After the Climb

by Kristen Ashley

  I nearly laughed.

  Because he was serious.

  “Tom, I’ll be okay,” I told him.

  “It’s good that asshole is dead, because if that geek punk was alive, I’d kill him.”

  “Tom,” I whispered.

  “You know, you had history with him, so I had to assume you knew something I didn’t. But I cannot tell you how relieved I was when my thirteen-year-old son came to me, obviously uncomfortable, and shared he didn’t like his mom being around his Uncle Corey, because he thought his Uncle Corey was a creeper. Until then, I thought it was only me.”

  I was stunned.

  “That happened with Matt? And you felt that way too?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because you adored the guy. And then he’d do shit, for you, the kids, that made me, and since Matt and I eventually started talking about it, also Matt, feel like assholes for thinking the way we thought. But I should have listened to my gut. And my son is no fool, his. Last, as a father, witnessed how Corey treated his own son, and know to my bones his soul was black.”

  I wasn’t there yet, to see Corey as having a black soul.

  Perhaps mentally ill in some way.

  But not that.

  However, bringing Corey’s son Hale into the conversation—a young man who was really mostly our son, because of the way Corey was, and frankly, also the way Samantha was—Tom had a point.

  “Tom, I really can’t—”

  “I know you can’t,” he said tersely, not angry at me, frustrated there was nothing he could do to help.

  That was Tom, my second love, the father of my children, and that was also part of the reason we remained friends.

  Because he hurt me, and he did it badly.

  He was still a good man.

  “But I’m here if you need me,” he finished.

  Yes.

  A good man.

  “Thanks, honey.”

  “Take some melatonin so you can sleep,” he advised.

  “Right.”

  “Champagne won’t do it, Genny. People think wine is a sleep aid, and it absolutely is not.”

  What to do when your years as a top-ranked professional tennis player were behind you?

  Well, if you have abundant personality and good looks, you get into commentating, like Tom did.

  And as a side hobby, you train to become a sports medicine doctor.

  Like Tom did.

  Overachievers, both of us.

  And we watched our children like hawks, terrified our shadows would shrivel something in them when we wanted them to plant the roots of their lives and grow strong.

  So far, we hoped, so good.

  “I’ll check in,” Tom said.

  “I’d appreciate it,” I replied.

  “Love you, Genny.”

  “Same back, Tommy.”

  We hung up.

  I looked to the ceiling and gave that call some time.

  Then I returned my attention to my texts.

  At what I read, even if my glass was not even close to full, I nearly spilled what was left of it.

  I then called Mary immediately.

  “Finally!” she cried.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded.

  “First, Cookie is safe with me.”

  Cookie. My cat. A rescue. Pintsize body, big ears, white with black splodges, some brown, and fur that felt better than mink.

  The sweetest feline on the planet.

  And the best company.

  “There’s a flood in the condo?”

  Even her tone said “euw” when she replied, “Sanitation.”

  “Oh my God,” I breathed.

  “From the top unit. They’ve been on vacation and they didn’t know things were backed up. Building management as yet doesn’t know the extent of the damage. I’ve removed your valuables. Given them access to your unit. I had a look around and I couldn’t see anything wrong in your space, I think it happened on the other end. It’s just the smell. Right now, they’re estimating it’s going to take at least a few days, probably a week, possibly even longer, to get it all cleaned up and contain the smell. So I phoned the hotel, booked you in for that week. I’ll talk to Chloe, between her and me, we’ll get your car up there so you can get around.”

  I sounded strangled when I asked, “What hotel?”

  “The Queen.”

  “Here?” I squeaked.

  “Yes, I spoke with them and they said I can bring Cookie.”

  “Mary—”

  “I’ve called around. Something must be happening in town, and not just a mass exodus from your building. There isn’t a suite available for you at the Phoenician, or the Royal Palms, or the Biltmore—”

  “I can take a simple room.”

