Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ASH
A fter our picnic, we head to Patty's and talk for a bit to Walt, Rusty’s bouncer-slash-off-duty-cop friend. Soon, the bar's too busy, though, and he goes back to work as the 77's start their set. Patty wasn't kidding about how good they are. They have the right mix of upbeat and slow songs, and because this is a honky tonk Irish pub, there's a lot of dancing.
And that means slow dancing.
Rusty and I are sweaty and smiling as we sway, and I feel like I'm in a heady cloud of love. I know we're in public, so we have to act a certain way, but … I'm not acting.
And I don't think he is, either.
I can't know for sure, but he's not crossing any lines that he could cross. He's not even kissing me, but we feel like us. This whole week, I've thought Rusty was faking his confidence along with his feelings, but this sophisticated, assured version feels more authentic than the reserved version I've known all along. He's never felt so genuine to me or seemed so comfortable in his own skin.
At the end of the song, I excuse myself to go to the ladies' room. I walk through the lounge and back into the bar, where the bathrooms are. The line for the women's restroom is out the door, as it so often is. I smile at the woman directly in front of me, and then it hits me that I know her.
She's the woman Philip took to the game last night.
"Oh, hey," she says. "I know you. You're Philip's ex."
"That's me," I say. "Ash. And it's Heather, right?"
"That's right." She fiddles with her necklace. "So did you and Philip date for long?"
"About a year."
She nods. "And are you wanting to get back together with him?"
"No! Nope. Not at all. 0 out of 10. Would not recommend."
She's clearly taken aback. "Why do you say that?"
"Did you watch the, uh, ice football game the other night?"
"Sure did."
"Then you saw all the cheap shots, right?"
"It was just a game. And besides, your date punched him, too."
"That's true," I say. The line moves up as two women leave the bathroom. We're almost to the door. "I'm not talking about a game, though.” I sigh. “Listen, Philip is a master of cheap shots. He finds out exactly what buttons to push, and when no one's looking, he pushes and pushes and pushes them until you either fight back or curl up and keep taking it. I should have fought back."
Heather puts her hand on her hip. "It sounds like emotional manipulation."
"Yeah."
"Why didn't you say that the first time?"
I pause. "I guess I didn't think you'd believe me. "
"What the heck? I've gone on two dates with the guy, and you know him way better than I do. Sisters have to look out for each other." The door opens, and it's Heather's turn to go in. "Do better, Ashley."
I don't see Heather again. Not when I get into the bathroom, not when I'm washing my hands, and not when I'm leaving the restroom and going back through the bar.
I see Philip, though. He's sitting at the counter drinking alone and looking incensed. I give him a wide berth, not wanting to draw his attention or his ire.
Unfortunately, he sees me.
"Ashley!" he yells. I keep walking, but he stops me before I can make it to the lounge. "Funny running into you here. I seem to have found myself mysteriously dateless."
"Heather seems like a woman with good taste," I say.
"I'd rather be here with you."
"You're so full of it, Philip. You don't care about me."
"Why do you always sell yourself short like that? You mean the world to me, baby. I should never have let you go."
"You're drunk. You should go home."
"I'm barely buzzed," he says. Then his upper lip curls in a sneer. "Real nice job on the campaign, by the way. I didn't figure you for someone who'd exploit a connection to get ahead."
Do you know what should have been the first red flag with Philip? The fact that I never told him Lou’s secret. When I told him I went to college with Lucy Jane, he got so eager about it, I couldn't tell him the truth. I wasn't afraid of exposing her, either. I was afraid he'd hit on her in front of me. I thought he was such a catch, it seemed like a foregone conclusion that she would have liked him back.
Silly, silly me.
He actually wondered about it once. He said, "You call yourselves the Janes, you went to college with Lucy Jane, and Lou's real name is Lucy. You can't tell me that's a coincidence. "
"You got me," I said. "She really is Lucy Jane. She spends all day as an associate at a law firm doing grunt work, but she's secretly a famous millionaire. Who in her right mind would do that?"
He snorted and mercifully let it go.
My motives were iffy, but my instinct was spot on. He wasn't a safe person to share my secrets with. He definitely would have hit on her, and he would have manipulated me into thinking nothing happened and that I was being crazy to think otherwise.
Only a couple of weeks ago, Philip saying I used Lou to beat him would have sent me spiraling into self doubt. Fake dating or not, it's astonishing what feeling seen, appreciated, and loved has done for me.
I hold my head high. "It only feels like exploitation to you because you're incapable of real friendships. She's the one who offered."
"Right, like you didn't plant it in her head. You couldn't stand the thought of me winning."
I look at his dull hair and glassy eyes. "I didn't realize I had so much power over you."
