Page 17 of Echoes of Us

A shley's head felt stuffed with cotton as she pushed through the dining hall's heavy oak doors, last night's lack of sleep catching up with her.

Morning light streamed through the tall, arched windows, catching dust motes in its slanted beams. The early crowd had thinned - most students already in their finals - leaving scattered groups hunched over coffee cups and textbooks, their whispered cramming echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

She heard them before she saw them - Cole's voice carrying an edge she'd never heard before, cutting through the sleepy morning atmosphere like a blade.

"I said I don't care if they come." His words were clipped, precise in their anger.

He sat rigid in his chair, and one hand white-knuckled around a paper coffee cup, the other running through his already disheveled dark hair.

His Yale rowing team sweatshirt was wrinkled, like he'd slept in it.

"They're only showing up because their perfect son's staying in academia. "

"Cole." Dale's tone was patient and practiced. Even rumpled from what was clearly an early morning, he managed to look put-together in his soft gray sweater and wire-rimmed glasses. "They're here for your graduation-"

"Right." Cole's laugh was sharp enough to cut glass.

"Because Mom's so thrilled about me leaving while you stay here pursuing your brilliant academic career.

Tell me, did they even blink when you got into the master's program?

Or was it just expected?" The remnants of his blueberry muffin lay destroyed on his plate, picked apart but uneaten.

Ashley rounded the corner just as Dale reached across their table, trying to catch Cole's arm. The morning sun caught his signet ring - identical to Cole's - as Cole jerked back, his chair scraping against the polished floor as he stood. The movement brought her into his line of sight.

For a fraction of a second, something raw flickered across his face - gone so quickly she might have imagined it. His expression smoothed into careful indifference, though his knuckles were white around the crushed paper cup, coffee threatening to spill over his fingers.

"Ashley." Dale's whole face brightened, his greeting warm despite the tension crackling in the air like static electricity. "Join us?"

She hesitated, caught between Dale's welcoming smile and Cole's carefully constructed wall of ice.

The contrast between last night's library Cole and this morning's version made her head spin.

The same face, the same storm-gray eyes, but where last night's had burned with intensity, these were winter-cold.

"Actually," Cole's voice was perfectly neutral as he gathered his things, his movements precise and controlled, "I was just leaving. Wouldn't want to interrupt the future of theoretical physics here."

He didn't look at either of them as he strode past, the set of his shoulders rigid beneath the wrinkled sweatshirt.

Dale watched him go, something heavy in his expression. "Sorry about that," he said quietly. "He's... graduation's a complicated topic."

"Because of your parents?" The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Dale's eyes snapped to hers, sharp with surprise. Then, his features softened into something sadder. "They mean well. They just..." he trailed off, searching for words. "Sometimes it's harder to see what's right in front of you when you're busy looking for perfection."

The way he said it - careful, measured, like he'd spent years trying to bridge a gap that kept widening - made Ashley's chest ache. She glanced toward the door Cole had disappeared through, understanding, blooming like bruises under her skin.

"Coffee?" Dale offered, already standing. His smile was gentle, nothing like his brother's careful armor of indifference.

As he walked to the coffee station, Ashley caught Cole watching through the window.

Their eyes met for a heartbeat. This time, he didn't look away first - just held her gaze with an intensity that stole her breath.

Then he pushed off from where he'd been leaning against the building and disappeared into the stream of students rushing to finals.

Dale returned with her coffee fixed exactly how she liked it - because, of course, he'd noticed he paid attention to details like that. But Ashley barely tasted it, her mind stuck on the glimpse of pain she'd seen in Cole's eyes on the way he'd pulled away from his brother's attempt to reach him.

All this time, she'd thought Cole's sharp edges came from losing Dale. But maybe they'd started forming long before that - carved by years of standing in his brother's shadow, of being measured against him and coming up wanting.

She wrapped her hands around the warm cup, her heart heavy,

"Hey." Dale's voice pulled her back. "Where'd you go just now?"

Ashley managed a small smile. "Just thinking about finals." She paused, then decided to take advantage of the moment. "Actually, I could use a break from thinking about finals. Tell me about your research - what made you choose theoretical physics?"

Dale's eyes lit up with genuine enthusiasm. "Would you believe it started with origami?"

"Origami?"

"Yeah." He grinned, reaching for a napkin and beginning to fold it with practiced movements.

"Our father taught us when we were kids.

He traveled to Japan a lot for work - engineering contracts.

Every time he came back, he'd bring new patterns.

" His fingers moved swiftly, precisely. "I got obsessed with its mathematics - how a single sheet of paper could become so many different things just by changing the angles and the folds. "

Ashley watched his hands, realizing she'd never known this about their father. Had Cole ever told her? "Your dad sounds interesting."

"He is." Dale's smile turned softer. "Brilliant engineer, terrible cook. He drives Mom crazy with his experiments in the kitchen. Once tried to 'optimize' her grandmother's lasagna recipe using fluid dynamics." He laughed. "We had to order pizza."

The napkin in his hands had become a perfect crane. He set it between them on the table. "Mom still has boxes of these in the attic. We used to compete to see who could make the most complex designs. She'd hang them from our bedroom ceiling - said it was like having our own constellation."

Ashley's throat tightened. She'd seen those boxes in Margaret's attic, never knowing their significance. "Do you still make them?"

"Sometimes. When I'm stuck on a problem or need to think." He pulled another napkin from the dispenser. "Here, I'll teach you a simple one."

