I plant my palm flat on his chest and shove.
Alistair stumbles, flailing. Both glasses shatter against the marble, red wine and crystal exploding across the floor. He goes down in the middle of it with a strangled yelp.
I step back, reclaiming space just as easily as he took it. From here he looks small, sprawled and furious in his own mess.
Two hulking security guards appear from opposite corners, converging on me fast. “Sir!”
I freeze, hands up, fighting to stay still against nerves screamingrun.
“Stop!”Alistair bellows.
The guards lock in place, buying me a chance to watch him on the floor, chest heaving, wine in his hair, his whole face twisted with rage.
“Get out,” he snarls, hauling himself upright. “Get out!” He staggers to the counter with his back already to me, snatches the wine bottle, and mutters to the nearest guard, “Clean this up.”
My heart hammers as I back toward the door, then shove through it into the clear night air.
I love Ash. He’s the one I’d choose over cutting myself loose. He’s?—
Shit. The gallery.
“You’ll regret this!” Alistair roars behind me. “Ash will regret this!”
I don’t look back. Let him keep his threats and his money and his empty house. I’ve got his words recorded in my pocket and something better to run toward, even if I’m in the middle of blowing it.
I race downhill, shoes slapping asphalt as I fumble my phone out to stop the recording and check the time. It’s past seven. I’m late.
I keep running until the cul-de-sac is far behind me, hands still shaking as one thought beats with my pulse: I love him, and I may be too late.
CHAPTER 30
ASH
Kael’s on his way,which is what I said an hour ago.
The event went well. People came. The food disappeared. Then nine-thirty hit, still sans artist, and everyone’s gentle kindness curdled into pitiful soft looks, it really was nice shoulder squeezes, and then coats. When you rubberneck an accident, you slow down. You don’t park and wait, hoping the wreck will fix itself.
Once the last guest leaves, it’s just Jenny and me.
The gallery stretches around us, suddenly too big. Polished concrete gleams under the spotlights; white walls vanish into the dark rafters. The only warmth comes from those little pools of light around Kael’s paintings, his colors burning against all the gray. The ventilation system does its best impression of a distant crowd.
“You want me to wait with you?” Jenny asks, slinging her purse over her shoulder behind the bar.
Instead of answering, I hold up my phone with his shared ETA. “Traffic,” I say. Glen Park to Mission Bay is always a mess.
“I think I should stay.” She ducks back out of the purse strap and sets it down again.
“Just go. I want to talk to him alone.”
“I know you’re angry,” she says, then starts in on the rest. “Embarrassed. Depressed. Worried?”
Her tragic guessing game pulls a smile out of me. “Yes.”
“Promise you’ll hear him out?”
Which part? Why he’s been lying for weeks? Just tonight? I’m not sure I care.
I swallow all of that and say, “I promise.”
