Chapter Twenty-Five

Ashleigh

Most Likely to Kill Each Other

This cannot be happening. Not even in my wildest nightmares would I be stuck in the science lab with Ryan Lawal during a power cut in the middle of our school reunion. And yet somehow, here we are, trapped by a government-funded, high-tech security door I was so bloody jealous of earlier.

This cannot be happening.

But Ryan wrestles with the door handle and I punch random numbers into the keypad that don t even make a little beep of recognition that they re being pushed at all, and the light isn t red or green or anything else, it s completely non-existent, and the door won t budge, and -

And I am actually fucking stuck in the science lab with Ryan Lawal during a power cut in the middle of our fucking school reunion.

A frustrated sigh rips from my mouth and I fall back a couple of steps, at the same moment as Ryan takes a stride back, and then throws himself shoulder-first into the door, like he can break it down by physical force.

I fold my arms across my chest and let him try, biting back a snarky comment about how he s only going to hurt himself. Not because I want him to, but - well, if anybody can do it, I bet it d be Ryan Lawal. He d be lauded as a hero afterwards, too.

But after the third attempt at throwing his weight (which, I imagine, is not inconsiderable, given how broad and muscular he is, which is not me looking but just a factual observation), Ryan gives up. He winces when he moves back on his left leg and bends slightly to knead his knuckles into his lower thigh.

Finished? I ask him dryly, raising my eyebrows and nodding towards the door.

He narrows his eyes at me, but he s not looking at me exactly, rather he s looking above me, at Give me some of your hair clips.

Excuse me?

The clips, or whatever. In your hair. We could try to pick the lock.

I examine the door handle, but that takes all of two seconds. It s literally just a handle. Aloud, I point out, There s no actual, physical lock to pick , Ryan. It s just that stupid security system, genius.

He scowls at me. I don t see you coming up with a better plan.

If it s a power cut, then that door will remain locked until the power is back up. I suppose there s a chance that Bryony might be able to help; if she organised tonight, maybe she has some contact information for the headmaster or caretaker - but when I check my phone, I have hardly any signal, and when I fire off a quick text to Hayden, the angry little red exclamation mark pops up beside it as it fails to send.

Shit. That s just what we need.

Our only other option is the windows, but when I cross the room and lean over the counter to flip one open, it only opens a couple of inches out from the bottom, like you get in hotels and high-rise office blocks. No good for climbing out of, which, considering we re on the ground floor, would ve been no trouble at all.

What s your next great idea, genius ? Ryan quips, and I shoot him a glare I m not sure he can see anyway. There s only a little light coming in through the windows, that deep blue of a summer night that puts everything in greyscale.

At least I m trying something-

Oh, and I wasn t?

Nothing useful! So unless you want to dislocate your shoulder or use that thick head of yours as a battering ram-

Right. Here we go again.

What now? What-

I m not stupid , you know. We were in the same top-set classes, or did you conveniently forget that? I got pretty good grades and I studied hard, too. Whatever you think of me, I m not-

I don t think you re stupid, Ryan, I just think you re severely lacking in logic and common sense. Act first, think later. Which may have served you well in school, and maybe it works for you in the world of politics now, but it s not going to open that door. God, I cannot believe I m stuck in here with you , of all people

It s not exactly peachy for me being stuck with you either, you know.

I huff, stalking back to the door. I know it s futile, but I try the handle again - as if it might magically give way for me, when it didn t for Ryan. Which, of course, it doesn t. I press my forehead to the door, leaning my body flat against it, eyes sliding closed, forcing my breathing to become slow and measured and even.

Maybe it s a good thing the power went out. Ryan was getting I was getting

Things got weird. Intense.

