Chapter 14
Ash
I sat in my car for twenty minutes before I could trust myself to drive.
The steering wheel was cold under my hands. Rain drummed on the roof, steady and relentless. Each drop weighed me down and added to my sour mood.
What did you expect?
I’d pushed. Of course I’d pushed. I always pushed when I should’ve left well enough alone. And now I’d ruined the one good thing I had going for me.
Good? Was that what I was calling it? Fucking in storage closets and bathrooms. Being told I was nothing more than an impulse Jude couldn’t control.
Yeah, that was so good and healthy.
My hands shook so hard that it took me two attempts to key the ignition.
The worst part wasn’t even what he’d said.
It was that I’d let myself hope for something different.
That touch to my hair had undone me completely, and I’d lost myself in it.
It was such a silly little gesture. Thoughtless, probably.
Muscle memory from some other guy Jude had cared about before he’d learned not to.
But I’d read everything into it. Built castles out of that single moment of tenderness, and then I’d jumped. I had launched myself into impossible conclusions and fixated on a future filled with happiness. Filled with him in places where the light exposed us.
I was such a fucking idiot.
I drove home through empty streets. My apartment was dark and cold when I got there. I didn’t bother with lights. I just stripped out of my clothes and fell into bed, then stared at the ceiling while trying not to think about anything.
Sleep didn’t come. I lay there replaying the fight. Every word. Every look on his face when I’d accused him of being damaged by his parents.
That had been cruel. I’d known it even as I’d said it. But he’d been pushing me away, and I’d wanted to hurt him back. I wanted him to feel as shitty as I did.
Mission accomplished, I guess.
Around five in the morning, I gave up on sleep. Made coffee. Sat at my kitchen table and tried to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do now.
We still had to work together. We still had to perform and touch and fight and play out our Hunter dynamic for screaming crowds who had no idea we were falling apart behind the scenes.
It made me want to be sick.
I could quit. Walk away. Tell Parker I needed to leave for personal reasons. Or just ghost the place completely. I wouldn’t lose that much of my pay, and it wasn’t like I was close enough to any of the crew to have them come looking for me.
I’d only taken this job because of Jude. That was pathetic but true.
I’d wanted to know him from the first time I saw him.
He’d moved through the fog like something otherworldly, all lean muscle and controlled violence, and the skeleton paint had made him look deadly and beautiful at the same time.
I’d stood there in the crowd like a star-struck fool while he’d stalked past me without a glance.
Then I’d gone home and obsessed. I looked him up online, found videos of his performances and then watched them over and over until I’d memorized every movement. And it had worked! I got the job and dream pairing, and I got to live out my fantasy of being his equal on the stage.
But then I’d gotten greedy. The professional partnership hadn’t been enough. I’d wanted more. I wanted him to look at me the way I looked at him, and for a few desperate moments in closets and bathrooms and the back of my car, I’d thought maybe I’d get it all.
I’d been stupid enough to think that having him physically would lead to having him in other ways. That the sex would open doors to something real. Something soft. That one day he’d touch my hair the way he had tonight and it wouldn’t surprise him. That it would be natural and easy.
I wanted him as a lover, as someone who was mine, not just as a casual fuck.
I’d been so fucking na?ve.
So, quitting would be the smart thing—the self-preserving thing. I could walk away before this got any worse and before I humiliated myself further by hoping for things he’d never give me.
But quitting meant admitting defeat. Meant letting him win. And I’d never been good at backing down from a fight, even when the fight was killing me.
***
The next shift was torture.
I showed up early because my body was running on autopilot. Muscle memory dragged me to Ridgeway when every rational thought screamed to stay home. To call in sick. To do anything but face him.
I sat in my car watching the minutes tick down on my phone until I couldn’t justify waiting any longer. When I finally forced myself inside, Jude’s jacket was already hanging on its hook in the changing room. He was in the far corner, putting the finishing touches on his face.
The sight of it made my throat constrict.
We didn’t speak. I moved to the opposite side of the room and started gearing up, pulling on each piece of my costume with numb fingers.
Across from me, Jude adjusted his holsters.