  “Why, when you have a suite in a cool boutique hotel in Prescott? I mean, it’s fall, so you’re not avoiding heat, but…Prescott. Awesome.”

  Prescott was awesome.

  But I could not stay here a week, and that wasn’t about Prescott.

  I opened my mouth to tell her that (or part of it), but my with-it Mary got there before me.

  “I’ll pack a bag. Or two. I might have them couriered up there so you’ll have some selections, just in case it takes me a while to coordinate getting the Cayenne to you.”

  “Mary, I’d rather be down in Phoenix.”

  “Okay. I’ll get you a room. But I’m going to have to keep Cookie. Those hotels don’t take pets.”

  I hesitated.

  I wanted to believe Cookie could not do without me, but in truth, she probably could.

  However, she wouldn’t like it.

  She loved her mommy.

  “So which one? The Phoenician? The Biltmore?” Mary prompted.

  “They don’t take pets?”

  “Well, not cats.”

  This never failed to annoy me.

  Dogs always got preferential treatment.

  Not that I didn’t like dogs. I loved them.

  I just didn’t like them getting preferential treatment.

  “Maybe I can stay with Chloe,” I murmured.

  She snorted.

  Actually snorted.

  Yes, that was not a good idea.

  Chloe loved and adored Cookie like Cookie was her actual blood, except feline.

  She also loved and adored me.

  But she lived in a small, trendy condo in a downtown, trendy neighborhood that was covered from morning brunch, until nightclub-hopping night with hipsters.

  She didn’t have an extra bedroom, for one.

  And just leaving her place, I’d be covered in millennials fresh off a Rita’s Way Netflix binge.

  It had happened.

  It wasn’t pretty.

  “I’ll stay here,” I allowed.

  “Cool,” she said breezily.

  “But please, stay on top of the situation at the condo. I’d like to be home as soon as possible.”

  “Do you want Cookie going with the courier or—?”

  Had she lost her mind?

  “No, no strangers. But if Chloe can’t come up with you very soon with the car, I’d like you to come up with Cookie. Or we can hire the service to follow you up and you can drive my car, then they can take you back down.”

  “You got it. And I’ll cancel them for tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, as ever, for taking care of things.”

  “That’s my job, boss. As you know.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  I had Mary as my snappy assistant.

  I had Chloe as my dramatic daughter.

  I had Matt as my in-his-father’s image (though I’d never say that right now, but it was all the good parts, and my boy would remember soon there were a lot of them) sweet, funny, protective son.

  And I had Sasha, my beautiful boho brat, camping at Coachella and up to her knees in mud at Glastonbury.

  I downed the rest of my champagne.

  After that, I sa
id goodbye to my assistant.

  I then got off the bed, put my phone on to charge, filled my glass, and took the dome from the cookies so I could take the plate to the bed.

  One of the many wonderful things that came from semi-retirement born of financial and career freedom, and being at an age where they didn’t care much about me, and I no longer cared about them, but having a name that gave me endless clout, was the fact that I didn’t have to starve myself to meet the ideal of every producer, director and studio head who had control over me and whether or not I would work.

  This was the thought I had before I bit into the first cookie.

  Sadly, the loveliness of that faded when my thoughts turned to the fact that I was, in a sense, stuck in what was now Duncan’s hometown.

  He didn’t strike me as a man who lunched on tapas or browsed through art galleries and boutiques. He had a business to run, likely trails to hike, perhaps horses to ride, etc.

  Therefore, it was improbable I would run into him.

  And I ate my way through two cookies, attempting to convince myself that was a good thing.

  But there were not enough cookies in the world to beat back the emotions when the box I’d been holding Corey’s treachery in burst open.

  And the pain, when it came, was acute and very, very real.

  So real, I had to set my champagne aside and double over to fight it.

  Twenty-eight years, we’d had dinners, lunches, even holidays together.

  Twenty-eight years, he’d spent time with my husband, my children…me.

