Chapter 5
Ash
Frank’s Diner was mostly empty when I arrived, just the usual late-night crowd of truckers and people coming down from various highs. I grabbed a corner booth and ordered coffee, trying to settle my nerves.
He might not come. Probably wouldn’t come. Jude wasn’t the type to fraternize with people he clearly disliked—
The door chimed, and he walked in.
My heart did something complicated in my chest as I watched him scan the diner, find me, and head over.
He slid into the booth across from me, and neither of us spoke for a moment.
The fluorescent lights were harsh and unflattering, nothing like the dramatic reds and strobes of the scare zone, but somehow, he still looked good.
“You came,” I said finally.
“You’re buying. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you don’t like me.”
The words were out before I could stop them, and I watched his expression shift.
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.” I leaned back against the booth, suddenly exhausted. “You’ve been pissed at me since day one. I just couldn’t figure out why.”
“I’m not pissed at you.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Well then. Maybe it’s because you’re trying to outperform me.”
“There’s room for both of us.” I kept my voice quiet and gentle. “It doesn’t have to be a competition.”
“You made it one.”
“No, you did. Last night, officially. But you’ve been at it the second I showed up and dared to be good at this.
” I held his stare, watching emotions flicker across his face.
“I get it, though. You built something here. Then I walk in, and suddenly you’ve gotta share the spotlight.
That’s gotta suck.” I wasn’t trying to be condescending, though even I knew the connotation was there.
Jude had never had an issue with his previous partner, at least that’s what I’d heard. So why was I so different?
The waitress appeared and took our orders. Jude got the full breakfast he’d demanded, and I just asked for more coffee. When we were alone again, he spoke.
“It’s not about the spotlight,” he said, and his voice was rougher than usual. “It’s about you being impossible to ignore.”
My breath caught. “What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer, and I watched him shut down again, walls going back up. “Forget it. I’m just tired.”
“No.” I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You don’t get to say something like that and then take it back. What did you mean?”
The diner felt too bright and public for this conversation, but I was tired of circling around this. Sometimes he looked at me like I was a stone in his shoe, and other times it looked like he wanted to devour me.
My sick brain liked both, but my heart needed to get some sort of answer.
“I mean, you’re distracting,” he said finally, not looking up from his plate.
“Every shift. Every fight sequence. I can’t focus when you’re around, and it’s making me worse at my job, which I fucking hate because I’m good at this.
I’ve always been good at this. But you showed up, and now I’m spending more time tracking where you are and trying to plan for your inconsistencies than actually performing.
Tonight was supposed to prove I could beat you, but I can’t even tell who won because all I remember is—”
He cut himself off, jaw clenching.
“Is what?” I kept my voice low, careful, like he was a wild thing I might spook.
He finally looked at me, and whatever I saw in his face had my mouth running dry. “Is you.”
My heart stopped. Fucking stopped. I was sure of it. But if I’d been foolish enough to expect a deep and meaningful love declaration to follow, I would have been disappointed.
The waitress chose that moment to top up my coffee, and I could’ve screamed at the interruption. Jude’s confession hung in the air between us, incomplete and electric, and now he was turning his attention to pancakes like he hadn’t just admitted I lived in his head rent-free.
“That’s not an answer,” I said once we were alone again.
Jude cut into his eggs with unnecessary force. “Yes, it is.”
“No, that’s you admitting I get under your skin. Which, congrats, because same. It doesn’t explain why you’ve been treating me like competition instead of a partner.”
“Because you don’t follow the choreography.” The words came out sharp, defensive. “You improvise constantly. Change blocking, add moves we never rehearsed. Tonight, you vaulted a barrier we’re not supposed to touch and could’ve gotten hurt.”
I sat back, arms crossed. “I landed fine.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is? Because it sounds like you’re mad I’m good at my job.”
His fork clattered against the plate. “I’m mad because I don’t know what you’re going to do next. Every performance is a gamble. I can’t anticipate you, can’t prepare for you, and it’s driving me fucking insane.”
