Chapter 18
Ash
The fluorescent lights in the grocery store made everything look washed out and vaguely hostile. Or maybe that was just my tired, semi-irrational imagination kicking in.
I stood in the snack aisle, staring at the same shelf I’d been staring at for the past five minutes without actually seeing any of it. All the packets had blurred into one mess of corny slogans and corporate promises.
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 was saving 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 this was his 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.
@Josh4ever god the TENSION between these two
@yaassdaddy Simon can hunt me anytime
@thirsttrap2000 RIP #TheHunters but honestly #Simash hits different
@simashforever forget jude this is the pairing we deserve
I locked my phone and tossed it face down on the table.
That last one sat in my gut like spoiled food, and I’d had to go out of my way not to look at their profile image.
If I knew what they looked like, then I’d risk recognizing them in the pack, and then I’d have to fight myself not to deck them for their audacity.
Simon didn’t give a shit about any of it.
He’d seen the posts, laughed them off with easy confidence I couldn’t imagine having.
When someone showed him a particularly explicit comment during costume change, he’d just grinned and said Amanda would get a kick out of it.
Like the whole thing was a joke that didn’t touch him because he was so secure in who he was and who he belonged with.
I picked the phone back up, unlocked it and kept scrolling because apparently I hated myself.
More posts. More GIFs. More people losing their minds over something that didn’t mean anything.
There were so many dark romance comparisons, and I’d seen myself edited into almost every song Bad Omens had ever released.
I didn’t love those, but they were my favorites. Those videos typically featured Jude.
But then I’d hit the other side of the discourse. The backlash.
@crowdaddy_forever This is bullshit I paid to see JUDE
@itsapizza where are the refunds? false advertising much
@smishsmash #Simash shippers are so disrespectful. Jude literally got INJURED and you’re celebrating his replacement?
@44trucks44 some of us actually care about the original Hunters dynamic but go off I guess
@hateithere You thirsty bitches need to go back to your shitty toxic porn books.
The comments spiraled into arguments. People defending Simon, people attacking the complainers, people demanding their money back, people calling those people entitled.
There was a whole goddamn war waging over something none of the participants actually understood or had any right having an opinion on.
It was frustrating, and I’d never wanted to become a keyboard warrior so much in my life.
I pushed the urge back and kept scrolling until I found Jude’s account.
My stomach lurched.
Active thirty seconds ago.
He was online. Right now. Watching this same shitshow unfold in real time.
I clicked through to his profile. He hadn’t posted anything new, but he’d liked a few comments.
All of them were supportive messages wishing him a quick recovery or saying they missed seeing him perform.
Sweet stuff. The kind of thing that probably felt like a lifeline when you were stuck at home watching someone else take your place.
I stared at the screen until my vision blurred. My finger hovered over the message button, but what the hell was I supposed to say that I hadn’t already tried? He’d read everything I’d sent and responded to exactly none of it.