, gripping the wheel like it might anchor me.

Then, into the quiet car, I said it aloud—soft, like a vow:

“I will get you back Ashley.”