There was nothing for it now. He’d have to leave. He’d have to go back to New Orleans. Maybe he couldn’t stay at his house because Greta was there, but surely he could stay with someone.

At the holidays? People have plans, families, lives. Unlike you, who apparently just float around the globe, falling in love with assholes and then getting tossed away by them. Yeah, go spend Christmas in some shitty Airbnb in Metairie. Better yet, just go stay with Mom and Dad. They’ll be thrilled to see you.

Truman imagined the dreary trips to the mall to pick out Christmas gifts for his sisters, while his mother kept up a constant chatter about everyone he’d gone to school with as far back as elementary and their parents, siblings, and acquaintances.

Then Truman imagined driving a spike through his heart.

He couldn’t go home. No. No way. No way was he letting this happen to him again. And wasn’t letting the operative word? In every other breakup, he’d acted just the same. He’d never demanded that people explain themselves. Never asked Troy why it wasn’t working, never insisted Jason tell him what would make him happy, and never fought for the relationships that were being wrenched out from underneath him.

But no more. He was not letting Ash leave him without a real conversation. And he was certainly not letting himself off the hook without fighting for Ash.

“Nope,” he said aloud. “Nope, nope, nope. No sir.”

Then Truman pulled on his outerwear, stomped into his boots, and stalked to Thorn.

“Absolutely not, Ash Sundahl!”

It would’ve been a strong opening gambit had it been Ash standing behind the counter of Thorn. But it was Rayanne.

“Oh,” Truman said intelligently.

“Ash isn’t feeling well today,” Rayanne said. At least she said that with her voice. But with her face and her hands, she was very clearly saying (and pointing) that Ash was upstairs in his apartment and that he was sad.

But out loud, she only said, “Stubbs, a ginger cat, served as mayor in Talkeetna, Alaska, for twenty years,” and pointed upstairs again. Then she made a heart shape with her fingers and broke it.

“No, he broke my heart!” Truman shouted.

Rayanne put her hand to her heart and shooed him away.

Truman slammed out of Thorn and knocked on the door to Ash’s apartment. No one answered. Truman wasn’t even sure if he could hear the outside door from up there.

“God dammit!”

He went back into Thorn, the cheery doorbell tinkling his presence yet again.

Rayanne just pointed behind the register, and Truman headed for the stairway to Ash’s apartment.

This time, he didn’t knock. He yelled.

“Ash, we need to talk!”

It took a minute, but Ash finally opened the door.

His eyelids were puffy, his skin blotchy, and his hair even more chaotic than usual.