Page 32 of Echoes of Us

T he irony wasn't lost on Ashley as she stared at her behavioral psychology textbook, the words "Kübler-Ross Model" stark against the white page.

Her highlighter hovered over the text, creating a small yellow dot where she'd held it too long.

The library's morning light filtered through tall windows, casting long shadows across her notes.

Denial. That had lasted approximately thirty seconds after seeing Cole and Marie together.

Her phone buzzed again - Marie's third attempt to call this morning.

Ashley watched the screen fade to black, adding it to the growing collection of missed calls and unread messages.

Some part of her still wanted to believe there was an explanation, wanted to pick up the phone and hear Marie say it was all a misunderstanding.

But Ashley knew better. She'd seen the way Cole looked at Marie, and he was serious about her.

Anger came in waves. It burned in her chest during physics lab, watching Dale pretend everything was normal.

It flared when she caught glimpses of Marie across campus, her friend's guilty expression only making it worse.

But mostly, it simmered, quiet and steady, every time she remembered how carefully they'd hidden it.

How many times had Marie listened to Ashley talk about Cole over the summer, knowing. ..?

Her highlighter moved mechanically across the page.

Bargaining. That stage hit yesterday during her morning run.

If she'd just been less pushy with Cole, if she'd noticed Marie's distance sooner, if she'd never tried to manipulate his return.

.. The possibilities spun endlessly, each what-if more useless than the last.

Depression. Well. The empty ice cream containers in her dorm room could testify to that one.

Sarah had taken to appearing randomly throughout the day, armed with coffee and determination to "get her out of her head.

" But Ashley recognized the symptoms in herself - the heaviness in her limbs during morning lectures, the way colors seemed duller somehow.

Her phone lit up again. Marie. I know you're angry. I never meant to hurt you. It just sort of… happened.

Ashley's laugh was hollow in the quiet library. Of course, it "just happened." Things always "just happened" to Marie - boys, opportunities, other people's futures. The texts blurred as tears threatened, but Ashley blinked them back. She was done crying over this.

According to her textbook, acceptance would come eventually.

The ability to move forward, to find a new normal.

Ashley traced the words with her finger, wondering if it counted as acceptance when you had no choice.

When the man you loved was happy with your friend, and the future you remembered was slipping further away with each passing day.

She glanced at her watch - almost time for physics lab.

For another carefully choreographed dance of pretending everything was fine while Dale watched her with concerned eyes.

To avoid the east wing where Cole's new research space was, where Marie sometimes brought him coffee between her political science classes.

The textbook stared back at her, its clinical descriptions of grief feeling both accurate and hopelessly inadequate.

Somewhere between the stages of anger and depression, there should be a chapter about how to grieve a future that technically hadn't happened yet, how to mourn the loss of two relationships at once - the love that could have been and the friendship that was supposed to last.

"Absolutely not." Ashley stared at the dress Sarah had thrown onto her bed - something short, black, and completely inappropriate for her current state of mind. "I'm not going out."

"You've been hibernating for two weeks." Sarah stood with her hands on her hips, her strawberry-blonde hair already styled for the night ahead. "You've memorized the stages of grief. You've eaten your weight in ice cream. And I'm pretty sure you've reorganized your closet three times."

"Four," Ashley muttered, but Sarah ignored her.

"The point is, you can't hide in here forever. Eddie says there's this party at-"

"If you say the physics department, I'm throwing you out."

"The art building," Sarah finished, rolling her eyes. "Completely Cole-and-Marie-free zone. Promise."

Ashley eyed the dress again. It had been a while since she'd worn anything other than oversized sweaters and leggings. "I don't know..."

"I do." Sarah started rummaging through Ashley's makeup bag. "And I know you're tired of analyzing your own grief patterns. Time to actually process them instead of just studying how you're supposed to."

An hour later, Ashley found herself in a converted gallery space, fairy lights strung across exposed beams and music thrumming through old wooden floors.

The dress actually looked good, though she'd never admit it to Sarah.

Students filled the space with energy and laughter, none of them carrying physics textbooks or wearing lab coats.

"See?" Sarah pressed a cup into her hand. "A whole world exists outside the science buildings."

"Who would've thought," Ashley said dryly, but she felt something in her chest loosen slightly. Here, she didn't have to calculate routes to avoid running into Cole and Marie. She didn't have to pretend not to notice Dale's worried glances.

"Well, well." A familiar voice drawled from behind them. "Look who finally emerged from academic exile."

Ashley turned to find Ezra leaning against a pillar, looking unfairly good in dark jeans and a fitted shirt. No blonde in sight tonight.

"Stalking me, Martinez?"

His smirk deepened. "Don't flatter yourself, Carter. Some of us actually have social lives beyond quantum equations."

Sarah glanced between them, then spotted Eddie across the room. "I'm just going to... yeah." She disappeared into the crowd with suspicious speed.

"Subtle," Ezra commented, pushing off from the pillar to stand beside Ashley. They watched the crowd together for a moment, the music filling what might have been an awkward silence.

"So," he said finally. "Marie."

Ashley's fingers tightened around her cup. "I don't want to talk about it."

"No?" His eyes held something that wasn't quite sympathy. "Funny how plans have a way of working out exactly how we don't expect them to."

"If you're here to gloat-"

"I'm here," he cut her off, "because contrary to popular belief, I don't actually enjoy watching Cole make questionable life choices. Even when they work out in my favor."

Ashley frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ezra's smile turned, knowing. "You really think it's a coincidence that he ended up with the one person who knew exactly how to push your buttons?

The friend you trusted, the one who watched everything unfold this summer?

" He took a sip of his drink. "Cole's many things, but subtle isn't one of them. "

The implication made her eyes widen. "You think he's using her to hurt me?"

