Chapter Six

Ryan

Most Likely to Kill Each Other

I walk into the party to a chorus of cheers, and the crowd presses in around the red carpet to get a piece of me. Slapping my back, pecking my cheek.

I know the second I enter the room she sees me, but I don t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging that I ve noticed her there. That I even remember she exists, and might be here tonight.

Instead, I m busy getting not-so-mock tackled by some of the lads from rugby and almost go sprawling on my arse. Freddie is telling me with a wink that he s brought a bottle of gin to spike the punch with - Just like old times, eh, Ry? - and RJ, Hiro and Tommy pepper me with commentary. That they didn t think I d actually make it, that I need to meet their missus, that it s been too long, that did I hear about Kyle? He s out on parole now, sucks that he couldn t make it.

And I throw myself into it. I flash a grin at Freddie and nudge him off towards the punch bowl. I shrug about Kyle and say maybe he shouldn t have gotten caught, then. I wink at Hiro and waggle my eyebrows when he points out his girlfriend a little way off and laugh when Tommy says he d better keep her away from me, because Hiro won t ever find another girl that fit who s willing to put up with his bullshit.

It s like nothing s changed.

Aside from the minor, inconvenient fact that the whole exchange feels kind of routine in a way that makes me question why I thought these guys were the absolute pinnacle of hilarity when we were kids - but I m willing to overlook that. They ve all still got me on a pedestal, so. That s all that matters, really.

The group expands and a lady passes a cup of pinkish liquid into my hand. I get a whiff of gin when I lift it to take a sip, and Freddie catches my eye to wink, dead proud of himself. I look at the woman, who s got her hand on my arm and is asking how long it s been, smiling sweetly even as she fights to make eye contact with me.

Seriously? Did she miss the part where this is a ten-year reunion party?

I think she might be Roisin. Roisin had thick eyebrows and one of those Marilyn Monroe beauty marks above her lip like this. Then again, Roisin wasn t honey-blonde like this woman, and I m almost completely sure she didn t have a slight Yorkshire lilt in her accent.

So, fuck knows who she is, but I tell her, Thanks for the drink. Good to see you again too.

I ve always been told I m good with people. It s why I was captain of the rugby team, and why the teachers made me Head Boy even though someone like Shaun definitely would ve deserved it more than I ever did. It s why my face is in the papers and on the news now, and why I ve got my foot in the door at Downing Street. Butter wouldn t melt, Mum always says.

I m not exactly surprised when everybody is too busy talking about my high-flying career and sharp rise in the world of politics and my brief stint in professional rugby to let me do the polite thing and ask them how they re all doing, what they re up to these days.

This is nothing new though. All this attention has nothing to do with that try I scored against Scotland in the Six Nations years ago, or that I could (and probably will) be running for Prime Minister one day.

Nah, it s not any of that that means I m the star of the show tonight.

It s because I ve always been the star of the show with these people. I am the jewel in Tisdale Comprehensive School s crown. Every great party, every win in a rugby match, every epic tale they remember from their school days - I m at the centre of it all.

Well.

Mostly.

I don t even have to look around to find her, or glance her way to see that she s hyper-aware of the spectacle I m creating and is looking right at me. I know , because her eyes are burning into my skin and I know the weight of that glare all too well. After a solid five years of not-so-petty rivalry, I m finely attuned to it - even after all this time. I remember the heat of it, the fire and fury, and it makes me grin just like it used to back then, if only for the satisfaction of knowing that I ve gotten under her skin. And I know exactly how she d describe this smile: shit-eating, and unrepentant.

She s not wrong.

And it is so good to know that even ten years later, I can still rile her up without even having to look at her. Without saying a single word to her.

There is something about Ashleigh Easton that simultaneously brings out the best and worst in me; she s half the reason I ve risen as high as I have. Not, of course, that she s ever going to know that.

But I guess maybe I do owe her something for that, so I make a point of following the daggers she s staring at me right to the source.

My stomach gives a jolt, and I feel my brain stall.

I don t know why it takes me so long to register that the woman I m looking at is Ashleigh. I mean, it s not like Ashleigh these days is so far removed from the one I knew at school. That girl was soft and skinny - undefined and unremarkable in that juvenile way of someone who hadn t quite grown into themselves yet. I remember, because I used to take the piss out of her about it, and because she d always give me that shrewd, withering look that made it clear she could not care less what teenage me thought about teenage her.

Plus, it s not like I haven t checked in on her social media regularly enough over the years to have followed each change in haircut, the soft-launched relationships abruptly cut to a close, the endless stream of coffees and chipped nail polish that takes up the majority of her feed.

From this angle, I can see the birthmark on her forehead. She s got a new fringe and this one doesn t hide it the way she always used to in school, which I think was habit more than any sort of self-consciousness over her appearance.

But this version of Ashleigh

Fuck, this version of her isn t just not self-conscious . She towers over Steph and a couple of the other girls - I m sure I recognise Morgan and Thea there - and in that outfit, she just demands to be looked at. Not ogled, just Observed. Acknowledged. She always had this way about her that I envied, an ability to pull focus onto herself and demand she be noticed and heard without having to make a song and dance about it, but

I think, if I saw her in a nightclub and I didn t know who she was, even I d be too intimidated to go up and introduce myself.

The sudden realisation that Ashleigh is somebody I d even consider approaching on a night out pulls me sharply back to reality, where the conversation around me has continued and nobody seems to notice that I m too busy staring at my old arch-nemesis to pay them any attention.

My gaze still locked with Ashleigh s, I lift my drink to her and incline my head, my grin sliding back into place as I offer up a silent toast. Her eyes flash and her jaw clenches tight, and it makes my heart pound just a fraction harder against my ribs.

She s too proud to look away, but that s okay. It still feels like a winning move - like a middle finger in her direction - when I turn back to the group surrounding me and answer a question about what Justin Trudeau is really like.

Ha! Checkmate, Ash.

But, as always when it comes to her - even if I ve won this round, I know the game is only just beginning.