Page 42 of Echoes of Us

T he past few days had been a blur of perfect moments.

Ashley would find Cole waiting outside her morning classes, coffee in hand, and that dangerous smile playing at his lips.

They'd study late into the night, though "studying" often turned into him pushing her books aside, pinning her to his bed until she forgot everything but the feel of him.

Even their quick kisses between labs felt charged with something new - like they'd finally stopped pretending, stopped fighting what had always been inevitable between them.

She'd catch him watching her sometimes, that intense look that made her forget everything else. He'd pull her into empty classrooms just to kiss her senseless, whispering how much he'd missed her against her skin. Their nights together were... well, she was grateful Cole didn’t have a roommate.

Even finals couldn't dampen what they had.

If anything, the stress made their moments together sweeter.

Cole would quiz her on behavioral psychology, and she'd help him grade papers, curled together on his couch.

Everything felt right, felt real, in a way that made her previous life seem almost dream-like.

Which made what she found in the lab that evening even harder.

Dale stood bent over equations she recognized from their summer research, though he wasn't really looking at them.

His pen hadn't moved in the few minutes she'd been watching from the doorway.

The golden light streaming through the windows caught on his wire-rimmed glasses, on the way his fingers absently twisted his signet ring.

She'd been avoiding this moment. The bubble of happiness she'd been living in with Cole had made it easy to pretend everything else could wait. But reality had a way of demanding attention.

"You're stuck," she said softly.

Dale didn't startle like some part of him had known she was there. His shoulders tensed slightly, then relaxed. "That obvious?"

"You've been staring at the same equation since I got here." She moved into the lab, perching on her usual stool. The familiar space felt different somehow - charged with things unsaid. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." But he turned to face her, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "You look happy."

The simple observation felt like a weight on her chest. "Dale-"

"No, I mean it." His voice was gentle, genuine even as something else flickered beneath the surface. "You do. Both of you do. It's..." He searched for words. "Right. Even if it makes me a terrible person for wishing it wasn't."

Ashley's breath caught. "You're not terrible."

"Aren't I?" He set down his pen with careful precision, a gesture so reminiscent of his brother that it made her heart ache. "My brother's finally happy. Really happy, not just pretending. And here I am, hoping..." He stopped, jaw working.

"I do love you," she whispered, the words surprising him. "Just not the way you want. And maybe that's worse."

His breath caught. "Don't-"

"No, let me finish." Her voice trembled but held steady.

"I love you because you're half of what makes Cole who he is.

Because when he talks about quantum mechanics, I hear your voice in his explanations.

When he takes time to really think before answering, I see your influence.

When he lets himself be gentle, just for a moment.

.." She swallowed hard. "That's you in him, Dale.

And I love that part of him so much it hurts. "

Dale's hands were white-knuckled on the edge of his desk. "Ashley-"

"But I also love you for all the ways you're nothing like him, you can sit in silence without needing to fill it.

How you see straight to the heart of things without burning through them.

You're..." She searched for words. "You're the steady light to his wildfire.

And sometimes I think he burns so bright because he knows you'll always be there, constant as gravity, keeping him from flying apart completely. "

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she watched the impact of her words hit him.

"So yes, I love you. Not the way I love him - not that consuming, desperate kind of love that terrifies me sometimes.

But deeply. Permanently. Because loving Cole means loving everything that made him who he is. Including you."

Dale stood completely still, the last light of day catching on his glasses, on the tears he wasn't trying to hide. When he spoke, his voice was raw. "That's the cruelest kind of beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me."

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't be." He looked at her then, really looked at her, and she saw something shift in his expression.

Understanding, maybe. Or resignation. Or love of a different kind.

"You see him. Really see him. Not just the fire everyone else sees, but everything.

" His laugh was soft, almost wondering. "No wonder he wants you so much. "

The words hung between them, casting the room in silence. She wanted to tell him everything then - about the future, about what she was trying to prevent. About how she couldn't bear to watch Cole become him, because they were both too precious to lose.

Instead, she stepped forward and hugged him tightly. His arms came around her slowly, carefully, like he was memorizing what it felt like to hold someone who loved him completely, just not completely enough.

"Some things aren't meant to be fixed," he murmured against her hair. "But I think... I think some things don't need fixing. They're perfect in their imperfection."

When she pulled back, his smile was real - sad but real. And she realized that maybe this was its own kind of love story. Not a romance, but something rarer. Something that belonged only to them.

The irony of his words made fresh tears spill. She wanted to tell him everything - about the future, about what was coming, about how desperately she needed him to stay alive. Instead, she crossed the lab and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you," she whispered. For understanding. For letting her go. For being himself until the very end.

His arms came around her briefly, then released. When she pulled back, his smile was steady again, if a little worn at the edges. "Go on," he said. "He's probably waiting for you."

Ashley walked out of the lab feeling like something had both broken and mended.

Behind her, Dale bent over his equations again, bathed in the fluorescent glow that fought against the early winter darkness.

She paused in the doorway, watching him for one final moment - the brother who'd always put everyone else first, who loved so quietly it was easy to miss, who had less than a year left to live.

Her footsteps crunched in the fresh snow as she crossed the empty quad, each breath visible in the December air.

Through the physics building's windows, she could still see Dale bent over his work, the steady light of his desk lamp a lonely beacon against the gathering night.

The ancient stone buildings of Yale loomed around her, their snow-capped spires stark against the steel-gray sky.

The bitter wind cut through her wool coat, and she hugged herself, more for comfort than warmth, when a familiar voice cut through the icy cold gripping her heart.

"Hey, stranger."

Cole lounged against one of the frost-covered stone pillars, a dark silhouette against the white landscape.

Snowflakes caught in his disheveled hair, and his cheeks were pink from the cold.

His leather jacket was barely adequate for the weather, but he wore it with his usual disregard for practicality.

Most of all, it was his expression that caught her attention – softer than usual, almost uncertain.

"How did you-" she started, her words forming little clouds between them.

"Dale texted." He pushed off from the pillar, closing the distance between them, snow crunching under his boots. "Said you might need company for the walk back."

Of course, Dale would think of that. Even now, even after everything, he was looking out for both of them. Fresh tears threatened to freeze on her cheeks, and she turned away, but Cole caught her chin with fingers cold from the winter air.

"Hey," he said softly, and for a moment, he sounded so much like her husband that her heart stopped. "You've been crying."

She tried to laugh it off. "That obvious?"

Instead of his usual smirk, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. He brushed his thumb across her cheek, catching a tear before it could crystallize in the cold. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really." She leaned into his touch, allowing herself this moment of vulnerability. "Can we just... walk for a bit?"

He nodded, dropping his hand to lace their fingers together, both of them seeking warmth in the connection.

They walked in comfortable silence, their joined hands swinging slightly between them.

The campus was quiet at this hour and the snow muffled every sound until it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

"You know," Cole said finally, his voice thoughtful, "Dale used to do this when we were kids."

"Do what?"

"This." He squeezed her hand. "When things got too much – usually after Dad had one of his episodes – Dale would just... walk with me. No talking, no trying to fix anything. Just... being there."

Ashley's throat tightened. She'd never heard this story before – not from her husband, not from Dale. "Sounds like him."

"Yeah." Cole's smile was small but real. "He's always been the better one."

"No," she said firmly, stopping to face him. "Different doesn't mean better. You're both exactly who you need to be."