After the Climb

by Kristen Ashley

  After the Climb

  By Kristen Ashley

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright ©2020 by Kristen Ashley

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the US Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at info@kristenashley.net, Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Content

  Dedication

  Shout Out

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Kathy Sizemore and Kristin Harris.

  Whose unwavering support of my writing, and the underlying friendship we share, prompted me to drop everything and give this story time.

  Straight up...

  I love you gals.

  Shout Out

  To my KA Facebook Posse.

  In the beginning, I used to be able to connect with my FB crew on all sorts of things.

  Then life got crazy.

  And I didn’t have the time to have as much fun with you.

  So I changed my life and made the time.

  Now, we wouldn’t have this book without you.

  Specific shout outs need to be given to Stephanie Neyerlin, who allowed me to borrow her cat, Cookie, to give to Genny, as well as Sharon Koole, who offered up Shasta, her husky, so she could be with Duncan.

  As well as Camsi Roy (and all my French-speaking readers) for giving me guidance for Chloe.

  And last, Katrina Barker Scott, for giving this book such a freaking perfect title!

  Thanks, Chicklets!

  Chapter One

  The Box

  Imogen

  My head came up when the Rolls made a turn and the road got bumpy.

  We’d been following a mountain path for so long, the twists and turns, I’d been lulled. We were at least a half an hour, maybe longer, from the center of town.

  Truth be told, to keep my mind from this upcoming meeting, I wished I didn’t get car sick when I focused on something while riding in a vehicle. I’d have been all over marathon texting one of my kids. Getting caught up on Insta. Playing that game I downloaded which I seemed to be able to get lost in for hours.

  Hell, just last week, before I found out what had happened with Corey, my phone had warned I was at 10%. I’d looked at the time and it was two in the morning. I’d started playing when it was 8:30.

  But then life changed.

  I got the call.

  Corey had killed himself.

  Then I got other calls.

  From my agent.

  My publicist.

  I needed to make a statement.

  Corey Szabo, self-made tech billionaire behind Corza computers had committed suicide.

  Corey.

  Corey.

  And, of course, being one of his dearest long-time friends, Imogen Swan, America’s sweetheart, had to have something public to say about it.

  What to say about my beloved Corey?

  My childhood friend.

  The boy, and then man, who’d been in my life the longest.

  There weren’t enough words in all the languages of the world to share how shattered I was that he’d taken his own life.

  I closed my eyes tight, before I opened them and stared out the window at the thick trees we were (very slowly on this gravel road) passing.

  Because this would be what Corey would do.

  What was happening right now.

  Me, on my way to visit Bowie.

  Bowie hadn’t come to the funeral. I had no idea why. And I thought the worse of him for it.

  Then again, it didn’t take much for me to think the worst of Bowie.

  In grade school, all through high school, they’d been the best of friends.

  Duncan “Bowie” Holloway and Corey “The Stick” Szabo.

  The jock and the nerd.

  Impossible.

  But there you are.

  Then, when Bowie got shot of me, he got shot of Corey.

  I had no idea why.

  On both counts.

  Though, Bowie had told me, rather explicitly, if completely, tortuously and heartbreakingly erroneously, why he was done with me.

  Therefore, it was only for Corey’s sake I would be in the back of that car, right now, heading to Bowie’s house.

  I knew he lived in Arizona, like I did.

  I knew this because somehow, the fates had made him impossible to avoid.

  Like Corey.

  And me.

  Knowing Duncan was that close, it had honest to God been the only reason why I hesitated moving my family from LA to Phoenix.

  But he didn’t live in Phoenix.

  And I was done with the industry, the traffic, the mudslides and fires, and it bears repeating, the industry, but I did not want cold, snow or the possibility of days filled with fighting what humidity did to my hair.

  I’d talked Tom into it.

  Then we moved to Phoenix.

  Suddenly, the landscape opened up, and I wasn’t the only one in the car that gasped. Rodney, my driver did too.

  Good Lord.

  Was that…?

  I clenched my teeth as my heart squeezed.

  This would be what Duncan would pick if he had the money.

  And he had the money.

  So there he was.

  That lake.

  God.

  And that house.

  Sheer sprawling, rustic, monied perfection.

  Even with the lake surrounded by the trees and mountains being such a breathtaking vision, I couldn’t take my eyes off the house as the Rolls rounded the graveled drive and came to a stop at the bottom of the steps that led to the carved-wood front door.

  Wrap-around porch. Pine-green tin roof. Log cabin style. Multiple stone chimneys.

  Outbuildings, several of them.

  It was like I drove two hours out of Phoenix and found myself on the set of the Yellowstone series.

  But with better scenery.