The familiar clink of buckles filled the silence between us.
Just yesterday that sound would have driven me wild, but now it just punctuated the awkwardness.
He never once looked in my direction.
Riley appeared in the doorway. “Parker wants everyone in the main zone for a quick meeting.”
“Yeah.” Jude’s voice came out flat and lifeless. He brushed past me on his way out, close enough that I caught his scent. Smoke and gel and that aftershave he used to mask the smell of sweat and leather.
I followed them to the main zone where the rest of the crew had gathered, and I stood as far from Jude as physically possible.
Parker climbed up onto a crate so everyone could see him, clipboard in hand.
“Alright, so corporate’s running the ‘Secrets of the Scare’ challenge.”
A few performers groaned. I’d never had to deal with this as a performer, but I’d watched it play out online last year.
“Guests can ask performers cryptic questions that have been handed out on entry. You give cryptic answers. They post it online, tagging us, blah blah. Best posts win prizes.” Parker scrolled through his phone.
“There’s a list of approved responses, but you can improvise if someone catches you off guard.
Just keep it mysterious. Make them feel like they’re getting insider info without actually telling them anything. ”
Great. More people asking questions. More attention. More chances to screw up while pretending my world wasn’t imploding.
“Most of the questions are about your character or teammates,” Parker continued. “Play it up. Make some personal lore. Just give them content.”
I risked a glance at Jude. He stared straight ahead. Jaw tight.
When we finally dispersed to our zones, I felt the cold distance between us like a blade.
We hit our marks because we’d done them so many times our bodies knew the steps without thought.
But watching Jude move through the fog, seeing the careful way he angled himself to avoid me, the deliberate space he maintained even during our choreographed contacts—it gutted me.
He’d shut down completely. Gone was the man who’d grabbed my jaw at Murphy’s and claimed me.
Gone was the intensity that made our fights feel real.
Now he was just a professional executing his job.
When I grabbed his vest during the sequence, his eyes slid past my face like I wasn’t even there.
When I pinned him, he countered mechanically, no heat in his movements. Just efficient. Clinical.
We’d gone from almost tearing each other apart in front of everyone to trying to avoid as much physical contact as possible. And the worst part? I’d done this. I’d pushed him away.
A group of teenagers wandered through. They glanced at us, phones out, clearly hoping for something viral.
“Come on!” a girl called. “Give us something good!” They wanted the version of us that had broken the internet. The feral, dangerous Hunters who looked like they wanted to devour each other.
Jude lunged at them, but his heart wasn’t in it. They laughed, but it was wrong. It was a pitying sound, the kind of laugh you gave a street performer who was bombing.
My face burned under the paint.
Jude circled back into the shadows without even trying to salvage it. The teenagers wandered off, disappointed and still scrolling on their phones, their attention spans already failing.
One boy lingered. “Hey, for the contest. What’s your partner’s biggest secret?”
I hesitated. What was I supposed to say? He lets me fuck him as long as I don’t look him in the eyes?
“He’s better than he thinks,” I finally managed. The approved cryptic bullshit. “And worse than he pretends.”
The kid grinned and typed it into his phone before jogging after his friends.
I stood alone in the red light, smoke curling around my boots as the speakers overhead played our soundtrack. It used to make my blood sing. Now it just reminded me of everything we weren’t anymore.
Another group approached, and I scared them on autopilot. They shrieked and scattered, and it should’ve felt good, maybe even made me smug, but instead it felt like nothing.
***
By the second night of phoning it in, management noticed.
Parker caught us between rotations, hauling us into the supply corridor where the smell of fake blood and machinery grease was thick enough to taste. His arms were crossed, expression tight.
“What’s going on with you two?”
Jude leaned against the wall, arms folded. He was a perfect picture of indifference. “We’re working.”
“You’re sleepwalking. I’ve had six different guests say the Hunters aren’t as good as the videos.” Parker’s clipboard tapped against his thigh, a staccato punctuation to each word. “The whole point of putting you together was the energy. Where the hell did it go?”
My throat felt lined with sandpaper. “We’ll fix it.”