30. Ash
ASH
Kael’s on his way, which is what I said an hour ago.
The event went well. People came. The food disappeared.
Then nine-thirty hit, still sans artist, and everyone’s gentle kindness curdled into pitiful soft looks, it really was nice shoulder squeezes, and then coats.
When you rubberneck an accident, you slow down.
You don’t park and wait, hoping the wreck will fix itself.
Once the last guest leaves, it’s just Jenny and me.
The gallery stretches around us, suddenly too big.
Polished concrete gleams under the spotlights; white walls vanish into the dark rafters.
The only warmth comes from those little pools of light around Kael’s paintings, his colors burning against all the gray.
The ventilation system does its best impression of a distant crowd.
“You want me to wait with you?” Jenny asks, slinging her purse over her shoulder behind the bar.
Instead of answering, I hold up my phone with his shared ETA. “Traffic,” I say. Glen Park to Mission Bay is always a mess.
“I think I should stay.” She ducks back out of the purse strap and sets it down again.
“Just go. I want to talk to him alone.”
“I know you’re angry,” she says, then starts in on the rest. “Embarrassed. Depressed. Worried?”
Her tragic guessing game pulls a smile out of me. “Yes.”
“Promise you’ll hear him out?”
Which part? Why he’s been lying for weeks? Just tonight? I’m not sure I care.
I swallow all of that and say, “I promise.”
Jenny squeezes my arm, then leaves me by the bar. One of his self-portraits faces me, and it’s wrong not to see my own face reflected in his glasses. His dimpled half smile makes a game of Jenny’s list. Which one am I most? Angry, embarrassed, depressed, or worried?
The things I want to say feel sharp, like glass. As long as I keep them lodged in my throat, maybe I’ll still be able to hear him out.
But I’ve heard this before. Chase made excuses right before my demotion, with his “complicated situation” and “you have to understand.” Kael isn’t Chase. He couldn’t be more different. Except the longer his car doesn’t pull up, the harder it is to swallow.
By the time headlights finally sweep across the front windows thirty minutes later, my whole body feels overheated, like someone’s been stoking a furnace inside my ribs. Every swallowed shard melts and slides into my stomach.
Kael looks good getting out of the Uber, like nothing’s broken. He dressed up. Maybe for Alistair, maybe for tonight. The question makes the heat spike, and I take a long swig of beer that does nothing.
His first reaction is to the window display. His eyes go wide. His hand flies to his mouth as he steps inside and takes in the full room. Watching regret flood his face when he sees what he missed is more cooling than the beer.
His gaze tracks over the walls and over every painting until it lands on me. The molten weight in my stomach threatens to overflow, and seeing him jog through the pools of light to the back just pisses me off more.
“Ash.”
I stay where I am, leaning against the high bar table until he stops in front of me. My initial silence turns us into a stalemate of who will break first.
I swallow down one more sharp thing and try saying something neutral. “You sold some art.” It doesn’t come out neutral.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I ended it with Alistair.”
“That sounds familiar.” I grip the bottle tighter, forcing myself to shut up. I promised Jenny I’d hear him out. This is me trying.
“For real this time,” he says. “It’s just… Alistair said he knew about you.”
I breathe, and take another swig to let him keep going.
“He’s manipulative,” Kael says. “He threatened both of us once he knew you worked for Query.”
“I know,” I say, and clamp my jaw before the rest spills out. I shouldn’t have had to hear any of this from Jenny.
Kael looks at me, his self-portrait over his shoulder. In the painting he’s coy and smiling. In front of me his eyes are tight, his lip caught between his teeth, like he’s biting back whatever would make this worse.
I close my eyes, and Jenny’s voice needles through me: Kael doesn’t need fixing.
“I should’ve told you about the gallery,” I say. “It started as a surprise and turned into some fantasy about how you’d see me.”
“Ash, I’m sorry, but… I think you might lose your job.”
The apology I’d barely managed to force out vanishes so fast it’s like it was never there.
“You what?” My arms go rigid, fists curling at my sides.
It takes everything not to shout. Holding it in just melts whatever’s left of that glass in my throat into one heavy, burning mass in my chest.
