Chapter 8 #3
It should be alarming. What’s alarming is how non-alarming the possibility feels.
And anyway, he’s not going to be a hypocrite. It’s not like he didn’t look Ash up himself, although for a different reason.
“They invited me,” he answers the question. “Good timing, too. I needed a drink, anyway.”
“Does it have anything to do with your phone call earlier?”
Fuck. He forgot Ash probably overheard him. “Hey, mind your own business.”
“Sorry. You just seemed quite upset.”
Yeah, no shit. “So? What do you care?”
“I’m a caring guy.” He laughs at the face Kieran makes. “Do you wanna talk about it? I’m a good listener.”
“No. And there’s nothing to tell, anyway. Life is shit. It’s a fact. I don’t wanna be sober for it.”
“Maybe I could help.”
Jesus, this guy doesn’t know when to stop.
“You know how you can help? Get my best friend to leave his jerk of a husband. Oh wait—” He snaps his fingers and gives a mocking laugh.
“You can’t. Clearly, you can’t even do your goddamn job.
” He feels the bubbling of anger under his skin again, but it simmers out almost instantly, leaving him awfully cold and empty.
“Fuck, forget it.” Sensing a headache forming, he rubs his temples.
“It’s not like I’ve done any better on that front, so I can’t really blame you. ”
Ash is quiet for a long time, but when he finally speaks, it’s in a low, soothing voice.
“Dawson’s decisions are his responsibility. That’s not on you, Kieran.”
“The fuck it isn’t!” Kieran yells, drawing the attention of a few people close by. “What kind of person can’t even save their friend from making the biggest mistake of his life?”
“You can’t save somebody from themselves, that’s like trying to stop an avalanche. It’s out of your control.” Ash doesn’t even comment on the outburst, just continues using that same, calm voice from before.
Kieran hates how well it works on settling his emotions. What an irony, considering Ash is usually the reason for his elevated blood pressure. The guy really is a walking, talking contradiction.
“Why are you even in this business, then? I thought saving people from themselves is your job.” It’s more of a jab than a question, Kieran already knows that therapy is a scam.
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Ash laughs, but it’s a dry, strained sound. “It’s more complex than that. I can’t cut anyone’s chains for them. And neither can you.”
If that was supposed to make him feel better, it failed miserably. “So what? We just give them the tools or some shit?”
“You’re pretty good at this metaphor,” Ash says, back to teasing. At Kieran’s scathing look, he turns more serious. “Yes, you give them the tools.”
“How do you make sure they use them?”
Are they really having this conversation? Never in his life did he think he’d go down the philosophical route.
He blames Dawson for this.
“You can’t,” Ash tells him honestly. It’s the most serious Kieran’s ever seen him, and just as bizarre as seeing him laugh. “They have to choose it. That’s my job. I’m supposed to make them want to choose it.”
“Well, you suck at it,” Kieran says, hoping his stern words will mask the way his heart is currently plummeting through his stomach.
No matter how skeptical he is about therapy, a part of him, as tiny as it was, secretly hoped Ash would have the answers.
Something Kieran could use to save his friend.
He should’ve known better.
“Believe me, I wish I could control everything,” Ash says, letting out a short, rueful laugh. “Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. That being said, I wouldn’t worry about Dawson.”
Kieran stares at him with a gobsmacked expression. First Zeke, and now Ash? He doesn’t know why, but he expected Ash to be more…rational?
Yeah, right, what was he thinking?
“Fucking hell, not you too.” Face dropping into his palms, he lets out a frustrated groan. “What’s wrong with you people? Can’t you see?!”
He doesn’t realize how worked up he got until he feels Ash’s hand on his shoulder.
Instead of shaking it off, as all his instincts are telling him, Kieran lets him.
There’s something unexpectedly grounding about the contact, as if the world is shifting around him, but the simple gesture helps him feel steady.
Nothing’s shifting, idiot. You’re just drunk.
And yet, the mocking voice in his head isn’t enough to move away from the touch. Instead, to his horror, Kieran finds himself ever-so-subtly leaning into it.
“Kieran, look at me,” Ash prompts him. “Look at me,” he repeats more sternly.
And for whatever fucking reason, Kieran does, feeling almost compelled to obey.
“It will be okay,” Ash says very slowly, as if speaking to a child.
“Dawson’s not going to get hurt. Everything will be just fine, I promise. ”
Kieran swallows. Why the fuck is this actually making him feel better? How is Ash staring intently into his eyes and basically promising him the moon quelling his panic?
Now panicking for a whole new reason, Kieran finally shakes Ash’s hand off, turning away from him.
“You can’t know that,” he contradicts, just to preserve some of his rationality.
“I can. This time, I can.”
Fuck. How can he make it sound so convincing? Kieran can actually feel himself relaxing just listening to him. Did Ash slip something in his water or something? There’s no other explanation.
“Whatever. It’s not like I can do anything anyway,” he says dismissively, praying to whatever higher power is listening that they’ll change the subject. Hell, he’ll even take the perverted talk over this.
“You are a good friend, Kieran. Dawson is lucky to have you,” Ash says, sounding so sincere Kieran wants to punch him. Or run away. In the end, he stays where he is, desperately trying to fight off the flush he feels spreading over his face.
“Yeah, right. Doesn’t seem like he’s glad he has to put up with me.” Cynicism. That should work. Plus, he’s not wrong.
He still doesn’t understand why someone like Dawson, kind and soft-spoken, has stuck by him this far.
And, at times, he wonders if Dawson just feels sorry for him.
It’s not like he gets anything out of his relationship with Kieran—these past few years have proven just how useless Kieran is as a friend.
Most people drop him once they get fed up with him, which never takes long. It’s only a matter of time before they decide he’s too much. He’s always been too much.
“You’re not too much.”
“What?” Shit. Did he say that out loud? He’d swear his lips hadn’t moved.
“You’re not too much,” Ash repeats, back to being serious.
“The right per— The right people will never think you’re too much.
” He doesn’t even give Kieran a chance to gather his wits before he plows on.
“You’re a lot, but that’s a good thing. So don’t try to make yourself smaller to make others comfortable. ”
Heart beating so fast it might as well climb up his throat and jump out of his mouth straight into Ash’s hands, Kieran does what he knows to do best—fights, then flees.
“I never asked for your wise-ass advice. Mind your own business.” In an attempt to get his feet under him and get the fuck out of here, he finds it’s not just his dignity that has left him, but his balance as well.
Thankfully, the chair is still right there, and he falls back onto it with a thud. “Ouch.”
“Looks like you’re my business now,” Ash tells him, sounding very pleased about it. Jerk.
“Fuck off,” Kieran mumbles, though, to be completely honest, he doesn’t hate it all that much. When was he ever anyone’s business? Has there ever been a time like that? He can’t remember.
“Yeah, yeah. Once we get you home.”