  Twenty-eight years, he’d allowed me to show him love, friendship. He’d come to me to support him when he broke up with girlfriends, come to me to listen to him rail about his enemies, come to me when his dad died, when his protégé left and set up his own company.

  Ah, the betrayal!

  He’d taught that guy everything.

  How could he do that?

  How could he do that to poor, billionaire, perfidious Corey?

  “How could you do that, Corey?” I whispered to my thighs, beginning to rock in the bed. “How could you do that to Bowie?”

  Yes, rocking, rocking deep.

  “To me?”

  At that, the sobs came.

  And such was my heartache, much like when I lost Duncan…

  No, exactly like when I lost Duncan, and wouldn’t Corey be so proud he’d accomplished this?

  The tears never consciously abated.

  Because it took hours.

  And I cried myself to sleep.

  Chapter Four

  The Breakfast

  Duncan

  “Holy shit, my man.”

  Duncan was curled over his coffee at their table at Zeke’s, his eyes aimed to the java, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

  He’d just told Harv the story.

  All of it.

  From meeting Corey when they were six. To throwing the frog at Genny when he was ten. To slowly falling in love with her and finally doing something about it when he was seventeen. To cutting her loose because he was such a loser when he was eighteen and hooking up again when he was twenty-four because he’d turned into an asshole.

  And last, what had happened yesterday, from her showing like she’d showed, what had come of that, to her daughter’s surprise visit and even bigger surprise message.

  And that was Harvey’s response.

  Which didn’t touch the half of it.

  “And now the woman’s daughter wants you to make a play for her mom?” Harvey continued.

  Duncan dropped his hand, lifted his head, sat back in his chair and looked at his friend.

  He’d met Harvey twenty years ago when Duncan had moved to Prescott. They were friends first, and Duncan recruited him later.

  Now Harv was COO of River Rain.

  Big guy. Burly. Lots of hair everywhere. So much it covered his arms and ran up to the base of his neck, thick and now graying.

  Also a good guy. Loved his wife. Doted on his girls. Doted on Duncan’s boys. And even after the divorce, which had gotten messy before he and Dora (and he was not being a dick in saying especially Dora) got their shit together, Harvey doted on Dora.

  Duncan definitely got Harv and his wife Beth in the divorce.

  But functions where there was necessary mingling weren’t uncomfortable anymore.

  And that had a lot to do with Harvey.

  “She doesn’t want it, man. She ordered me to do it.”

  Harvey’s face contorted with trying to beat back his smile.

  “I’m not sure I’m feelin’ a lot of humor in this situation,” Duncan pointed out.

  Harvey got serious. “I can imagine, Bowie. I still can’t believe Corey Szabo did that shit to you guys. I can’t even believe you were that tight with Corey Szabo. I mean, you mentioned you grew up with him and used to be friends, but Jesus. However, suffice it to say, I’m pretty stuck on the fact your ex-girlfriend is Imogen Swan. Something, I’ll note, you never mentioned.”

  Duncan wrapped his fingers around his coffee and took a sip before saying, “It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about.”

  “I get that. And I’d heard her and Szabo were tight since childhood, so I shoulda put it together but, Jesus again.”

  Mm-hmm.

  Jesus.

  Harvey kept talking.

  “You know, I mean, Beth’s list includes Antonio Banderas, Javier Bardem, Benicio Del Toro, and she’s got two more I’ve blocked out, but I think you can get from that she’s got a type, and it is not me.”

  Duncan couldn’t stop his lips from twitching.

  “But full disclosure,” Harv went on, “I got a type too. My list includes Cate Blanchette, Anna Torv, Robin Wright, but I do not need to go on because I’ll point out something you already know, they all look like Beth.”

  Duncan wasn’t feeling amused anymore.

  And he told his friend why.

  “And Genny,” he grunted.

  “She’s the top of my list, bud,” Harvey confirmed.

  His list.

