As I tossed and turned, I thought about how I should give Sam more of an update than “things are going well.” Then there were Heron and Stevens, from whom I’d heard nothing since I’d left. Good, because I was still furious at them digging up my past, not to mention their unfounded accusations of me having anything to do with Ash’s disappearance. I’d checked online, and so far, no arrests had been made in connection to the case, so I didn’t feel compelled to contact them, not until Ash was okay with it.

When he’d first asked if I thought we should speak to the cops in Maryland, I’d balked. I’d secretly worried they’d either still think I had something to do with his accident, or bring up the whole Dominic Martel debacle, something I wasn’t ready for. I’d tell him at some point, but all in good time. Instead, I’d gently fished for any recollection about him gambling for money, and casually mentioned the name Jason Whitmarsh, relieved when he didn’t react at all.

I’d also insisted I agreed with Maya, and that we should wait until we’d figured out more about why he’d left Newdale, and why he’d lied about his name. The only tangible reason we’d come up with was Keenan. We’d speculated he’d threatened Ash, or scared him into leaving, but if that was what had happened, why hadn’t he told Maya where he was going, or contacted her once he’d settled in Maryland? Maybe Keenan had threatened to hurt her. Perhaps we’d never know and it would remain one of life’s unexplained mysteries.

As I lay there, listening to Ash’s rhythmic breathing, I asked myself once more if I was prepared to invest in a relationship with all these unknowns and complications, and the answer was an emphatic yes. He and I both had histories we wanted to leave behind. The only difference was I knew the full extent of my past. What mattered to me now was what we did with the future, and I wanted him to be in mine more than anything.

When I heard Maya downstairs shortly before eight, I stumbled out of bed. Ash was still asleep, lying on his side and snoring gently, so I quickly went to my room to get ready for work, and headed downstairs.

“I made you coffee,” Maya said when I walked into the kitchen. “Cream and sugar.”

Her generosity and attention to detail gave me the sudden urge to clear my conscience. “Thank you...and...uh, about yesterday, in the garage—”

“It’s none of my business.”

“I love him, Maya.”

“I understand.”

“I won’t hurt him.”

“I know.” Her eyes narrowed. “Because it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do.”