Page 28 of Echoes of Us

T he lab smelled of coffee and ozone, underlaid with the sharp tang of solder that seemed to linger no matter how many windows they opened.

Ashley hunched over her workstation, fingers smudged with ink, trying to lose herself in the scattered equations that had become her summer sanctuary.

The constant hum of equipment provided a steady backbeat to Sarah's rhythmic pen-tapping - a nervous habit she'd developed since they started their research position.

It felt wrong being here without Dale's steady presence.

He still came to the lab when needed and still explained concepts with precise clarity, but the warmth had vanished from his voice.

His careful smiles, once freely given, now appeared measured and distant.

The change cut deeper than anger ever could - this polite professionalism that made her feel like a stranger.

Ashley wiped her brow with the back of her hand, gaze drifting to the whiteboard that dominated the far wall.

Dale's neat handwriting covered every inch, forming patterns that reminded her achingly of another Westwood's explanations in a study room that felt like lifetimes ago.

The memory made her fingers twitch toward her flat stomach - a gesture she caught halfway, turning it into an awkward stretch.

"Your brain's about to leak out your ears," Sarah announced, sliding a coffee cup across the counter. The familiar scent of vanilla latte - because, of course, Sarah remembered her order - cut through the sterile lab air.

Ashley glanced up, catching her friend's knowing look. Sarah had that determination set to her jaw that meant a conversation was coming, whether Ashley wanted it or not. "That obvious?"

"You've been staring at the same equation for twenty minutes," Sarah said, settling onto the stool beside her.

Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun, strands escaping in that effortlessly disheveled way that somehow made her look more put-together rather than less.

"And you keep doing that thing with your hands. "

Ashley forced her fingers to still against the counter. "What thing?"

"That restless thing. Like you're looking for something that isn't there." Sarah's voice softened, losing its usual edge. "Have you talked to him?"

Ashley didn't need to ask which 'him' she meant. The pain in her chest answered that question clearly enough. "Dale's made it pretty clear he doesn't want to talk."

"Not Dale." Sarah's green eyes held steady. "Cole."

The name hit like a physical blow. Ashley turned back to her equations, shoulders tensing. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Right," Sarah drawled, unconvinced. "Because disappearing for the entire summer after what happened is totally normal."

"He didn't disappear." Ashley's voice cracked slightly. "He graduated. He moved on. That's what people do."

"Is that what you're doing?" Sarah challenged. "Moving on? Because from where I'm sitting, you're just... stuck. Trapped between what happened with Cole and whatever's going on with Dale."

Ashley's fingers found the edge of her notebook, twisting the pages. "It's not that simple."

"It never is with you." Sarah's tone held no judgment, just tired understanding. "But you can't keep living in this limbo, Ash. You're here, doing research with Dale, but your mind is somewhere else entirely. With someone else."

"I'm trying," Ashley whispered, the words feeling inadequate even as they left her lips.

Sarah reached over, stilling Ashley's restless hands. "Try harder. Dale deserves better than being your second choice, and you deserve better than pining after someone who won't even answer your texts."

Ashley slumped forward, forehead pressing against her notebook.

Sarah was right - she was stuck, trapped between timelines, between brothers, between who she was and who she needed to be.

The equations before her blurred into meaningless patterns, mocking her inability to solve this particular problem.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," she said quietly.

"Nobody ever does." Sarah's voice carried that practical edge she used when delivering hard truths. "But it happened. And now you have to deal with it."

A quiet knock drew their attention. Dale stood in the doorway, his lean frame casting a long shadow across the lab floor. He wore that carefully neutral expression that had become his default around her, but Ashley caught the slight tightening of his jaw when their eyes met.

"The results from this morning's trials are ready," he said, his voice professionally distant. He placed a folder on the nearest counter, deliberately avoiding any chance of their fingers brushing. "Review them when you can. I've marked the areas that need attention."

Before Ashley could respond, he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. The scent of his cologne - woody and familiar - lingered just long enough to make her chest ache.

“That was painful to watch," Sarah muttered, then softer: "He's hurting. And unlike some people, he can't just disappear for the summer to avoid dealing with it."

The guilt that had been simmering in Ashley's chest boiled over. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't see it every time he looks at me like I'm a stranger?"

"Then do something about it!" Sarah's voice rose slightly, drawing curious glances from a couple of grad students across the lab. She lowered her tone but kept the intensity. "Stop hiding behind these equations and talk to him. Really talk to him."

"And say what?" Ashley's voice cracked. "'Sorry I couldn't kiss you because I'm in love with your brother, who, by the way, wants nothing to do with me now'?"

The words hung in the air between them, sharp and raw. It was the first time she'd admitted it out loud - not just her feelings for Cole, but the mess she'd made of everything.

Sarah's expression softened. "Maybe start with the truth."

* * *

The walk to Dale's apartment felt longer than usual, each step weighted with purpose.

The summer evening wrapped around her like a blanket, thick and humid, making her sundress cling to her skin.

The campus had emptied for the season, leaving the paths eerily quiet save for the distant hum of cicadas and the soft scuff of her sandals against concrete.

Ashley paused outside his building, tilting her head back to count windows until she found his.

