Page 34 of Should Our Stars Collide

“Do you find that difficult to answer?”

“It’s because!” Kieran cries, instantly cursing himself for such a childish response. He tries again, aiming to be a little more articulate. “Because you are…” Shit, he’s drawing blanks again. Must be the alcohol.

“I’m what?” Ash asks, with infinite patience. It just pisses Kieran off more.

“Like this!” he yells, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Ash looks down at himself, then back at Kieran. “This?”

“An asshole!” Kieran clarifies.

Ash looks at him like Kieran is a cute, angry kitten, not a fully grown man who is one drink away from choking the life out of him. “I’ve been called that many times, but no one’s ever been so vocal about it.”

Yeah, that’s likely because he’s putting in extra effort to drive Kieran nuts. “Well, unlucky for you, I’ve been told I have poor emotional regulation, so you can fucking bet I’ll be vocal about your bullshit.”

“Poor emotional regulation, huh?” Ash echoes, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

Once again, Kieran’s eyes are drawn to his beard. Ugh, why does it have to be so full and neat, not a hair out of place? And then, there’s that annoyingly symmetrical face of his. Kieran would bet that even his balls are both the same size.

Don’t think about his balls, for fuck’s sake!

Too late. Heat rushes to his face. Hopefully he can blame it on the alcohol.

“Is that what you’ve been told by therapists?”

Is that a roundabout way of trying to find out why he can’t stand them? “Therapists, parents, teachers… Right before I had a bunch of different pills shoved down my throat.” Which had successfully put him off taking so much as a fucking vitamin supplement, even in adulthood.

He can feel himself starting to slip, sinking into a well of memories he’d rather forget.

Ash’s voice cuts through the flashbacks, wrapping around him like a piece of rope and dragging him back to the surface.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Ash repeats, sounding as sincere as Kieran’s ever heard him, which is never.

A rock the size of a tennis ball lodges itself in Kieran’s throat. He can barely breathe through it, let alone speak. He’s not sure what he’d say even if he could. How does someone reply to this? How?—

Something warm touches his hand, soft and feather-light. His fingers uncurl at the contact, only now making him realize he’d been clenching them in a fist. The warmth expands, caressing his skin, sliding between his fingers?—

Confused, he looks down. At his hand. At Ash’s hand. At his hand interlaced with Ash’s. Like a complete moron, he stares at it. At them.Why am I not moving?

“Kieran?”

That does it. He snatches his hand back, hiding it in his lap. Clears his throat; three times.

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, successfully ignoring the weird fucking thing that just happened. “I might bitch about therapists, but it’s not like you were there.”

“Still, it was wrong and it shouldn’t have happened. You deserved better.”

Kieran shrugs, so fucking uncomfortable he could crawl out of his own skin.

“Can’t really blame them, I guess. No one wants to deal with an emotional wreck.”

There’s that serious, almost angry expression again. It only lasts a few seconds before it disappears and a soft smile overtakes Ash’s face. “I have it on good authority that’s not true.”

Lips twitching involuntarily, Kieran rolls his eyes. “You must love drama.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”