As he guided her through the folds, Ashley found herself relaxing into the conversation. "What else do you do? Besides physics and paper art?"

"Piano, though I'm rusty now. Photography - mostly astronomy stuff. And I restore old radios when I can find them." He glanced up from their folding. "My roommate hates it - says our apartment looks like a vintage electronics shop exploded."

"That's... not what I expected."

"Let me guess - thought I'd be all equations and academic papers?"

"Maybe," she admitted. "You seem so..."

"Serious?" He raised an eyebrow. "I get that a lot. But you can't spend all your time thinking about quantum mechanics. Sometimes you need to work with your hands, create something tangible." A shadow crossed his face. "Dad taught us that too.”

"So, is he the actual reason you’re into physics?” Ashley smirked.

"You caught me," Dale smiled, but something flickered in his eyes. "I would say it’s partially true… Dad's the practical one. Things you can touch and build. Mom's the one who pushed for pure academia. She has this... vision of what success should look like."

He smoothed a crease with careful precision. "You should see her face when we start talking theoretical physics at dinner. Dad just laughs, says as long as someone in the family can still build a bridge, we're good."

The casual mention of family dinners, of a father's laugh, made Ashley's chest tight. These were the moments she'd never known about - the living, breathing history of the Westwood family before tragedy rewrote everything.

"Sorry," Dale said, catching her expression. "Didn't mean to ramble. Here - one more fold, and you've got yourself a butterfly."

Such a simple thing - paper and patience - yet in its creases lay a map to the Westwood family she'd never known existed.

* * *

Ashley's hand cramped from two hours of furious writing.

Her social psychology final had been brutal, but at least it was over.

She pushed through the heavy doors into the May sunshine, squinting against the sudden brightness.

Her sundress, hastily chosen this morning, clung to her skin in the humid air, and she could feel loose strands of hair escaping her messy bun.

"Well, if it isn't the girl who's caught both Westwood brothers' attention."

She froze. Ezra lounged against the building's stone facade, one ankle crossed over the other, projecting the kind of confidence that came from old money and ivy-covered privilege.

His dark blonde hair caught the sunlight, styled to look artfully careless in a way that probably cost more than her textbooks.

The sleeves of his cream cashmere sweater were pushed up to reveal an expensive watch, and everything about him - from his Italian leather loafers to his carefully stubbled jaw - calculated to look effortless, practiced to appear careless. Yale's perfect trust fund warrior.

The only imperfection was his smirk, sharp and mean in a way that even his future professional polish would never quite hide.

"What do you want, Ezra?"

He pushed off the wall with lazy grace, reminding her of a predator stretching before a hunt.

"Just looking out for a fellow student's.

.. virtue." His eyes, an unsettling shade of blue-green, traveled over her in a way that made her skin crawl.

His gaze lingered on where her dress had twisted slightly, revealing more knee than she'd intended.

"Though I have to admit, I'm curious what makes you so special.

Cole doesn't usually go for the wholesome type. "

"I'm not interested in your opinion of me." She started to walk past him, her sandals scuffing against the sun-warmed stone path.

"No?" He fell into step beside her, close enough that she could smell his cologne - something expensive and overwhelming, like him. "How about my opinion of Cole? Or better yet - my opinion of how this little triangle you're creating is going to blow up in everyone's faces?"

Ashley stopped short, her bag sliding off her shoulder. Before she could catch it, Ezra did, using the motion to step even closer. His height forced her to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, and she hated how he used that advantage to loom over her.

"There is no triangle."

"Please." His laugh was sharp, white teeth flashing.

A thin scar above his lip, nearly invisible unless you were this close, twisted his smile into something cruel.

"I've seen how Dale looks at you. And now Cole's offering private tutoring?

" He stepped closer, backing her against the warm brick wall.

A bead of sweat traced down her spine. "Let me tell you how this ends.

The good brother, the bad brother, and the girl who thinks she can have both?

It's a fucking train wreck waiting to happen. "

"You don't know what you're talking about." But her voice shook slightly. This wasn't the polished Professor Martinez who'd visited their house. This was someone cruder, meaner.

"Don't I?" His smile turned knife-sharp. "I've known them longer than you. I've seen what happens when someone gets between them. Those wounds?" He shook his head. "They're still bleeding."

"I'm not trying to get between anyone."

"Sure, you're not. The pretty little psych major just happens to be spending time with both brothers." He leaned closer, his cologne too strong, too invasive. "Word of advice? Stick with Dale. He's more your speed. Safe. Predictable. Leave Cole to the girls who can handle him."

Anger flared hot in her chest. "You mean girls like the ones you and Cole pass around at parties?"

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Careful, sweetheart. You're out of your depth here." He straightened, adjusting his sweater with deliberate precision. "Cancel your... study sessions. If you value yourself at all, or him, or Dale, stay the fuck away from Cole."

She watched him walk away, her heart pounding. How could this be the same man who would one day be a respected professor? Who would speak at conferences and mentor students?

Then she remembered the cruel amusement in his voice at the party, the way he and Cole had talked about that girl, and she realized - some people grew out of their sharp edges. Others, like Cole, had their edges worn smooth by loss and love.

She pushed off from the wall, squaring her shoulders. Ezra didn't know what she knew. Didn't understand that she wasn't trying to choose between brothers or create drama.

She was trying to save them both.