Light spilled from the third floor, casting a warm rectangle onto the darkening lawn.

The sight was achingly familiar - how many times had she looked up at that window this summer, wanting to bridge the distance she'd created?

Her phone buzzed in her bag. Sarah, probably, making sure she'd actually gone through with it. The reminder of her friend's determined support gave her the push she needed to climb the stairs.

The hallway looked different at night. Shadows pooled in corners, transforming the familiar space into something almost strange.

Dale's door - plain gray, slightly scuffed at the bottom - seemed more imposing than usual.

The sound of quiet music drifted through, something classical she couldn't name, but that felt perfectly, utterly Dale.

She knocked before she could lose her nerve.

The music stopped. Footsteps approached, measured and steady - so different from Cole's restless energy. When the door opened, the familiar scent of coffee and old books washed over her, mingled with Dale's cologne.

He stood there in dark jeans and a soft gray Henley, sleeves pushed to his elbows, looking somehow younger without his usual professional armor.

His hair was slightly mussed like he'd been running his hands through it while working, and his wire-rimmed glasses caught the warm light from his desk lamp.

"Ashley." Her name carried none of the warmth it used to, but there wasn't anger either. Just a careful distance.

"Can we talk?" The words came out steadier than she felt. "Please?"

For a moment, he didn't move. She watched his hand tighten on the doorframe and saw the slight clench of his jaw as he debated. Then he stepped back, a silent invitation she wasn't sure she deserved.

The apartment hadn't changed, but it felt different.

Books still lined the walls, his desk still overflowed with papers, and that same worn armchair still sat by the window.

But the easy comfort she'd once found here had been replaced by something more fragile like one wrong word might shatter whatever peace he'd managed to build in her absence.

Dale closed the door with quiet precision, then moved to lean against his desk. The position put the room's width between them - deliberate, she knew. Everything about him lately was deliberate.

"What do you need, Ashley?" His voice was steady and controlled. Professional.

The careful neutrality hurt worse than anger would have. She'd been prepared for anger and had rehearsed responses to accusations. This polite distance left her floundering.

"I miss you," she said finally, the truth spilling out before she could stop it. "I miss how easy things used to be between us."

His expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. "Things were never easy between us. They were just... unspoken."

Ashley's fingers found the strap of her bag, twisting the worn canvas. "I never meant to hurt you."

"No one ever does." His voice carried an edge she'd never heard before. "Yet here we are."

The distance between them felt vast, uncrossable. She took a step forward, but Dale's subtle shift away stopped her. "I should have been honest with you from the start."

"About what?" His eyes met hers, sharp with something that wasn't quite anger. "About Cole? About how you see him when you look at me?" He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture so achingly familiar it made her chest tight. "Or about whatever else you're not telling me?"

The accusation caught her off guard. "What do you mean?"

"You're different, Ashley." He straightened from the desk, his height suddenly more noticeable in the small space. "The way you talk about things, the way you..." He stopped, jaw working. "The way you look at me sometimes is like you're seeing a ghost."

Her heart stuttered. She hadn't realized he'd noticed so much, had seen through her so clearly. "Dale-"

"No." He held up a hand, the motion gentle but firm. "I don't need explanations. I don't even need apologies. What I need is for you to stop pretending."

"Pretending what?"

"That this is just about Cole. That you ran to my lab because you suddenly developed a passion for quantum mechanics." His laugh was soft, almost sad. "I don’t know what your plan is, but it is time you come clean.”

Ashley's throat tightened, the impossible truth pressing against her lips. How could she explain that she was trying to save him? That every moment in his presence was both a gift and a curse, knowing what was coming?

"I do care about you," she said finally, the words inadequate but honest.

"I know." His voice gentled, and somehow, that was worse than his anger. "That's what makes this harder."

He moved to the window, moonlight painting silver across his shoulders. Music drifted up from somewhere below - students enjoying the summer night, their laughter a distant reminder of simpler times.

"You should go," he said quietly, still facing the window. "It's late, and we both have an early lab tomorrow."

Ashley took a step toward him, then stopped. What could she possibly say? That she was sorry for trying to change his future? Sorry for caring too much about both him and his brother. Sorry for making everything worse by trying to make it better.

The words stuck in her throat, choking her with their impossibility.

"I think I fell in love with a version of you," she said quietly, the words falling into the space between them. "Someone I imagined you could be. And that's not fair to either of us."

Dale went very still by the window, his shoulders tensing. "And Cole?"

"I love him." The truth hurt, but she owed Dale that much. "I've always loved him, even when I shouldn't. Even when it makes no sense." Her voice cracked. "But I care about you too, Dale. So much. As a friend, as someone I trust. And I hate that I've ruined that."

He was quiet for a long moment; the moonlight casting shadows across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible. "Did I ever stand a chance?"

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she shook her head. "No," she whispered. "And I'm so sorry for letting you think you did."

Dale nodded slowly, absorbing the blow. His hands clenched once at his sides before relaxing - that careful control she'd always admired asserted itself even now.

"I will need time, Ashley," he said eventually, each word measured. "But we will be friends." The ghost of his old smile touched his lips. "Just... not today."