Page 67 of Wicked Temptations
“Ash. With me.”
I followed without argument, leaving Riley behind. Parker moved fast, his stride eating up the distance as we wound through the backstage corridors toward the entrance. He didn’t speak until we were almost there, and when he did, his voice carried the clipped efficiency of a man who’d spent too long putting out fires.
“Guests are spooked. I need you out there smoothing things over, keeping them entertained. Scare them good, and if anyone asks, make sure they know this was an accident and not some lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“Got it.”
“Can you do that?”
The question caught me off guard. I met Parker’s eyes and found him watching me with an expression that might have been concern if I squinted hard enough. Like he actually gave a damn about whether I could hold it together.
Can I?
I didn’t know. My hands were still shaking, and my mind kept replaying the sound of Jude hitting the ground on an endless loop. But what choice did I have? Walk away? Quit? Let Jude’s injury become the story that tanked Ridgeway’s Halloween season because I couldn’t get my head on straight?
“Yeah,” I said. “I can do it.”
Parker nodded, satisfied, and pushed open the door to Jude and my scare zone. Light and noise spilled through, along with the murmur of anxious voices and the sharp clicks of camerashutters. I could see that the crowd was milling around. They were waiting to see if Jude would come back out.
I squared my shoulders, shoved the guilt and worry down as deep as they would go, and stepped through the door.
Chapter 17
Jude
Threedaysintomyself-imposed exile from the world, and I’d officially lost my mind.
The moon boot around my ankle was like a monument to my stupidity, mocking me every time I shifted position.
A Grade 2 torn ligament, the doctor had said with that gently calibrated optimism medical professionals deployed when delivering bad news. He’d been upbeat and positive, telling me it shouldn’t be career-ending provided I stayed off it and didn’t do anything stupid. It was just season-ending.
Just.
As if that made it better. As if losing the rest of Scream Scene was some minor inconvenience instead of watching everything I’d built crumble while I sat here doing nothing but marinating in my own failure.
The moon boot was bad and awkward enough, but I hated the crutches. They were leaning up against the arm of the couch, always within reach because I couldn’t fucking go anywhere without them. I couldn’t even make it to the bathroom to piss without the bloody things. I hated them so much. I hated the rubber grips that dug into my palms, hated the clumsy shuffle they forced me into, hated how they turned the simple act of crossing my apartment into an exhausting production.
Mostly, I hated how useless and weak they made me feel.
I’d tried to manage without them yesterday. Made it exactly four steps before my ankle reminded me why that was a spectacularly bad idea. I’d almost broken my coffee table with how fast and hard I’d gone down. After that, I’d opted to follow the doctor’s advice a bit more.
Stay off it, he’d said. Rest. Elevate. Ice. He’d spoken to me like I was some delicate thing that needed careful handling instead of someone who’d spent three years throwing himself off platforms and scaffolding without so much as a pulled muscle.
Until now, and oh how spectacularly I’d fallen.
It hadn’t even been something dramatic like falling from the scaffolding, or getting trampled by enthusiastic park-goers. It was just a tiny fucking crack in the pavement that shattered my world.
My phone sat face-up on the coffee table, screen dark. I knew what awaited there if I unlocked it. Messages from Riley asking how I was holding up. Probably another text from Parker with information about worker’s comp and medical leave paperwork. At least he’d been supportive and helpful, signing off on insurance without asking too many questions, or trying to deflect the blame.
I shouldn’t have been running through there, and we all knew it. I had only myself to blame, and that was a bitter pill to swallow. I should have known better and been more professionaland not let myself get caught up in the thrill of the stupid game I’d made for myself.
And I shouldn’t have dragged Ash into my bullshit, either.
It wasn’t just Parker and Riley and the other crew who’d reached out. Honestly, I would have been shocked if Ash hadn’t made an attempt to check in. He was considerate like that. Far too nice a person for someone like me.
I wished I could say the same about myself, because it was his messages that I’d been actively avoiding.Messages. Plural.
Are you alright?