  As Rodney got out, my stomach pitched, not with nerves, but with fury.

  Why did Corey, as one of his last wishes, decide to put me through this?

  Seriously.

  I pushed open my own door and folded out, just as Rodney got to my side.

  “Can you get the box, do you mind?” I asked him.

  “Of course, Ms. Swan.”

  I nodded. Smiled.

  And braced.

  I looked up the steps.

  As the years passed, I tried not to pay attention. He wasn’t like Corey. Me. You couldn’t escape Corey or me.

  But he looked how he looked. And he did what he did.

  Therefore, he was in the public eye and he got photographed.

  And I figured he lived up here in the middle of nowhere to do what he could to avoid it.

  Duncan “Bowie” William Holloway, founder and CEO River Rain Outdoor stores. Where you go for your every ou
tdoor need.

  Duncan William Holloway, ardent environmentalist, giving and raising millions to save any and every species, our wetlands, our rain forests, anything from fracking. You name it, he was on the front lines to save it.

  Bowie was and always would, in some way, be the hero.

  Except to me.

  And there he was, standing at the top of the steps, wearing jeans. A lighter-colored denim shirt. A down vest over it.

  Dark hair too long, messy.

  Legs long and shoulders broad.

  Features that were a jumble of perfect and imperfect, making them extraordinary.

  Hawk nose.

  Perfectly angled cheekbones.

  Small eyes, but they were hooded.

  Square jaw, almost always covered in stubble or a beard.

  Like now.

  A beard.

  He seemed bigger than before.

  Younger, he’d had the long, lithe, muscled body of a linebacker.

  Now, he looked like a heavyweight boxer.

  But of course.

  Of course Duncan would only get better.

  There was a woman beside him. Diminutive. Casual dress. Older than him.

  She was practically wringing her hands as she stared down at me.

  By the look of her, the age of her, she was a Rita’s Way fan.

  Maybe All Roads Lead Here.

  But more likely a fan of Imogen Swan, the actor who played Bonnie in the insanely popular, award-winning, critically acclaimed television series Rita’s Way.

  If they didn’t have the Rachel cut, back in the day, they had the Bonnie.

  In that show, my love interest Devon and I were both the standouts. And fortunately, the veteran actors were cool about it.

  Devon and Bonnie, finding their way through young love, committed to each other through thick and thin. The thin being Bonnie coming up pregnant, so they discussed it, at politically correct length, with a good deal of angst, and in the end, decided to keep the baby and get married. More thin when young Devon fought cancer.

  Poor Bonnie and Devon didn’t have a lot of thick. They lived mostly through thin.

  And the American people (and eventually those around the world) rooted for them the entire way.

  Nine seasons.

  We should have stopped at seven.

  But by the end, the residuals meant my children’s children were not going to have to worry about anything monetary.

  So there was that.

  I looked from the woman back to Bowie.

  He was staring down at me, hands on hips, face registering no emotion.

  Not surprising, it had been a long time since he blew us apart.

  Sadly, I could not say I felt no emotion being there, seeing his home, him.

  Fortunately, I was an award-winning actress, so I was pretty certain I was hiding it.

  Rodney returned to my side, holding the heavy box that Corey’s lawyers had been instructed to give to me. It was sealed. And it was not meant to be opened unless both myself and Bowie were present.

  Only Bowie and myself.

  I’d had my assistant Mary make the arrangements. I had no idea if he’d balked and had to be talked around.

  I just knew I was now right there.

  Rodney and I walked up the steps.

  “Duncan.”

  “Imogen.”

  Well then.

  Right away, I knew.

  All these years, and he could still cut me.

  Even just that took a slice.

  He never called me Imogen.

  Gen.

  Genny.

  Beautiful, gorgeous, babe, baby, darlin’, sweetheart…

  Love of my life.

  Never Imogen.

  “Before Bettina loses her mind,” he went on and shifted slightly, taking a hand from a hip to indicate the woman beside him. “This is Bettina. She takes care of the place.” Hesitation. “And she’s a big fan.”

  It wasn’t snide, that last bit.

  Not overtly.

  It was still mocking.

  It said Bettina was a big fan, but he was absolutely not.

  I turned to the woman and offered my hand. “Bettina. Lovely to meet you.”

  She took it, that familiar light shining in her gaze. Excitement. Open indication that in shaking the hand of a perfectly normal individual, she could not believe her luck.

  “Sad circumstances,” she said, her voice trembling, probably with nerves. “But it truly is an honor to meet you.”

  “That’s very sweet,” I replied.

  “Let’s get this done,” Duncan grunted. “Is that it?”