There it was. The real issue stripped bare. Jude needed control, needed patterns he could predict and follow. And I was chaos embodied. Improvisation and instinct over planning.
We were fundamentally incompatible.
Except for the part where we weren’t, where our fights looked less like choreography and more like a conversation neither of us could have with words.
Or the fact that I improvised because we were so good together.
Because he made me want to be stunning out there, not just for the guests, but for him.
“You know what I think?” I leaned forward again, close enough to watch his pupils dilate. “I think you like that you can’t predict me. I think it scares you how much you like it.”
His throat worked on a swallow. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I? Because you just admitted you spend every shift tracking me. That’s not anger, Jude. That’s something else.”
“Don’t.” His voice dropped into a warning. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”
“And what is it?”
He held my gaze, and I saw the war happening behind his eyes. Whatever he wanted to say, whatever truth was trying to claw its way out, he shoved it back down. When he spoke again, his voice was carefully neutral.
“It’s two coworkers who need to figure out how to work together without making it weird.”
The dismissal stung worse than I expected. I’d pushed too hard, asked for too much, and now he was retreating into professionalism like it could protect him.
Fine. Two can play that game.
“Right, coworkers.” I grabbed my coffee and drained it, the lukewarm liquid bitter on my tongue. “Then here’s what we do. Next shift, I’ll stick to the script. No improvising, no surprises. You’ll know exactly what I’m going to do before I do it. Happy?”
“Ash—”
“That’s what you want, right? Predictability. Consider it done.” I flagged down the waitress for the check, more than ready to get out of this conversation. “Enjoy your breakfast. You earned it, Jude.”
I could feel his eyes on me as I paid. I stood to leave, and despite my irritation, it was harder to step away than it should have been. Part of me wanted him to stop me, to say something that would make this hurt less. But he just sat there, jaw tight and hands clenched around his fork.
“See you tomorrow,” I said, and walked out into the pre-dawn darkness.
***
My phone buzzed while I was driving home, but I ignored it. Probably Parker with some schedule change or maintenance notice. I was too frustrated to deal with work right now.
The apartment was empty and cold when I got there.
I stripped out of my clothes and collapsed into bed, pausing only to draw the blackout curtains that were vital for night workers.
But sleep wouldn’t come. My mind kept replaying the conversation, the way Jude had said you like it was a confession and a curse all at once.
I grabbed my phone to set an alarm and saw the notification.
It wasn’t from Parker.
It was Jude.
I don’t want you to be predictable.
I stared at the message, thumb hovering over it. My heart was racing with the same electricity that had crackled through my veins at the diner.
As I saw it, I had three options. I could read it and respond, read it and ignore it, or leave it unread until I could think straight.
I locked my phone and put it face down on the nightstand.
Whatever Jude wanted to say, whatever game we were playing now, it could wait until I wasn’t still feeling the ghost of his body against mine.
***
Jude arrived at five thirty, same as always. I heard his voice in the hallway before I saw him, that low rumble talking to Riley about something. My pulse kicked up despite my best efforts to stay calm.
Then Parker intercepted him.
I couldn’t hear the conversation from where I stood in the gear room, but I watched through the doorway as Parker gestured enthusiastically, probably explaining the “improvements” to the choreography.
Jude’s posture changed instantly. His shoulders went rigid, and even from thirty feet away I could see the muscle jumping in his jaw.
His eyes found mine across the space.
The look he gave me could’ve stripped paint.
Parker kept talking, oblivious to the tension, and when he walked away, Jude headed straight for me. Riley tried to say something, but Jude ignored her.
“What the fuck did you do?”
I straightened, forcing myself to meet his stare. “Good evening to you too.”
“Don’t.” His voice was sharp enough to draw blood. “Parker just told me you’ve been redesigning my sequences. Want to explain that?”
Other performers were starting to filter in for the shift. Jonas paused mid-conversation with one of the chainsaw guys, watching us.
“I demonstrated a safer way to take a fall. That’s it.”
“A safer way.” Jude’s laugh was bitter and cold. “Right. Because I’ve only been doing this for three years without breaking my neck, but sure, the new guy knows better.”
