Kyle took a detour on the way back ho. The rideshare driver didn’t question it when he changed the destination mid-trip, just adjusted the route and kept driving. Kyle needed to see Ella face to face, tell her about the trip himself instead of through a text ssage. After disappearing for two days without explanation, she deserved that much.
The car pulled up outside the apartnt building. Kyle paid, tipped extra, and climbed out onto the familiar sidewalk. Ho. Finally.
He took the stairs two at a ti despite the ache in his shoulder, key already in his hand as he reached the door. The apartnt was quiet when he stepped inside. Too quiet.
"Ella?" he called out, dropping his keys on the table by the door.
Nothing. He checked the bedroom, the bathroom, even the small balcony where she sotis sat with her guitar. Empty. She wasn’t ho.
Kyle sighed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t bla her. Why would she be sitting around the apartnt all day waiting for him? She had her own life, her band rehearsals, gigs at the club, friends to see. And after he’d vanished for two days without a word, she probably wasn’t in the mood to stick around hoping he’d show up.
He already knew Ella wasn’t passive like Jane or patient like Cassandra. She had fire, opinions, and absolutely no problem letting him know when sothing pissed her off. His disappearing act would’ve pissed her off. Hell, she was probably out sowhere right now venting to her bandmates about inconsiderate n who thought they could just ghost people.
Kyle stripped off his jacket and shirt as he walked to the couch, tossing them over the back. The familiar space, the worn cushions, the coffee table he’d bumped his shin on a hundred tis. God, it felt good to be sowhere normal. Sowhere that didn’t have ard guards and surveillance caras and family heads plotting his death.
He collapsed onto the couch half naked, letting his head fall back against the cushions. His eyes started closing almost imdiately, exhaustion crashing over him like a wave. Just five minutes. Just a quick rest before he figured out what to do about Ella and started packing for the trip and dealt with all the other shit piling up in his life.
The doorbell rang.
Kyle’s eyes shot open. He sat up, montarily disoriented, before his brain caught up. Ella. Must’ve forgotten her keys or sothing.
He jumped up and rushed to the door without thinking twice, already forming an apology in his head for disappearing, ready to explain at least so of what had happened.
He yanked the door open with a smile that imdiately froze on his face.
Not Ella.
Aiysha stood in the hallway, and she looked like an absolute ss. Her eyes were red and puffy, makeup smudged like she’d been crying for hours. Her hair hung loose and disheveled instead of the neat style she usually wore. And her clothes...
Jesus Christ, her clothes.
She wore a tight low-cut top that barely contained her chest, the kind of thing you’d wear to a club, not to visit your neighbor in the middle of the day. Her jeans were equally tight, hugging curves that Kyle had absolutely no business noticing right now.
"Aiysha, are you okay?" Kyle asked imdiately, his exhaustion forgotten. Whatever personal drama he was dealing with could wait. She clearly needed help.
"I’m not," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Can I talk to you?"
Kyle’s brain scread warning sirens. Both of them, alone in an apartnt. Her dressed like that, him shirtless. Her clearly emotional and vulnerable. Him tired enough that his judgnt was questionable at best.
This was a bad idea.
But what was he supposed to do, slam the door in her face?
"Sure, co in," he said, stepping back to give her room.
Aiysha walked past him, bringing with her the sll of perfu and sothing else. Alcohol. Definitely alcohol on her breath.
Kyle shut the door and sighed internally. Why couldn’t she have co wearing sothing more appropriate? A baggy sweater, maybe. A turtleneck. Hell, a full suit of armor would’ve been ideal right about now.
"What’s wrong?" he asked, keeping his distance, leaning against the kitchen counter while she stood near the couch.
Aiysha’s face crumpled. "Jones moved out. For the ti being, he said. To give us both space to think. But Kyle, I don’t know if we’re going to get back together. I don’t know if this is the beginning of the end or if there’s still hope or..." Her voice broke.
Kyle sighed. This was the last thing he needed right now. He’d literally just survived being shot, drugged, and nearly executed by the mafia. He was running on fus, his shoulder hurt like hell, and he had about a thousand problems to solve. And here was Aiysha crying about her relationship troubles.
But then he looked at her face, saw the genuine pain there, and felt like an asshole for being annoyed.
"Aiysha," he said gently, moving to sit on the arm of the couch, maintaining so distance. "The fact that Jones said ’for the ti being’ is exactly why this marriage is worth saving. He didn’t say it’s over. He said he needs space to think. That ans there’s still sothing there worth thinking about."
She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face.
"Jones is a good man," Kyle continued. "One of the best I know. And I’ve seen how he looks at you, how he talks about you when you’re not around. That kind of love doesn’t just disappear because things get hard. It’s worth fighting for. Worth struggling through the rough patches."
"But what if I’ve broken it beyond repair?" Aiysha whispered.
"Then you fix it. Together. That’s what marriage is." Kyle softened his voice. "Look, I’m not going to pretend I’m so relationship expert. I’m clearly not. But I know this: giving up is easy. Working through the hard stuff is what separates relationships that last from ones that don’t."
Aiysha let out a shaky laugh. "When did you get so wise?"
"I didn’t. I’m just really good at sounding like I know what I’m talking about." Kyle grinned. "It’s a gift."
That got a real giggle out of her, and so of the tension in the room eased.
They sat there for a mont, the atmosphere almost comfortable. Kyle could definitely sll alcohol on her breath now that she’d cald down a bit. Not falling-down drunk, but enough to lower inhibitions, blur judgnt.
He needed to be careful.
And then, without warning, Aiysha leaned in and kissed him.
Her lips pressed against his, soft and desperate, one hand coming up to touch his bare chest. For half a second, Kyle’s exhausted brain didn’t process what was happening. Then instinct kicked in.
He pulled back imdiately, gently but firmly putting his hands on her shoulders to create distance between them.
"Whoa, whoa, hey," he said, keeping his voice calm. "Aiysha, no. We’re not doing this."
Her face crumpled again, but this ti with sha mixed into the grief. "Oh God. Oh God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with . I just... I felt so alone and you were being so kind and I just..." Fresh tears started streaming down her face.
"Hey, it’s okay," Kyle said quickly, still keeping that physical distance. "You’re going through a lot right now. You’ve been drinking. Emotions are high. But this isn’t what you want, and it’s definitely not what you need."
"I’m such a ss," Aiysha sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "I’m such a fucking ss."
Kyle had absolutely no plans to take advantage of her. None. Even if she’d shown up sober and willing, she was Jones’s wife. His friend. That line was uncrossable, regardless of how she looked in that outfit or how vulnerable she was right now.
He needed to shift this situation to safer ground. Fast.
"I know what you need," Kyle announced, standing up and heading to the kitchen. "Ice cream!"
Aiysha looked up at him, confused and tear-stained. "What?"
"Not just any ice cream," Kyle said, pulling open the freezer and scanning the contents. "A Kyle special! I learned this trick from... honestly I don’t rember where, but it works. Trust ."
He grabbed the ice cream, bowls, started pulling out other ingredients. Anything to change the energy in the room, to move them away from that kiss and back to sothing safe and normal.
"Kyle, I don’t..."
"Nope, no argunts. This is happening. We’re making the most ridiculously indulgent ice cream sundae you’ve ever seen, and you’re going to eat it, and it’s going to make you feel at least five percent better. Which, given the current situation, is a significant improvent."
He didn’t reference the kiss. Didn’t make it awkward. Just kept talking, kept moving, kept the atmosphere light and focused on sothing else entirely.
"Now," he said, scooping ice cream into bowls, "the key is layers. You can’t just dump everything on top. It’s an art form..."
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