  I released Bettina’s hand and looked to him just in time to see him jerk his head to the box Rodney was carrying.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  Duncan moved to take it from him, but Rodney turned away.

  “I got it,” Rodney said.

  Duncan looked to me. “It’s my understanding this nonsense is supposed to be done, just you and me.”

  “Rodney, you can give him the box,” I said to my driver.

  “Ms. Swan,” he demurred.

  Somewhat surprised, I took a second to study him.

  He didn’t like Duncan.

  Something about that made me ridiculously happy.

  “I’m fine,” I assured.

  I didn’t have a full-time driver. The days where I could go nowhere without people doing everything from fawning to accosting me were long gone. Over the past seven years I’d lived in Phoenix, I’d even done my grocery shopping repeatedly without being recognized.

  It was like a liberation.

  Rodney was one of two the agency sent when I ordered a driver, but he was the one I had most often.

  I didn’t know if it was just because I was nice or because he admitted his mother was a big fan, and I didn’t share it with him, but I went to visit her in her nursing home, though it was clear his mother had told him I’d popped around.

  Whatever it was.

  He took care of me.

  Right now, he was taking care of me by handing over the biggish, and definitely heavy box to Duncan, but obviously not liking it.

  “We’ll do this in my office,” Duncan decreed.

  The man was then on the move.

  I followed him.

  Duncan didn’t hesitate to share even further that he wanted this done. He did this by walking very quickly.

  And I didn’t want to admit (but I did), that I found this disappointing.

  Mostly because, upon entering his home, I wanted to stop and take it in.

  Instead, I sensed vastness…and lots and lots of wood as I scurried on my heels behind him.

  It wasn’t lost on me that I could drive myself and I owned a considerable array of casualwear.

  So I didn’t need Rodney.

  And I didn’t need to wear these winter-white silk gabardine slacks with the long-neck, soft-taupe, slouchy, lightweight sweater with interesting ribbing and (one of my pairs of) Prada slingbacks.

  But there I was, putting on a show for Duncan Holloway.

  Apparently, old habits did die hard.

  He entered a room and I trailed him in.

  But he stopped, and holding the relatively heavy and unwieldy box one-armed, once I was fully inside, he threw the door to.

  This made me uncomfortable.

  There was no reason the door needed to be closed. It wasn’t like Rodney followed us like a guard dog.

  I was left with no opportunity to question this.

  Duncan was heading to his desk.

  However, this offered the opportunity to at least look around his office.

  I saw instantly it was heavily decorated in the motif of “I have a penis!” with not very subtle nuances of “I could survive Naked and Afraid for an entire season, no sweat. And I wouldn’t even need a match or a knife.”

  I considered that perhaps I was being unkind in this assessment.

  Bottom line, the office was very Bowie.


  It was very much what I would have expected from the man who grew from the boy who took Corey and me on long hikes as often as he could, no matter how much Corey complained about mosquitos biting him or his feet hurting. The boy who could name the wildflowers or sense a deer even before the deer sensed us. The boy who forewent birthday parties in a deal with his folks so they’d take him and his two besties horseback riding instead.

  But the gods’ honest truth was that it was also very much the office of the man who accused me of cheating on him, refused to listen to my denials, told me he had it on “good authority,” even though he would not share who that authority was no matter how much I begged.

  Because, “Genny, you know.”

  I did not know.

  And oh, how I’d begged to know.

  Groveled.

  Completely humiliated myself in an effort to get him to just listen to me.

  However, whoever it was, Duncan trusted them more than me. Because he walked out of our apartment, and thus my life, breaking more than my heart. He broke my soul, my innocence, and my stalwart dedication to my view of the world through love-hazed, sex-hazed, I’ve got this, whatever it is, whatever may come, because I’ve got this man glasses.

  I never saw him again.

  Until now.

  When he left me, he didn’t just avoid me and change his number.

  He moved to Utah and disappeared for a while, emerging as the CEO of an up-and-coming outdoor store where all the cool kids wanted to get their camping, climbing and kayaking gear.

  It had taken me years to get over him.

  Years.

  It took less time to become a mega-star in Hollywood than it took to get over Bowie Holloway.

  But it wasn’t like I didn’t have forewarning.

  He’d scraped me off in high school too.

  It had started his glorious senior year, when I was a sophomore, and he’d come clean after all our years of friendship that he was into me.

  And I had told him what had been burning in my heart what seemed like forever.

  That I felt the same.

  And then it was us.

  Us. Us. Us.

  My every thought. Both of our every moments. Even apart. It was us.

  And that summer after he graduated, I knew he was the man I’d marry. I didn’t mind one bit I found him so early. I was all the way down with him being my one and only until the day I died.