Page 70 of Wicked Temptations
It had been three days since Jude had fallen. Three days of radio silence despite the messages I’d sent. Messages he’d read, according to the little check marks on my screen, but messages he couldn’t be bothered responding to.
My hand hovered over a bag of roasted chickpeas. It was the same spicy flavor and brand that Jude also bought. I grabbed something else instead and tossed it into my basket without checking what it was.
I needed to stop thinking about him.
That was easier said than done. Even now, surrounded by mundane grocery store sounds and the screaming toddler in the aisle over, my brain kept circling back to him. To the way he’d looked lying there on the ground with pain clouding his eyes, and how he’d pushed me away when I tried to help. Or the cold distance in his eyes when they wheeled him out on that stretcher.
I moved down the aisle, picking up items at random. Energy drinks. Protein bars. The kind of pre-packaged garbage that tasted like cardboard but got me through shifts when I didn’t have the emotional capacity to make myself eat properly.
Work had been different without Jude. The park felt off balance somehow, like a machine missing a crucial part that made everything else run slightly wrong.
Simon had stepped in as my new partner, and objectively, it was fine. Better than fine, actually. Simon was really good at this, and we’d found our rhythm almost immediately, the choreography clicking into place in the way that should have felt satisfying.
The crowds certainly thought so. We’d been pulling huge numbers. Parker had mentioned it yesterday, sounding pleased in that careful way managers did when they were trying not to compare current success to past failure. People were eating up our dynamic. The comments online praised our chemistry, our timing, and how well we worked together.
Simon was a decent guy too. Really easy to get along with and super professional, and always quick with a joke. He showed up on time, knew his cues, and never tried to steal focus or throw me off my game. He didn’t slink off and hide between sets, and he talked enough for the both of us. I knew all about him and his girlfriend, Amanda, and how they’d met in college. Simon wassaving up to buy a ring worthy of her, and he constantly talked about how much he missed her on the nights he had to work late.
The way his whole face lit up when he mentioned her name created an ugly thing in my mind. Not because I wanted Simon. I didn’t. Not even a little. But because I wanted what he had. That certainty. That openness. Someone who made him stupid-happy just thinking about them and the freedom to actually show it without feeling like he was giving away too much.
I wanted someone I could talk about like that. Or better yet, someone who’d talk about me that way. Like I was worth bragging about instead of hiding.
I grabbed a box of granola bars and studied the nutritional information without processing any of it. It’s not like it mattered anyway; I’d work off any calories through sweating in costume alone.
At least I would if I kept working.
The day after Jude’s accident, I’d gone to Parker’s office and tried to resign. The conversation still played in my head on loop during the quiet moments. Me standing there with my hands shoved in my pockets, trying to explain why this was my fault. How I’d been the one to push us off script. How I’d chased Jude when I should have let him go. How if anyone deserved to lose their spot in the show, it was me, not him.
Parker had listened with that patient expression he wore when dealing with performer dramatics. Then he’d leaned back in his chair and told me I was being a moron.
“You think quitting helps anyone?” He’d crossed his arms. “Jude’s injury was an accident. A bad one, yeah, but still an accident. You walking out doesn’t change that. It just makes my job harder and leaves your zone understaffed.”
“But I started it,” I’d insisted. “The fight that sent him running. That’s on me.”
“Takes two people to fight, Ash.” Parker’s tone had been firm. Matter-of-fact. “And from what I saw, you were both equally responsible for letting personal shit interfere with your work. So, no, you’re not quitting. You’re going to finish the season with Simon, and do your damn job. And if you really feel like you need to atone for something, keep Jude’s presence alive in the fickle attention spans of the crowd.”
That had been the end of it. Parker made it clear that the discussion wasn’t up for debate. I wasn’t allowed to quit, even if part of me still wanted to.
Even if showing up every night and performing without Jude felt wrong in ways I couldn’t articulate.
I moved toward the checkout, my basket filled with items I barely remembered selecting. The girl at the register gave me a tired smile and started scanning things while I pulled out my wallet.
My phone sat heavy in my pocket. I’d checked it maybe twenty times today, and there was still no reply from Jude.
The silence pissed me off more than I wanted to admit. I got it, sure. He probably blamed me for the whole thing, and probably wanted nothing to do with the guy who’d caused him to blow out his ankle and lose the rest of his season. But the least he could do was tell me to fuck off instead of just ignoring me like I didn’t exist.
Or maybe thiswashis way of telling me. The absence of words sure spoke volumes and came across clearer than anything he’d ever said.
***
I slouched in one of the breakroom’s plastic chairs, scrolling through social media while Simon’s voice drifted through the propped-open door.
“No, babe, I’ll be home by three.” His tone was soft. Affectionate. “Yeah. Love you too.”
He’d been out there for ten minutes, and I’d been in here avoiding the sound of his happiness like it might be contagious in the worst way.
My thumb moved down the screen on autopilot, taking in post after post about tonight’s performance. The #Simash hashtag had exploded. Someone had already made a GIF of Simon pinning me against a wall during our fight sequence. Another person posted a close-up screenshot with a thirsty caption about wishing they were the wall.
The comments were out of control.
