Page 12 of The Wreckage Of Us (US #2)
Ace
I don’t think I slept a single minute.
I lay flat on my back in the small guesthouse bed, the wooden ceiling fan spinning lazily above me, heart hammering like a drumline. Brittany Ashford had said yes. Not just yes to dinner — yes to us. To this impossible thing that had been quietly, steadily building between us.
And tonight, I was going to give her the kind of night that said everything I hadn’t been able to put into words.
By six a.m., I gave up pretending to rest. I threw back the covers and paced the room, fingers running through my hair, rehearsing every moment in my head.
Dinner reservation? Check. Flowers? Check.
Breathable, non-wrinkled shirt that wouldn’t make me sweat like a fool in the Arkansas humidity? Check.
But first — a call.
The phone rang twice before Sierra picked up. Her voice was soft, a little groggy. “Ace? Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, sinking onto the edge of the bed, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Sorry to wake you. Can I talk to Karla?”
A shuffle, a yawn, and then that small, piping voice: “Daddy?”
My heart squeezed. “Hey, bug. You having fun with Mommy?”
“Uh-huh,” she said cheerfully. “We made cookies! And Mommy let me have three.”
“Three?” I grinned, falling back onto the pillows. “You’re gonna be bouncing off the walls.”
She giggled. “Daddy, guess what?”
“What, baby?”
“I miss you.”
I closed my eyes, breathing through the sudden ache in my chest. “I miss you too, bug. So much.”
There was a pause. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Are you happy?”
That one stopped me cold. I stared up at the ceiling, throat tight, then forced a shaky breath. “Yeah, baby. I think I’m about to be really, really happy.”
Karla giggled. “Is it because of the princess?”
I laughed softly. “Yeah, baby. It’s because of Brittany.”
“Yay! You can kiss her and be happy forever!”
“Slow down, matchmaker,” I teased, the burn in my chest easing just a little. “One step at a time.”
Sierra came back on the line, her voice warm. “Good luck tonight, Ace.”
“Thanks, Sierra.” My voice softened. “For everything.”
We hung up, and for a long moment, I just sat there in the quiet Arkansas morning, the smell of pine drifting in through the open window, the sounds of birdsong in the distance.
Okay, Rivera. It’s time.
---
By late afternoon, I was a mess.
I shaved twice — the second time because I missed a spot under my jaw. I ironed my shirt three times. I sprayed cologne, panicked I’d overdone it, washed it off, and sprayed it again — half as much.
The bouquet waited on the table: white lilies and soft pink roses, delicate, elegant, just like Brittany.
I paced in front of the mirror, practicing.
“Hey, gorgeous, you ready?” Too smug.
“Britt, you look beautiful.” Too stiff.
“Hi.” God, no.
By six-thirty, I was standing at the edge of the driveway, keys jingling nervously in my hand, heart rattling against my ribs, wondering how it was possible to feel twenty-two again at thirty-three.
.
The door opened, and there she was.
Brittany Ashford — the girl who wrecked me without even trying.
Her hair tumbled in loose waves over her shoulders, the navy-blue dress hugging her just right. She wore delicate gold hoops, a little shimmer at her throat, and when her eyes landed on me, that soft, hesitant smile — the one I’d chased across a thousand nights — bloomed across her face.
“Ace,” she breathed, and I swear, the whole damn world tilted.
I handed over the flowers. “For you.”
She took them gently, eyes flicking down, then up, and something in her softened. “They’re beautiful.” A beat. “You’re beautiful.”
We both laughed at that, nerves crackling between us, hearts hammering in sync.
---
Dinner was at a tucked-away spot she loved — no cameras, no glitz, just quiet candlelight, a small table in the back.
We talked — really talked. About Luné, about the new campaign she was shooting next week, about the jewelry designs she wanted to launch for the fall collection.
About Corinne and her brother back in L.A.
, about why she came here — to breathe, to heal, to figure out what came next and of course to get away from me.
I deserve that.
I told her about Karla. About the way she sings nonsense songs in the car. About the gap-toothed smile and how she calls Brittany “the princess.” About how I didn’t know I was walking around half-dead until Brittany pulled me back to life.
At one point, she laughed so hard she leaned into me, head tilted back, hand on my arm. And just like that, I was wrecked all over again.
---
After dinner, we walked near the water, the cool Arkansas night brushing around us. Our hands brushed, fingers tangled, and stayed that way, like they were always meant to.
I stopped her near the railing, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Britt,” I murmured, voice rough, “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything the way I want you.”
She sucked in a breath, eyes wide, lips parting. “Ace…”
I cradled her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “Tell me this is real. Tell me this isn’t just a moment.”
Her hands slid up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt. “It’s real,” she whispered. “It’s always been real.”
And then — I kissed her.
Slow at first, like we were testing the edges, then fierce, unstoppable. Her arms wrapped around my neck, my hands pressed into the small of her back, pulling her closer, closer, until the world fell away and there was only us.
When we broke apart, we were both laughing, breathless, foreheads pressed together.
"Brit, I never apologize for hurting you 12 years ago. I was an asshole, and dump person who didn't know how to handle feelings well. I pushed you to your worst limit and I am so sorry for that. I promise to spend the rest of my life changing the permanent scar I gave you" I tell her
" You really hurt me Ace. You were my biggest tormentor,I really needed you and you joined them. I can't say I forgive you for that part,but I hope someday I'll look back and smile at that memory" she replies and I burst into sobs.
“God, Britt,” I whispered, lips brushing her temple, “I’m so gone for you.”
She smiled against my skin. “Good,” she breathed. “Because I’m gone for you, too.”
---
Later, when I walked her to her door, her fingers still laced with mine, I knew.
This wasn’t a date.
This wasn’t a kiss.
This was the start of forever.