  Duncan knew what he was talking about.

  The list of fake freebies you could fuck even if you were committed to another person.

  “Christ, Harv, why would you tell me that?”

  “Because you should know, straight up, since you’re gonna go for it, that that’s the case before Beth blabs it. Which she will. But I’m the best friend who isn’t a horse’s ass. Who’d never go there. And no offense to you and my deep abiding love for you, but my love is deeper and more abiding for my wife, so that’s a non-starter.”

  “This isn’t funny, Harvey.”

  Harv ignored him. “And just to say, I’m still reeling that you call Imogen Swan ‘Genny.’ Though, more importantly, when I meet her, if I act like a fool, just ignore me. I’ll eventually get over it. And I figure that’ll happen around the time we’re fully gray and our RVs are parked beside each other somewhere and Beth and Genny are fryin’ up some tots while you and me grill the burgers.”

  “You’re not going to meet her because I’m not going to make a play for Genny,” he declared.

  Harvey’s thick eyebrows shot up. “You’re not?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Harv, I told you, she was pretty firm about not wanting to go there.”

  “She also showed at your house all dressed up, wearing heels. And trust me, you got two sons, but to my everlasting dismay and wonderment as to what I did that God wished to punish me so severely, I got three daughters. And I can tell you, when a girl is done with a guy, she’s done. She doesn’t care anymore. Case in point, Mandy was at Costco with me the other day, and she was what they call ‘day three’ in her shampoo regimen, and don’t ask, they’ve explained it, I still don’t get it. I just know it’s important. No makeup. Hoodie. And Robbie strolls up to her, and two months ago, this kid had her in vapors. He talked to her and she spoke words back, but I still don’t know if she knew he was there. When
they were done, he looked crushed. She just turned to me and asked if we could get a shrimp tray.”

  “Genny isn’t a high school girl.”

  “Bowie, with the dating you been doin’ since you and Dora split, have you not figured out they’re never not girls? Try buying a woman a vacuum cleaner for her birthday. That’s a mature, adult, ‘hey, we’re doin’ this, makin’ a life together’ gift. It’s not like you’re declaring she’s the only one who’s going to use it because she’s the little woman and you got football to watch, not rugs to vacuum. But Christ, she’ll act like you just called her ugly and went out and killed her dog. Buy her somethin’ pink, and it doesn’t matter what that something is, it could even be a pink goddamn vacuum, she’ll kiss you all over and remember that shit when it’s bedtime.”

  “Harv—”

  Abruptly, Harvey leaned across the table as far as he could get, and his face had turned to granite.

  “Fuck him,” he whispered. “And Bowie, this is the best way to fuck him. And I’m not advocating this just for revenge. Lord knows, what Dora put you through, I wanna see you happy. And from what I can tell, Imogen Swan is a stand-up gal. It’d be good she’s got some happy too, and I know you’ll break your back to give it to her. But take back what he took from you. I can’t imagine what this feels like for you. But as your friend, it burns in my gut, way down deep, that a man you called friend did that to you. Reverse the damage, Bowie. You got a chance. Don’t blow it.”

  Duncan could not let his friend’s words get in there.

  He wanted to.

  But this was about Genny.

  He had to look after Genny.

  “You did not see her back then, Harv. You did not see her when she was begging me to listen to her. When she was swearing she’d never do that to me. When she was telling me she loved me, she’d never love a man like she loved me. I was it for her, I was her future, she’d never step out on me. You did not see her, buddy. She was wrecked. I wrecked her because I didn’t listen to her. I listened to Corey.”

  Harvey leaned back a little, shook his head and replied, “Okay. I get that had to be rough, for both of you, and you’re in a bad spot because you didn’t listen. But honest to Christ, Bowie, this came out of the blue. Even she has to admit that if Szabo came to her and told her he knew beyond a doubt you were cheating, she’d take a minute on that.”

  Duncan did a slow blink.