“He was livid,” Kael says, voice small. “I told you—it’s all some power game.”
My heart hammers against my ribs, pumping heat through my body. I turn away from him and pace, but three steps across concrete do nothing to help.
“I can’t imagine someone playing games like that,” I say, a harsh laugh scraping out. I enunciate each word slowly to keep me from exploding. “What do you mean I might lose my job?”
“I think he’ll try to punish me by firing you,” Kael says.
“And what makes you think that?”
“He said you’d be sorry. He knows everything.”
“Are you kidding?” Whatever I was using to hold myself together gives out. The gallery goes red, and all I can hear is betrayal. “You skipped something I planned, something Jenny told you about, to go talk to Alistair Blackwood, and now I might lose my job?”
“I’m sor—”
“Stop saying you’re sorry,” I snap. “You lied to me, Kael. Are you sorry for that? Are you sorry you skipped all this? Are you sorry you just cost me my job? Because ‘I’m sorry’ feels a little damn late.”
Kael fumbles for his phone, hand shaking as he holds it out. “I recorded it. I thought… we could use it. To blackmail him.”
His suggestion is like a blast of cold air. The fire in my chest collapses in on itself, leaving a hollow ache. I suddenly feel the gallery’s chill, the leftover smell of food and wine, and the way the shadows crowd around his paintings like they’re waiting to see how badly this goes.
“I know the gallery was wrong,” I say, voice gone flat. “That’s on me. But I can’t lose my job at Query. I can’t lose my”—my throat closes—“my chance at freedom.”
The feelings blur into spreadsheets and possible solutions. I could work multiple jobs, move somewhere cheaper, shrink my life, find another role. That’s where the math breaks and the full weight of damage slams in.
“How mad did you make him?” I ask.
“Excuse me?” Kael’s eyes go wide, hurt flashing into disbelief.
But panic is already connecting the dots, and I can’t stop myself from naming each one. “I work in tech,” I say. “You might think it’s stupid because you’ve already got your art, but this is what I do. This was the plan. This was how I was supposed to get happy. If Alistair Blackwood decides I’m—”
The sentence snaps off.
Why bother explaining my catastrophe? How Alistair can make sure I don’t get hired anywhere. How I’m turning into Pawpaw.
He won’t get it, because he is Chase: impulsive, convinced everything will magically be fine.
“That’s what I’m saying!” he bursts out. “I think we can avoid all that. I have him recorded.”
I grab my jacket from beside the bar.
“I’m sure you’ve cooked up some plan without me,” I scoff, brushing past him. “By all means, go to war with a billionaire to save my job. Let me know how that works out.”
“You’re leaving? Can we… talk? You haven’t even asked if I’m okay!” he calls after me, cracking on the last word. “Too embarrassed I didn’t show for a gallery I never wanted in the first place. God—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I’m spiraling.”
“Great.” I whirl around, embers flaring back to life. “I’m sorry I spent all this money doing something nice for you.”
“There it is.” His voice rises to meet mine. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Always money.”
“I thought I’d finally found someone. You. I kept wondering why I felt like this, like, maybe this is love—”
“It is!” he shouts. “I love you. I’m sorry, but I do.”
It hits like a punch, because I know, I know, I feel the same.
“I was wrong,” I say. “You’re not the phoenix, Kael. You’re the fire.”
His eyes are red-rimmed, his breath catching, but I don’t care who gets burned anymore.
“You torched the future I spent my whole life building,” I say. “And now I’ll never get it back.”
I turn for the exit, and two sets of footsteps echo against the polished concrete. He’s right on my heels.
“Get what back?” he bellows, raw. “I needed this. You have everything already. I tried to save your job, but I have to do what’s right for me. I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“Very happy.” The cold San Francisco air knifes across my face as I step outside.
Kael still has his own apartment. It’s easy to leave him on the threshold, shoulders slumped, while I spend the last of my anger.
“Congratulations. Your latest impulse has freed you from all entangling relationships. It’s what you’ve always wanted. ” I don’t look back. “Enjoy.”