A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 63: CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

ASHLEY

The rhythmic patter of rain against the window pulled me from the depths of sleep. My eyelids fluttered open, adjusting to the dim glow of my bedroom. The soft hum of the city outside mixed with the steady drumming of raindrops, creating a soothing lull that made me want to sink back into unconsciousness.

But something felt…off.

I blinked at the ceiling, my mind slowly piecing itself together as remnants of the night before trickled in.

The media disaster.

Kyle coming here.

The argument.

The horror movie.

The comedy.

And then… sleep.

Then—

I fell asleep on the couch.

My eyes darted to the wall clock. 2:30 a.m.

A slow exhale left my lips as I shifted, the plush comfort of my mattress pressing against my back.

Wait.

If I’d fallen asleep on the couch…then that meant Kyle had carried me to bed.

The realization sent a warm, involuntary flush creeping up my neck. I could almost picture it—the careful way he must have lifted me, the weight of his arms around me, the quiet moment when he tucked me in.

I pressed my lips together, shaking off the thought. It didn’t matter. It was just Kyle being Kyle.

Besides, he was probably long gone by now. He had no reason to stay.

Still…

My fingers curled around the blanket as my eyes drifted toward the door. A strange restlessness settled in my chest, an itch that wouldn’t go away until I confirmed what I already knew.

Kyle was gone.

He had to be.

I tried not to think about it. About how I’d ended up in my bed instead of the couch. About how my body still felt oddly warm, like someone had carried me here, their touch lingering even after they’d left.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

Unfortunately, that left me with only one other thing to focus on—

Hunger.

My stomach growled in protest, loud and insistent.

I groaned, pressing a hand to my abdomen. “Shut up.”

It growled again, this time louder, as if personally offended.

A crack of thunder outside rattled the windows, but I barely flinched. The real storm was inside me, demanding food like a petulant child.

Oh, screw it.

I tossed the covers aside and slid out of bed, moving as quietly as I could.

The moment I stepped into the hallway, a shiver ghosted down my spine.

The house felt different at night—like a living, breathing thing that transformed once the sun went down. The walls stretched taller, the shadows thickened, and the silence became almost too silent, like it was waiting for something to happen.

I swallowed hard.

It was ridiculous, really. I was a grown woman. I didn’t believe in ghosts.

This was all Kyle’s fault. The Conjuring probably wasn’t the best thing to see before bedtime.

I crept through the darkened living room, the eerie glow from the streetlamp outside casting jagged shapes along the walls. Every creak of the floorboards beneath my feet felt like a death sentence.

I was in a horror movie.

I was the girl who stupidly got up at 3 AM, alone, when she should’ve stayed in bed.

I clung to my new survival mantra. Ghosts don’t exist. Ghosts don’t exist. Ghosts don’t—

Rustle.

I froze.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

What. The. Hell.

The sound had come from the kitchen. A soft shuffling, like someone—or something—was already in there.

My first instinct? Run.

My actual reaction? Stare at the kitchen doorway like an absolute idiot while my survival instincts took an extended lunch break.

Pale light spilled through the doorway, casting eerie shadows along the walls.

I finally understood how the characters in horror movies felt. While logic told me to turn around and leave, morbid curiosity shoved me forward.

Apologies to every dumb horror protagonist I’ve ever insulted. Turns out I, too, am a dumb horror protagonist.

I tiptoed closer, every nerve in my body buzzing. My fingers curled into fists, ready for battle—though, in reality, my best defense was probably screaming loud enough to summon the ghost of Bruce Lee for backup.

I peeked around the doorway—

And stopped breathing.

A tall, dark figure stood near the open fridge, bathed in its dim glow.

A knife glinted in his hand.

I screamed.

“Aaaaahhhhhh!!!”

The figure also screamed.

“Aaaaahhhhhh!!!”

Chaos erupted.

The intruder spun around, his knife clattering to the floor as he flailed in panic.

I did not wait for further context.

I lunged forward, grabbed the nearest weapon—a frying pan—and swung for dear life.

CLANG.

“OW! Fuck!”

The intruder staggered back, hands flying to his head.

“Who the hell—” I started, chest heaving—

And then the fridge light caught his face.

I blinked.

He blinked.

My stomach dropped.

“…Kyle?”

Kyle groaned, rubbing the fresh bump on his forehead. “Jesus Christ, Freckles.”

I gasped, horrified. “You broke into my apartment?”

Kyle shot me a murderous glare. “I didn’t break in,” he growled. “You fell asleep on me, and I wasn’t about to drive home in the middle of a damn storm. I was starving.” He gestured wildly at the floor, where his abandoned peanut butter knife lay next to his dignity. “I was making a sandwich, not murdering you in your sleep!”

Oh.

Ohhh.

The frying pan in my hand suddenly felt very unnecessary.

I coughed. “Well. You looked like a murderer.”

Kyle looked to the heavens like he was praying for patience. “Because you scared the shit out of me first.”

“Yeah, well, your face is scary on a normal day.”

His gaze snapped back to me, unamused. “You just assaulted me with a frying pan.”