I m not sure what would ve happened next if the lights hadn t cut, and my heart gives a sickening little somersault at the possibility of what might have

No, I m not going down that road. Definitely not with - because of - him . It was just biology, that s all. My body reacting to his body, to proximity and heat and touch. Not the way he said my name, or the light caress of his fingers against mine, or the vulnerability in the things he said

I guess we ve just gotta wait it out, then, Ryan says, somewhere off to my left. I hear the scrape of a stool as he drags it out, takes a seat. The soft wince and thump as he props his leg - the left, I m sure - up on another stool, most likely to stretch it out. I wonder if he still has physiotherapy appointments for that old rugby injury, or if he did half a dozen and thought that was fine; he was Ryan Lawal, untouchable. Achilles.

Not that I spent any amount of time looking up the wound when they reported on it, or read any medical journals online about the surgery and healing process and the recovery statistics.

Not any considerable amount of time, anyway.

Scientific curiosity, that was all.

My head makes a quiet thud against the door, and I lean further into it, like it might swallow me whole.

C mon, Easton, it s not that bad being stuck in a room with me, is it? It s hardly the first time the two of us were here by ourselves after hours.

That was different.

Why? We were arguing pretty much all the time back then, too. Seems just like old times, if you ask me.

This is not -

Isn t it? You re still incapable of holding a friendly conversation, still putting me down at every opportunity-

You re still winding me up at every opportunity, I bite back. And don t pretend like you ever so much as tried to have a friendly conversation with me. I spit the words like the poison they are. All you ever did was taunt me, act like you were better than me because you were so popular, like every mean, nasty little joke out of your mouth was soooo innocent.

I never-

Don t. Just don t .

I don t want to hear it. I can t stomach listening to Ryan defend all the immature crap he said to me when we were teenagers. The flirty lines that would make other girls blush, but always had a cruel, teasing edge whenever he used them on me, with that look like he wanted to make sure I knew I was the butt of a joke, not the subject of flattery. The whip-smart remarks about me being boring and a square and uptight and frigid and haughty that made everybody else laugh, and which I had to learn to let roll off me, water off a duck s back.

He thinks I was mean to him ? He doesn t know the half of it.

You know, he says, it s not my fault you thought you were too good to give me the time of day whenever I tried to talk to you. I tried to include you. I, at least, tried to be nice, which is more than you ever did. I invited you to parties-

I scoff, teeth bared in a snarl, and I sway slightly against the door, fighting every impulse not to turn around and fly at him in a rage. If I want to keep the high ground, I have to keep my cool. This is just another one of his games.

Please. Like you wanted me there. The one time I did show up, you dragged me into the middle of a drinking game and I was humiliated playing Never Have I Ever, and nobody ever let me live down that I d never done anything , and then you accidentally spilled a can of beer all over me.

It was an accident! RJ fell into me.

Yeah, okay.

Never Have I Ever didn t start till after you showed up anyway, so I didn t do that to you on purpose, either. And , from what I remember, I offered to give you my T-shirt so you had something dry to wear-

And from what I remember - my hands curl into claws against the door, body shaking - your mates had a good laugh after Elise made fun of my bra, because you could see it through my wet top, and then you were busy showing off your washboard abs and winking at me, telling me to get a good look while I had the chance.

I

But Ryan falters, because he knows I m right. Because I am right. Whatever he thinks he remembers, it s warped by popularity and everybody fawning all over him, and the glossy sheen of a good time.

I was just making a joke.

It wasn t very funny from where I was standing.

He falls quiet again and I can t even relish the win; I just feel angry, and sad, and sick to my stomach. Some of the fight leaves me and I sag against the locked door, which is the only thing holding me upright.

I forgot how much it used to hurt. How much I buried that so deep down it stopped existing anymore.

Ashleigh, he starts. I m-

Save it. Don t It doesn t matter anymore, alright? But don t act like such a martyr, like I was the only villain in this story, okay? I m not saying the way I acted or responded was right, but - we were both shitty people. Are, both shitty people. Even if I m the only person who ll acknowledge that about you.

For a second, I think he s going to argue. Reflexively, if for no other reason, because this is what we do. The only way we ve ever been able to talk to each other. Sniping back and forth.

But Ryan breaks our rules again. He lets out a quiet breath of laughter and mutters, as if to himself, Only around you, Easton. Only you.