Ash frowned, then nodded once, like this wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Truman was excruciatingly aware of every gesture of Ash’s leave-taking. The way he slid his keys in the pocket of his worn jeans. The plane of his shoulders beneath his sweater as he shrugged into his coat. How a lock of hair clung to his cheek as he stepped into his boots. At the door, he turned, began to say something, and seemed to think better of it. He waved and walked away.

Truman slunk slowly back into the bedroom, buried himself in Greta’s bed, and pulled the covers over his head. They smelled like Ash. Fuck.

He must’ve fallen back asleep, because when he woke later, the sun was pouring in through the windows and he had to pee badly.

The latter discharged, he went about the morning plant chores, numbly ticking things off on Greta’s spreadsheet.

Then he stood in the middle of the living room with no idea whatsoever of what to do.

He still hadn’t cried. He felt stuck in the middle of the moment before crying, and he resented Ash for that too.

He replayed their conversation in his head. It had been habit that had made him capitulate quickly—after all, when someone told you it was over, it wasn’t like you could argue with them, right? You couldn’t convince someone to be with you if they didn’t want you. But…Ash had given no indication that was coming. He’d just…

Anger rushed in to fill the empty space Ash had left in him.

“What the hell just happened?” he said. “What the HELL! Did he just…how can he…and did I really…? Again? What the fuck!” Truman rarely said fuck, but he said it now. Then he shouted it.

A rare fury clawed its way out of him like he was an eggshell.

How dare Ashleigh fucking Sundahl treat him like he was appreciated, admired, enjoyed, and then throw him away like garbage? How dare he make Truman get attached, start to picture the future with Ash in it, have some of the best sex of his life, and then tell him they should just quit?

And how the hell had he just let it happen?

Now Truman was supposed to, what? Stay in Owl Island for the next two weeks, avoiding Ash, avoiding Julia—hell, avoiding everyone, since apparently the whole island knew about them?

“How did this happen to me again?” Truman shouted at the pitcher plants. “How the fuck did Ash abandon me just when he was starting to make me fall in love with him? Asshole!”

Then his words caught up with him, and he collapsed on the couch.

“God damn it, Truman.”