“Self-defense,” I said primly.

“Against peanut butter?”

“Against potential danger,” I corrected, though it sounded less convincing out loud.

Kyle huffed, shaking his head. “I should’ve let the demon from The Conjuring take you.”

I scowled. “Low blow.”

“Deserved.” He groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Jesus, Freckles, I think you gave me a concussion.”

I winced. Oops.

“Stay here,” I sighed. “I’ll get you some ice.”

Kyle muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue.

I shuffled to the freezer, pulling out an ice pack. Great. Now I had guilt and hunger gnawing at me. I grabbed a paper towel, wrapped it around the ice, and turned back—

Only to find Kyle already smearing peanut butter on a slice of bread, completely unfazed.

I gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

“What?” He took a bite, chewing nonchalantly. “Head trauma makes me hungrier.”

I rolled my eyes, marching over and slapping the ice pack against his forehead.

Kyle jerked back. “Shit—Red!”

“Hold it there.” I pressed it more firmly, ignoring his glare. “That’s what you get for scaring me.”

His eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t scaring you.”

“You existed at 3 AM in my kitchen with a knife.”

Kyle groaned. “It was for the peanut butter!”

I snorted. “Tell that to my frying pan.”

He rolled his eyes but winced immediately, bringing a hand to his forehead.

I sighed, guilt creeping in again. “Here, let me see.”

He hesitated before lowering his hand, and I stepped closer, inspecting where I’d whacked him. No swelling, just a faint red spot. I reached up, gently massaging the area. “Does this hurt?”

Kyle exhaled, his eyes fluttering shut. “Not as much as my pride.”

With slow, careful motions, I adjusted the pack, my fingers brushing against his skin. His forehead was warm beneath my touch, the heat seeping into my palm despite the ice.

A muscle in his jaw flexed.

“Want me to massage it?” The words left me before I could rethink them. I blamed the guilt.

Kyle swallowed his bite. “If you insist.”

I rolled my eyes, setting the ice pack aside before shifting closer. My fingers found his temples, working in slow circles, easing the tension in his head.

Kyle let out a low hum of approval. “Forgot how good you are at this.”

I ignored the warmth creeping up my neck.

His breathing deepened as I continued, his body relaxing under my touch. I focused on the feel of his skin, the dips and planes of his face, the faint stubble dusting his jaw—

And then my gaze dropped lower.

Wait.

My hands stilled.

Where the hell was his shirt?

He had definitely been wearing one earlier, but now…

My throat went dry as my gaze traced over the broad expanse of his chest—the lean muscles shifting with every breath, the defined cut of his abs, the sharp dip of his V-line disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

Oh.

Oh.

A slow wave of heat curled in my stomach.

Kyle’s lips twitched. “Hate to interrupt your ogling, Freckles, but the ice is melting.”

I jolted, eyes snapping to the ice pack in my hand. It had slipped to the side, condensation trailing down his temple, a few drops clinging to his skin.

Shit.

“I wasn’t ogling,” I said, way too fast.

Kyle raised a brow. “No?”

“Nope.” I readjusted the ice, avoiding his smug expression. “I was just…lost in thought.”

“Right.” He smirked. “Lost in thought about my abs?”

I smacked his arm. “Lost in thought about why I haven’t smacked you yet.”

Kyle chuckled, taking the ice pack from me and pressing it against his forehead himself. “Sure, Freckles. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the counter. “Speaking of sleeping, we should probably eat now and call it a night.”

Kyle hummed in agreement, already finishing off his peanut butter sandwich like the near-death experience with my frying pan never happened.

I grabbed my own sandwich and perched on a stool across from him. For a while, we ate in silence, the rain still tapping against the windows.

It was almost…peaceful.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

Once we finished, I stood and stretched. “Alright, I’m heading to bed.”

Kyle leaned back against the counter. “Yeah, I’ll crash here.”

I frowned. “You’re staying?”

He shot me a look. “It’s still pouring outside, and you nearly gave me a head injury. I think I deserve the couch at least.”

I hesitated, but he wasn’t wrong.

“Fine,” I muttered, turning toward the hallway. “Pillow and blanket are in the closet.”

Kyle saluted me lazily. “Yes, ma’am.”

I rolled my eyes and turned away, slipping into my bedroom and shutting the door behind me.

I should’ve felt something—guilt, regret, a reminder of why I was supposed to keep my distance.

But all I felt was the quiet hum of something I didn’t want to name.

I climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin as the rain tapped softly against the window. The steady rhythm should have been soothing, but my mind was anything but still.

I had spent years convincing myself that I was over him. That I had moved on. That Kyle Blackwood was nothing more than a chapter I had closed.

And yet…

Tonight had felt easy. Too easy. The late-night bickering, the laughter, the way his presence had filled the empty spaces of my home like he belonged there.

Like he had never left.

Like I had never truly wanted him to.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the thoughts away.

I had promised myself I’d never let him back in. That I’d keep my distance, that I’d protect my heart.

But after tonight, as I lay in the quiet of my room with his presence lingering just beyond the door…

I knew.

Nothing would ever be the same again.