Page 69 of Wicked Temptations
My hand tightened around the phone until the case creaked.
That’s mine.
The thought was immediate and visceral and completely irrational. Ash wasn’t mine. He’d never been mine, no matter how many times I’d claimed otherwise in dark corners and empty rooms. I’d made damn sure of that. I’d pushed him away every time he tried to make it something more than just physical. I’d told him it didn’t mean anything and then called it nothing more than a good time.
He would have given himself to me if I hadn’t been such a dick.
And so now I had to sit here watching someone else put their hands on him while strangers online fantasized about what they’d like to see happen next.
I threw the phone down hard enough that it bounced off the cushion and fell on the floor. Pain flared in my ankle from the jarring movement, sharp and immediate, and I guessed it was karma’s way of reminding me to stay still. Stay calm. Stay the fuck out of everyone’s way while they moved on without me.
The apartment pressed in from all sides—walls too close, silence too heavy. It was just me trapped with thoughts that wouldn’t shut up and hours that stretched ahead with nothing to fill them but the weight of everything I’d fucked up.
Riley had stopped by yesterday with groceries and concern written all over her face. She’d tried to be upbeat about everything as she told me everyone missed me and wanted to come and see me. She said the show felt wrong without me out there and asked if I needed anything else before heading off to work.
What I needed was to go back in time and not be such a fucking coward. What I needed was to have grabbed Ash by the shoulders in that storage closet and told him the truth instead of deflecting with cruelty. I needed to not be sitting here alone while he moved on with someone who wouldn’t make him feel shit for being good at his job.
So of course, I’d been rude to her and snappy when she was just trying to help. I still felt like shit about it, but she’d told me it was fine when I called to apologize after. She said she understood, which, honestly, just made me feel like snapping at her again.
How could she possibly understand?
I grabbed the crutches and hauled myself upright, ignoring the way my body protested. The kitchen was only a few steps away, but it felt like miles. I managed to get there, bracing myself against the counter while I peered into the fridge for food that I knew I wouldn’t eat. I gave up a few minutes later and got myself a glass of water instead.
Through the window above the sink, I could see the street below. Cars passing and people walking their dogs. Normal people with their normal lives continuing while mine had come to a screaming halt.
My phone buzzed on the floor by the couch. It was probably another video notification or another post tagging me in speculation about when I’d return or commentary on how much better things were without me. I didn’t check.
Instead, I thought about Ash’s last message and those six words that I still didn’t know how to answer.
I’m sorry, Jude. Can we talk?
What would I even say? That I was sorry too? That I’d spent the last three days replaying every conversation we’d ever had and wishing I could rewrite all of them? That seeing him with Simon made me want to smash things even though I had no right to feel that way?
Would I tell him I missed him?
God, I missed him. I missed the way he pushed back when I got too controlling and how his eyes went dark right before he decided to stop letting me lead. I missed the heat of him pressed against me in stolen moments between performances, all desperate hands and bitten-off sounds that made my pulse race.
I missed the version of myself I became around him. The one who actually felt something inside the hollow time between performances.
I’d ruined it. All of it. And now I was stuck in this goddamn boot watching him build something new with someone else while I tried to convince myself it was for the best.
My ankle throbbed, reminding me I’d been standing too long. Overall, the pain had settled into a dull, persistent ache that medication only barely touched, which made things even worse.
I made my way back to the couch and collapsed onto it with less grace than I cared to admit. When I picked up my phone, I ignored the social media notifications and instead stared at the string of Ash’s messages.
I should just—
I put the phone back down without responding and reached for the TV remote.
Coward.
Chapter 18
Ash
Thefluorescentlightsinthe grocery store made everything look washed out and vaguely hostile. Or maybe that was just my tired, semi-irrational imagination kicking in.
I stood in the snack aisle, staring at the same shelf I’d been staring at for the past five minutes without actually seeing any of it. All the packets had blurred into one mess of corny slogans and corporate promises.
