Page 19 of Downfall

Skylar looks up from her computer, a scarlet blush creeping up her neck as she hollows her eyes. Her mouth opens and then promptly closes again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the moment Ashton’s gaze locks on her finger. The one in the cast with the ring on it. He looks back at me, and I cock my head to the side, flicking my tongue out to play with my lip ring. The “I told you” isn’t necessary at this point.

“What the fuck?” he whispers more to himself than to either of us, like he’s trying to figure out a difficult math equation.

“It was a drunken mistake,” Skylar rushes out. “He was being a smug asshole as usual, and I wanted to mess with him, but it went too far.” She stands up and rounds her desk, gently brushing her fingers against Ash’s arm. I hate that she’s touching him. It makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and bang my fists against my chest.

“We’re getting it annulled. It’s not a big deal,” she says.

That jolts him from the trance he’s been in for the last ten seconds. “Not a big deal?” he snaps. “You two haven’t been able to be in the same room in six years, and now you’re fucking married? Please explain to me how that’s not a big deal.”

“We’re fixing it,” Skylar reiterates.

“Do you even know anything about annulments, Sky? They don’t hand them out like candy.”

“I have it handled, Ash. Seriously.” The blush is gone from her cheeks, replaced by anger.

“That’s what you’ve been saying for weeks, Skylar. And you know what? I don’t buy it anymore. Clearly, everything is not fine.”

He crosses the room, bringing his hand up to his forehead as he mutters to himself. I stand back and let them have this moment. She’ll hate me even more for telling him, but I needed to. I have too many secrets already. Plus, he knows how I feel. We’ve never discussed it since the night I kicked the shit out of him for stealing something that should have been mine, but I know he knows. There’s the smallest possibility that once the shock wears off, he’ll realize that this was inevitable.

“Ashton, I promise. It will be. Let’s go back to work, and we can talk more later.” Her voice is soft and soothing, a sharp contrast to the tone she usually takes with me.

He doesn’t seem convinced, but he walks to the door anyway. “Okay,” he whispers. “But this isn’t over. I’m done sitting back and watching my two best friends spiral.” Before he leaves, he looks in my direction. “You are a fucking dead man, Dec. I hope you know that.”

“Name the time and place, tough guy. I’m happy to remind you what my right hook feels like.”

Ash rolls his eyes, blowing out a frustrated breath before walking out of the office, leaving me alone with a fuming Skylar.

9

SKYLAR

My nails run up and down my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Being able to scratch my wrist without shoving a pencil under the wrapping is downright orgasmic. Or maybe it’s been too long since I’ve experienced anything vaguely related to an orgasm. I do it again, rubbing in the white scratch marks I leave behind. No, it’s just that good. I don’t know how people wear casts for months. I only had mine on for a few weeks, and it was starting to drive me to the brink of insanity. I move my hand, flipping it over from back to front. I have full range of motion, but my wrist is still a little stiff. I’ll still need physical therapy for a couple of months, but as of right now I am cast-free. And ring-free. I finally took it off before coming to my appointment. The last thing I needed was Dr. Joyce’s questioning eyes. She wouldn’t have commented on it because she’s too professional, but I know she would have been wondering.

The thought of that ring brings me back to a few days ago when Declan made the executive decision to tell Ash about our unfortunate legal issues. I didn’t think I could hate him more than I already did, but he proved me wrong. Of course, physically pushing him out of my office and slamming the door in his face felt almost as good as scratching my arm.

With my cast off, I head to my second appointment. Dr. Joyce’s office is right here in town, so I didn’t have to worry about driving. Since my dad’s lawyer is further away, I asked him to meet me at my office instead, and he agreed. I know I’m going to have to get over this fear of driving at some point. Luckily, I live within walking distance to my job, a grocery store, coffee shop, and a doctor, but there’s going to come a time when I have to go somewhere beyond Main Street. I store the thought in the back of my mind for another time. Right now, I need to do what I’ve been putting off for the last few weeks. My father’s attorney has been attempting to contact me since the funeral, but I couldn’t deal with it yet.

Patrick Ross looks to be in his late fifties, with a sharp jaw and salt-and-pepper hair. He’s not just my dad’s attorney, but he was a personal friend of his. That’s only one of the reasons I’ve been avoiding him. The other is that I know exactly why he’s been trying to track me down. He sits on the opposite side of my desk, a poker face firmly in place, and I wonder if Joseph Jonas has a poker face or if he wears his heart on his sleeve like I do. I finally got the guts to call him, and we set up an appointment for next week. One I promptly texted Declan about, and he promptly read and ignored.

“Thanks for coming to me, Mr. Ross,” I say by way of breaking the ice. “I appreciate it.”

“Patrick. And it’s not a problem. This should be pretty quick, Skylar.” He produces a few papers from his briefcase. “Doug—your father— had everything in order. Given his health issues, he made sure every ‘I’ was dotted and ‘T’ crossed. I take it you didn’t have any issues with the funeral arrangements?”

The irony of his words isn’t lost on me. My father began having cardiac issues a few years ago, and after a particularly bad health scare, he asked me to move back here. I had just graduated from college, and my job prospects in California were abysmal. He told me about an opening at the Lantern if I was willing to relocate. He said he had regrets. He wanted to mend the mile-long fences that stood between us.

“Skylar?”

I look up to see Patrick still waiting for a reply.

“I’m sorry. Yes, the funeral was fine. Everything was organized.”

“Great. Well, as I’m sure you know, your father left behind many assets, including his home, business, and a sizable trust fund in your name, as well as⁠—”

“Hey, Patrick?” I blurt. His hand, reaching out to give me a paper, stops midair. “What do you know about annulments?”

Might as well ask while I’m here. Plus, I’m not ready to hear about the stipulations my father made for how and when I can access this “sizable trust fund.”

“Um. Well, that depends. What about them?”