A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 46: CHAPTER FORTY SIX

KYLE

I never thought a simple breakfast could feel so heavy. Watching her across the table, laughing softly like she used to, made me forget—for a moment—why we weren’t still sharing mornings like this every day. But memories have a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect them, and before I could push it away, the weight of everything we lost settled on my chest.

She looked up at me then, her eyes bright but guarded, and I wondered if she could feel it too—the ache that never quite goes away. There were a hundred things I wanted to say, a thousand questions I wanted to ask, but all that came out was—

“So... what are your plans now? You know, settling back in New York.”

The question hung between us as she paused, her toast halfway to her mouth. She blinked, then took a small bite, chewing thoughtfully before answering.

“Um... I’m working on setting up my own artisanal perfume and scent bar. It’s already in motion, just need to finalize everything now that I’m back.”

That didn’t surprise me. Her love for scents had always been more than a passing interest. It was a part of her—delicate, layered, and unforgettable. Like the first perfume she ever created—just for me. I could still remember the way it smelled, faint hints of vanilla and something warm, something that lingered long after she was gone.

I swallowed the memory down, offering a small nod. “That’s... really great.”

“Thanks,” she replied quietly, offering me a faint smile before turning her focus back to her breakfast.

Silence settled between us after that. Not uncomfortable, but thick with things left unsaid. I focused on finishing my food, watching as she absently pushed a piece of bacon around her plate, lost in thought.

By the time I cleared the dishes and we were in the car, driving her back to her apartment, the quiet had stretched into something heavier. Something neither of us was willing to break.

Until I did.

“Have you thought about it?” I asked, my fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel.

She turned to look at me, brow slightly furrowed. “Thought about what?”

“My request,” I clarified, sparing her a glance before focusing back on the road. “To be friends.”

The words tasted strange coming out of my mouth, like they didn’t quite belong there.

She didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, I almost wished I hadn’t asked. Her expression shifted, emotions flickering across her face too quickly for me to catch. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than before.

“Why do you want us to be friends, Kyle?”

I inhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. The truth hovered on the tip of my tongue, but I hesitated. Because the truth was...

I didn’t want to be her friend.

Friends don’t do what I want to do with her.

Friends don’t spend sleepless nights remembering how soft she felt beneath them, how her breath hitched when I kissed the spot just below her jaw. Friends don’t get lost in the scent of her skin hoping to feel the taste of her again.

The thought alone sent a heat curling low in my stomach, my grip tightening around the wheel as my body responded to the memory.

I forced a slow breath through my nose, dragging my focus back to the road. “Because…” I started, then stopped.

Because I wanted to be in her life again. Because I wanted a way back to her, even if it had to start with something as small—something as torturous—as friendship.

But I couldn’t say that.

So instead, I gave her the safest answer I could.

“Because I miss having you around.”

The admission sat between us, unspoken things woven into those simple words. She exhaled softly, looking out the window, and for a second, I thought she might not respond at all.

Then, she spoke.

“Being friends with you is... complicated.”

I let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “Yeah. I know.”

She turned back to me, studying my face. “And if I say no?”

I flexed my fingers around the steering wheel, jaw tightening for a split second before I forced myself to relax. “Then I’ll respect it.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Because if she said no, I wouldn’t push. I wouldn’t force something she didn’t want.

But I wasn’t sure I’d ever truly be able to let her go, either.

And that? That was the real problem.

The silence stretched between us for the rest of the drive. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was thick—weighted with things unsaid, with emotions neither of us were willing to acknowledge out loud. She didn’t push for more, and I didn’t try to fill the quiet.

Instead, I focused on the road, stealing glances at her when I thought she wouldn’t notice. She stared out the window, her expression unreadable, fingers tracing absent patterns on her thigh. I wished I knew what she was thinking, if my words had stirred something inside her, or if she was just waiting for the moment she could step out of my car and breathe again.

When we finally reached her place, she hesitated before unbuckling her seatbelt. For a moment, it looked like she might say something. But then she just gave me a small nod, barely meeting my eyes.

“Thanks for last night and the ride,” she said softly.

I swallowed, nodding back. “Anytime.”

She lingered for half a second longer, then opened the door and stepped out. I watched as she walked toward her building, the morning sun casting a soft glow over her frame. She didn’t look back.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair before shifting the car back into drive.

I needed to clear my head.

I needed answers.

But first,I need to see Ryan.

I needed to know how he handled last night.

The drive to Ryan’s place felt longer than it should have. Maybe it was the lack of sleep pressing against my skull, or maybe it was the way last night kept replaying in my head like a film reel stuck on repeat. Charles Whitaker, face-down in his plate. The way the entire party had shifted from luxury and laughter to chaos in an instant. 

15 minutes later,I got to Ryan's place.

The door was already unlocked when I reached it.

I stepped inside without knocking, the smell of coffee and something stronger—probably scotch—lingering in the air. Ryan was at the kitchen island, leaning against the marble counter, a half-empty glass in front of him. His suit from last night was gone, replaced with sweatpants and a plain T-shirt. He looked like hell.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” I said, shutting the door behind me.

He let out a dry laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Didn’t really sleep.”

“Figured.” I crossed the room, leaning against the counter opposite him. “How bad was it?”

Ryan huffed out a breath, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Worse than I expected. Cops were here for hours. Statements, security footage, the whole thing. They’re not calling it foul play yet, but they’re not ruling it out either.”

I frowned. “You think someone did this to him?”

Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know. He had a history of health problems—heart issues, some kind of allergy. But nothing obvious at the table. No one saw him eat anything weird, no signs of choking. He was fine, and then he wasn’t.”

I mulled that over, tapping my fingers against the counter. “Autopsy?”

“They’ll have results soon.” His jaw tightened. “But if it was something more than natural causes…” He trailed off, but I knew what he was thinking. If Charles Whitaker had been poisoned, then this wasn’t just some freak accident. This was a murder. And whoever did it had walked right out of Ryan’s house, undetected.

“Any suspects?” I asked, keeping my voice even.

Ryan shook his head. “Not officially. But people are already talking. The company’s in the middle of a huge merger—big money, big stakes. A few people at that party had reasons to want him gone.”

He drained the rest of his drink and set the glass down with a dull thud. “The cops will figure it out.”

I wasn’t so sure.

Silence stretched between us for a beat before I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “You holding up?”

Ryan scoffed. “What do you think?”

I gave him a look.

He exhaled, rubbing his temples. “It’s a mess. The media’s already sniffing around, and the board is panicking. I’m the one who invited him, so guess who they’re all looking at now?”

I didn’t envy him. Ryan wasn’t responsible for what happened, but in their world—money, power, business—perception was everything. If Charles Whitaker had been murdered at his party, that was bad news for everyone.

“I’ll be fine,” Ryan added, as if convincing himself. Then his eyes flicked to me, sharp again. “What about you?”

I hesitated. “What about me?”

Ryan studied me for a second before smirking. “Ashley. You left with her last night”

I clenched my jaw. “Not now.”

“Right,” he drawled, amused. “Because now you’re too busy playing detective.”

I rolled my eyes. “I just want answers.”

Ryan nodded, but the smirk lingered. “Sure. Answers.”

I ignored him, pushing off the counter. “Let me know when you hear anything.”

“Yeah,” he said, watching me. “And you—try not to get too deep into this.”

I didn’t respond. Because deep down, I already knew—this wasn’t something I could walk away from.