"Pfft," he says. "You don't have any power over me. I don't care about you."
"Your quarterly texts would suggest otherwise."
"Come off it, Ashley. You think you're so special, I'm obsessed with you? You're the one who blocked me!"
“You're right, I did," I tell him. "And I did it because I think I'm so special. You're toxic, bro. Blocking you is like blocking nerve gas. Good for one's health. Recommended by doctors everywhere."
"More like psychiatrists," he says.
I give a humorless laugh. "Oh my gosh, that's hilarious. Because a psychiatrist diagnosed my ADHD, right? Oh, man. Killer. So funny. Neurodivergence digs are so hot right now. "
"Whoa," he says, as if I’m so out of control. "Calm down. I didn't go there. I wouldn't make fun of a diagnosis."
"You just did."
"What? No. That's not what I meant. You always read into things."
"Philip, you mentioned psychiatrists."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"You're gaslighting me right now. "
He holds his hands out and laughs like he can't believe his ears. " Gaslighting? Yikes. Chill out, Ashley. You are so dramatic."
I could scream. Part of me wants to fight back and not let him drag me back down to his level. But even as I think it, the fight drains out of me.
I don’t care enough.
Philip is a hangnail I put a bandaid over a long time ago. It’s time to clip it.
I look at him. "Are you okay?"
"What?"
"You flew all the way out here to overhaul a small town that should have been a gimme, and you lost. Is your grandpa going to be upset?"
"I haven't lost."
“Oh, okay,” I say.
“I haven’t!”
“Good for you.”
“You’re unhinged. You’re hysterical.”
I flip my hair like I’m Elle Woods. “Thank you! I am hysterical.”
Growing up in Colorado, there were mountain passes and "beware of falling rocks" signs everywhere. Once in high school, a rock the size of a golf ball fell from a cliff, bounced on the highway, and smashed into the windshield of my Subaru. I watched the glass fracture out from that point of impact, creating a fragile spiderweb. A strong gust of wind could have finished the job and left me sitting in a pile of shattered glass.
My words are that point of impact in Philip's thin veneer. The fractures are spreading.
But his front hasn't shattered yet. He moves his target. "I'm worried about you, Ashley. All these famous friends, this boyfriend, heck, your own family — they don't get you. You're not like other people. Your own dad rejected you. I'm the only one who understands you. I mean, look at you!"
I look down at myself. I don't have Jane's legs or Millie's curves or Parker's arms and back. I don't have Lou's otherworldly mystique. What I do have is all me, though. "I know. I’m fabulous, aren’t I?" I spot a face behind Philip that makes me grin, and that makes Philip’s eye twitch.
"You think your boyfriend likes you because you're pretty or special, or something? He likes you because you're crazy. Every guy knows crazy girls make the hottest? — "
Rusty grabs Philip's shoulder and whips him around.
"What did you say to my girlfriend?" Rusty says in a tone so sinister, Batman would be envious.
Philip shakes his head, not backing down but not looking Rusty in the eye. "Easy, bro. It was just a joke."
Rusty's fists are clenched by his side. I stand behind him and put my hand on his shoulder. "No, you're a joke. What you said was inexcusable."
"Dude, you're way off base. This was just a chat between exes that got a little heated."
"Then maybe I can help you cool off outside."
"You don't have your big friend here this time."
"I don't need him."
"Right,” Philip says. “Whatever you have to tell yourself, Fight Club. You and Ashley are perfect for each other. You're both nuts."
"You should watch what you say about my girlfriend. "
"Resorting to threats, are we Rusty ?"
Rusty has slowly backed Philip up to the exit door. Patty comes out from behind the bar to follow us.
Philip's back hits the panic bar, and he stumbles outside. He's buzzed enough to be bolder than normal but sober enough to stay steady on his feet. "You're a big man when you're wearing pads."
"And you're a little man who threatens women. But if you'd like to finish what we started on the rink, I'm not wearing pads now."
Rusty hasn't laid a finger on Philip. He's so intimidating, his very presence is overpowering my useless ex.
The problem is, when Philip is backed into a corner, like a dog, he'll attack.
And out here in the parking lot, Philip has reached his corner.
"You two think your little social media blitz can compare with the money my family can drop on this town?"
I scoff. "I think your grandpa didn't get rich by listening to the advice of a senior director who only got the job because you share a last name."
Rusty snorts. "Well said."
"Right? It just came to me in a wave of brilliance."
He shakes with laughter, puts an arm around me, and then kisses me softly. His lips are soft and salty from the peanuts we were eating while waiting for the show. I lick my lips when he breaks away. "Mmm. Add a bit of jelly, and you got yourself a sandwich there, babe."