“Parker asked me to show him—”
“You could’ve said no. You could’ve told him to talk to me first.” Jude stepped closer, and I caught the familiar scent of the gel he used in his hair. “But you didn’t, because this is what you do. You show up, you improvise all over everything I built, and now you’re literally erasing my work.”
Heat flared in my chest. “I’m not erasing anything. I’m making it better.”
“Better?” The word came out like venom. “You’ve been here five fucking minutes. You think you can just waltz in and improve on something you don’t understand?”
“Maybe if you weren’t so goddamn territorial, you’d see that collaboration might actually—”
“Collaboration?” Jude cut me off, his voice rising. “Is that what this is? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to replace me. You want my spot, my reputation, my sequences. What’s next, Ash? You gonna start wearing my gear too?”
The other performers had gone quiet now, all eyes on us.
I felt something snap inside me. “You know what? Maybe the reason your last partner bailed was because you’re impossible to fucking work with.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Jude went very still. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and deadly. “You don’t know shit about Taylor.”
“I know he didn’t come back. I know everyone here walks on eggshells around you because God forbid someone disrupts your perfect little kingdom.
” I was on a roll now, too angry to stop.
“You’re so busy protecting what you created years ago that you can’t see you’re coasting by on outdated reputation. ”
Jude moved fast, closing the distance between us until we were chest to chest. “Say that again.”
“You heard me.”
“You’re a knockoff, Ash. A cheap replacement trying to wear someone else’s skin.” His eyes were black with fury. “The only reason you’re here is because I needed a partner and you were convenient. Don’t mistake that for being special.”
The words hit like a fist to the gut, but I didn’t back down. “At least I’m not a washed-up has-been clinging to past glory.”
Jude shoved me, hands flat against my chest. I stumbled back into the gear rack, and then I was moving forward, grabbing his shirt na hauling him against me.
“You think you’re so much better than everyone else,” Jude spat, his breath hot against my face. “Walking around like you own the place.”
“I’m doing my job. The job Parker hired me for.”
“Your job was to follow my lead, not rewrite the entire show.”
I shoved him again. He caught himself against the lockers with a metallic bang that echoed through the room.
“Maybe if your choreography wasn’t stuck in 2022, I wouldn’t have to fix it.”
Jude came at me fast, getting his forearm across my chest and driving me back into the gear rack. Straps and buckles dug into my spine.
“What choreography? It’s amazing I haven’t broken my fucking neck; you can’t stick to a routine for more than thirty seconds without going rogue.”
“Because your routines are boring as hell.”
His forearm pressed harder. “They work. They’re tested. They’re safe.”
“They’re predictable.” I grabbed his arm, trying to push him off. “Just like you.”
The muscle in his jaw flexed. “At least I’m reliable. You’re just chaos looking for a place to explode.”
“Better than being a control freak so far up his own ass he can’t see past his ego.”
We were nose to nose now, both breathing hard. The hatred coming off Jude was palpable, a living thing that filled the space between us. His eyes were dark with it, his whole body rigid with barely contained rage.
What had I done to make him hate me this much?
I’d wanted this job for months before Parker hired me. Wanted to work with Jude, learn from him. Maybe more than that, if I was being honest with myself. But standing here with his forearm crushing my sternum and nothing but disgust in his eyes, I finally understood.
He didn’t just dislike me. He despised me.
“Break it up.” Riley wormed her way between us, one hand on Jude’s chest and the other on mine, physically pushing us apart. “Both of you, back off. Now.”
Jude stepped back first, his chest still heaving. I stayed against the gear rack, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
“Are you two out of your minds?” Riley looked between us, her expression fierce. “Half the crew just watched you nearly throw down in the middle of the staff area. You want Parker to fire you both? Because that’s exactly where this is heading.”
Jonas appeared behind her, tall enough to loom even without his stilts. “She’s right. You’re making a scene.”
Jude straightened his shirt, his movements sharp and controlled. He didn’t look at me.
“This isn’t over,” he said quietly.
Then he turned and walked out.