Ryan’s POV
The guilt is eating me alive.
It's been three days since our harbor conversation. Three days of Asher showing up at my door with coffee. Three days of lunches and evening walks and moments that feel almost real.
Every time he smiles at me, the confession claws up my throat. Sharp and desperate. Demanding to be heard.
Every time he laughs at something I say, I want to vomit the truth onto his shoes. Watch his expression shift from warmth to horror.
At least then I'd deserve what comes next.
I took those photos. Sold them to tabloids like some bottom-feeding paparazzi desperate for cash. Made everything worse for the man I claim to care about.
The man is currently texting me about dinner plans. Asking what kind of takeout I want. Using stupid emojis like a normal person having a normal conversation with someone who hasn't betrayed him.
I should tell him. I need to tell him.
But every time I open my mouth, fear seizes my vocal cords. Asher smiles at me with those ice-blue eyes that actually look warm now. And the moment passes.
Another opportunity wasted. Another lie by omission.
Coward. The word follows me everywhere now. Echoes in my skull during practice. Whispers at me from the mirror when I brush my teeth.
Practice ends early today. Some issue with the ice resurfacing machine. Coach sends us home with instructions to rest up before tomorrow's game against Montreal.
I head to the parking lot on autopilot. Mind churning through the same circles it's been running for days.
Tell him. Don't tell him. Tell him. Don't tell him.
The loop never ends. Never resolves into anything actionable.
"Torres."
Jackson leans against my car. Arms crossed over his chest. That easy smile playing on his lips like it's permanently etched there.
Something cold slithers down my spine. I don't know why. He's just a teammate. Just someone who listened when I was hurting.
"Hey." I fish for my keys in my gym bag. "What's up?"
"Just checking in on you." He pushes off the car. Pulls out his phone. Scrolls with casual disinterest. "Damn, did you see what they're saying online?"
My stomach clenches into a fist. "What now?"
"The articles." He turns the screen toward me. Headlines I've already memorized. Photos I took with my own treacherous hands.
"Really stirred people up. Fans are worried about their captain now. Media's all over it like vultures. Speculation about substance abuse, mental health crises..."
Each word is a knife sliding between my ribs. Twisting deeper with every syllable.
"Yeah." My voice comes out rough. Scraped raw. "I saw all that."
Jackson glances up from his phone. His eyes sharpen. That easy smile fades into something more focused. More calculating.
Like he's reading me. Like every secret I carry is written in neon across my forehead.
"You're feeling guilty." Not a question. A statement. Flat and certain.
I freeze. Ice flooding my veins.
"How did you—" The words stick. I force them out. "How did you know it was me?"
Jackson's smile returns. Almost amused now.
"Come on, Torres. It was written all over your face." He shrugs. "The timing. The way you've been looking at Ash since. Doesn't take a genius."
My heart hammers against my ribs. If Jackson figured it out, who else might know?
"Relax." He reads my panic easily. "No one else is paying that much attention. I just notice things other people miss."
The words should comfort me. They don't.
"Look," Jackson steps closer. Voice dropping. "You did the right thing, Ryan."
"Did I?"
"Yes. And it's working. Can't you see that? Open your eyes."
I stare at him. Hollow. Don't understand what he's seeing that I'm missing.
"Ash is already changing," Jackson continues. "He's spending more time with you now, isn't he? Actually opening up instead of shutting everyone out?"
The words hit their mark like arrows finding bullseyes.
I think about yesterday. Asher sprawled on my couch, laughing at some stupid action movie. His head dropping onto my shoulder during the credits like it belonged there.
The way he looked at me when he said goodnight. Soft. Almost tender. Like I mattered to him.
"You said you wanted him to wake up," Jackson reminds me. "Wanted him to appreciate what he has. That's happening now, Ryan. Because of what you did."
"Because I betrayed him." The words taste like poison.
"Because you cared enough to actually do something." Jackson's hand lands on my shoulder. Warm. Steady. Grounding.
"When everyone else just watched him self-destruct, you took action. That takes courage, man."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe this nightmare was somehow the right choice.
"What are you even going to do?" Jackson shrugs. Casual. Like we're discussing the weather instead of my soul. "Tell him the truth? Mess up everything you've built together?"
My chest constricts painfully. Everything we've built.
The fragile trust forming between us. The tentative hope I've been nursing like a wounded bird. The potential Asher himself admitted he could see.
"You two are finally getting somewhere real," Jackson continues. "He's finally seeing you as more than just convenient. More than a warm body when he's lonely."
He pauses. Lets the words sink in.
"Are you really going to destroy all that progress with a confession that won't help anyone? That only makes things worse?"
The logic makes terrible, seductive sense.
Telling Asher won't undo the articles. Won't erase the damage already done. Won't magically fix anything. It would only add more pain to an already overwhelming pile of suffering.
"Ash was unfair to you." Jackson's voice drops lower. More intimate. Conspiratorial. "Used you whenever he was lonely and hurting. Treated you like nothing when he didn't need you anymore."
Every word is true. Every word cuts deep.
"And you, as you yourself believe, were unfair to him." A weighted pause. "So you're even now. The slate's clean. No debts owed either direction."
I swallow hard. The confession still burns in my throat like acid. But Jackson makes sense. Things are improving. Asher is different now. Softer. More present. More real.
Would I really destroy that fragile progress?
"Yeah." The word comes out barely a whisper. Tastes like ash and regret. "Yeah, okay. You're right."
Jackson claps my shoulder. The gesture feels heavier now. More significant.
"Smart man." His smile widens. Satisfied. "I knew you'd see reason."
He turns and walks away. Disappears into the parking structure shadows. Leaves me standing alone beside my car with the weight of my choices pressing down.
Asher texts again. Asks if Thai sounds good for tonight. Adds a heart emoji he's never used before.
My eyes sting. I type back a thumbs up.
Then I sit in my car for twenty minutes. Staring at nothing. Hating myself with every shallow breath.
The right choice. This is the right choice.
Maybe if I repeat it enough, I'll finally believe it.