"A cheese sandwich, maybe."
I laugh. "What do you mean, cheese? That was funny!"
"It was corny. Don't get me wrong, I like it. But it was corny."
"Of course you like corn, Farm Boy ," I tease. We've already turned around and are going back up the stairs to the bar when a hand grabs my arm. Hard .
"Hey!" I yell at Philip, who pulls me back.
In a flash, Rusty wheels around and drives his fist into Philip's face. Philip releases me and drops like a rock.
He clutches his face, and blood drips through his fingers. "You broke my nose!"
"Don't you ever touch her again."
"I'll sue you for this. I'll take everything!"
"Yet he’s the one who has a witness," Patty says. "And I saw a sniveling weasel try to assault a woman? — "
"I didn't assault her!"
"And her brave boyfriend defended her," Patty says.
"You'll be hearing from my lawyer!" Philip says, getting up and running to his car.
"And you'll be hearing from the state troopers, because you already had four beers and a shot," Patty yells.
Philip seems to consider this. And then he unlocks his rental and jumps in.
Patty and Rusty spring into action. They sprint at full speed and yank the door open before Philip can put it in drive.
Rusty's there first, and he grabs Philip by the shirt and pulls him out on his butt, the car still running. Patty looks like he wants to tear Philip’s head off, but surprisingly, Rusty’s the one to pat his chest.
“It’s okay, man,” Rusty says. Patty pants and stares murderously at Philip, but he nods.
"Well, well, well," a voice says behind me. It's Rusty's bouncer-cop friend, Walt. "Looks like y'all are heroes. I'll take it from here," he says.
Philip cowers on the ground. "What are you gonna do, beat me up?"
"What? Oh, you think I'm an enforcer for the bar?" Walt laughs hard. "Brother, I'm an off duty cop, and you parked right in front of me." He sniffs a laugh. "Who tries to drive drunk parked next to a cop car? "
"I wasn't trying to drive!" Philip cries. "I was going to sleep it off. They're lying!"
"Oh dear. That's a serious accusation. Let's check my dash cam."
In the bar's flood lights, the blood seems to drain from Philip's face.
"Thanks Walt," Rusty yells.
The officer waves, and Patty claps Rusty's back.
“Thanks for holding me back,” Patty mutters.
“Thanks for having my back,” Rusty says. Patty nods and returns to the bar.
As much as I'd love to stand here and watch Walt read Philip his rights, I thread my fingers in Rusty's and pull him into the bar behind Patty. We go straight through to the lounge, and the moment we get there, I put my arms around his shoulders. Rusty's hands find my hips, and he presses his thumbs into the dip in my waist. His hazel eyes look worried.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"Totally," I say. "I mean it. He has no power over me anymore."
"He grabbed you.”
"Hey, don't worry about him," I say. "He's nothing."
Rusty sniffs. "Shouldn't I be tellin' you that?"
"If it makes you feel better. But I promise I don't need it."
"I hate him. Punching him in the face wasn't enough. Just thinking of everything he’s done to you, about him grabbing you? — "
I put my hand on his jaw, silencing his anger and fear. "Can I tell you something weird?"
"We wouldn't be us if you didn't."
I smile. "I forgot Philip was even there. Isn't that bizarre? We started joking around, and the weight of his presence vanished. But not only his presence. It's like the weight of our past disappeared. Because I was with you. "
Rusty drops his head, but not before I can see the smile playing on his lips. I nudge his face up, and he's still wearing that smile. It's not a shy one. If anything, his smile is so confident, it's like he's keeping it hidden because he doesn't need to show anyone else.
Except me.
"It's not weird or bizarre," he says. "I could forget my own name when I'm with you."
"My word, Farm Boy," I whisper. "Could you get any smoother?"
He tucks a curl behind my ear, leaving a trail of goosebumps along the path his finger traces. "Buttercup, you have no idea."
His eyes search mine, and I don't know what they see, but they see something, all right, because the next thing I know, Rusty closes the distance between us. He puts his hands on my cheeks, and his mouth is on mine. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck. He's not close enough. We're pressed against each other, our mouths one, but it's not enough.
I've had this man in my life for a year, and all I can think about is all those wasted seconds doing anything other than this, being anything other than this. I'm greedy for all that lost time. I want to erase every minute of our past where we weren’t what we are now.
I’m hungry for him, no, starving . Rusty's lips, on the other hand, are warm and firm, but not demanding. Each kiss is an invitation I thrillingly accept, an enticement I willingly succumb to. The music from the band fades away with the press of people.
There is only Rusty and me.
Nothing else matters.
Nothing else exists.
Only us.