"I think," Ezra said carefully, "that Cole Westwood doesn't do anything by accident. And Marie..." He shrugged. "Well, let's just say she's always had a talent for picking up pieces other people leave behind."

"What?" Ashley asked, though something in her gut twisted with understanding.

"Jesus Christ," Ezra snorted into his drink.

"You really want me to spell it out? Fine.

Marie's been eye-fucking Cole since her junior year of high school.

Following him around like a lost puppy, laughing at his shitty jokes, probably writing 'Mrs. Westwood' in her diary.

" He smirked. "Cole used to make fun of her for it.

Called her his personal cheerleader - and not in a nice way. "

Ashley shifted uncomfortably. "People change-"

"Oh, give me a break." Ezra's laugh was sharp enough to cut.

"The only thing that's changed is Cole's need to prove he's over you.

And there's Marie, practically gift-wrapped and ready to play the role of devoted girlfriend.

" He leaned closer, his breath smelling of expensive wine.

"You know what's really fucked up? She probably thinks she's finally won him over.

Like Cole Westwood suddenly developed a taste for vanilla ice cream after years of telling everyone how boring it is. "

"That's cruel," Ashley said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"That's Cole," Ezra countered, his eyes gleaming. "You, of all people, should know how creative he gets when he's trying to hurt someone. Though I have to admit," he raised his glass in mock salute, "screwing your best friend? That's inspired, even for him."

"You're drunk."

"And you're in denial. But hey," he shrugged, that dangerous smile playing at his lips, "at least someone's getting laid out of this clusterfuck."

Before Ashley could respond, Sarah appeared at her elbow. "Everything okay here?"

"Just peachy," Ezra drawled. "Having a lovely chat about the mating habits of the desperate and delusional.

" He drained his glass, then leaned in close to Ashley's ear.

"Word of advice? Next time you break Cole Westwood's heart, make sure your replacement isn't someone who's been practicing for the role since puberty. "

"I want to get shitfaced," Ashley announced, returning to Sarah with a determined set to her jaw. The fairy lights blurred around her edges, making everything soft and dangerous.

"This is an art gallery opening," Sarah said slowly as if explaining to a child. "With wine. And cheese plates. It's not that kind of party."

"Don't care." Ashley grabbed a bottle of wine from a passing server's tray, ignoring Sarah's protests. The glass was cool against her palm, promising oblivion. "I'm done being sad. I want to be drunk."

The next few hours dissolved into a kaleidoscope of bad decisions.

The wine turned everything golden and distant like she was watching herself through the water.

She found herself in front of an abstract painting, gesturing wildly about how the chaotic brushstrokes reminded her of quantum uncertainty - her words slurring together as concerned art students backed away slowly.

Her dress stuck to her skin as she danced with strangers, their faces blending together in the dim light.

The room spun pleasantly, then not so pleasantly.

"What the hell is wrong with this one?" The words filtered through her haze, accompanied by the soft clink of glasses.

"Cole," Sarah's voice replied, tight with worry. "That’s always what’s wrong with her lately."

"Ah, fuck." Ezra's voice cut through her fog. "I can't let this continue. She's about to either cry about physics or throw up on a thousand-dollar painting."

"Please," Sarah begged. "I can't get her to leave."

Strong arms lifted her suddenly, the world tilting dangerously. Ashley's head fell against something solid - a chest that smelled of expensive cologne and cynicism. Not the scent she wanted. Not the arms she needed.

"Is it him?" she mumbled, looking up at Ezra through mascara-smudged eyes. Her vision swam, tears or alcohol making everything blur. "Are you him?"

"In your dreams, sweetheart." His voice rumbled through his chest, almost gentle.

"Ugh." She pushed weakly at him, nearly falling. Her hands caught his shirt, fingers clumsy. "Put me down. You're not Cole."

"Thank God for small mercies." But his arms tightened, keeping her from crumpling to the floor. "Come on, let's get you home before you ruin any more art installations with your quantum theories."

The cool night air hit her face as they stepped outside, making her realize her cheeks were wet. When had she started crying?

"We were perfect together," she heard herself say, the words falling like broken glass. "In another life, we were perfect together.”

“And here I thought you weren’t fucking crazy,” Ezra muttered.

“You're an asshole," she mumbled, “a pretty asshole.”

"As flattering as that assessment is-"

"No, listen." Through the alcoholic haze, an idea sparked - terrible and brilliant. "What if we pretended? Just for a bit? Make him jealous, make her see-"

"Absolutely fucking not." Ezra's voice turned sharp.

"But-"

"No." He set her down carefully against a brick wall, his hands steady on her shoulders.

Even in her drunken state, she could see something like pity in his eyes.

"That's the worst idea I've heard, and I once listened to Cole try to explain why breaking into the physics lab at 3 AM was a good plan. "

Ashley slumped forward, her forehead hitting his chest. Her hair had come loose from its careful styling, falling around her face like surrender. "You're right. That would be terrible."

"Monumentally terrible."

"The worst."

"Though..." His thoughtful tone made her look up. "Hypothetically, it would drive him absolutely insane."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the street lamp casting shadows across his face.

"No," they said simultaneously.

"God," Ashley groaned, sliding down the wall to sit on the cold concrete. Her dress rode up, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The world spun lazily around her, and she tasted salt tears, she realized. She was crying again. "I'm going to regret everything tomorrow, aren't I?"

Ezra crouched beside her, his usual smirk softened by something that looked dangerously close to understanding. "That's tomorrow's problem. Right now, let's focus on getting you home before you propose marriage to any other emotionally unavailable asshole."

"I hate you," she muttered but let him help her up. Her legs felt like water, her heart like lead.

"The feeling's mutual, sweetheart." He steadied her with surprising gentleness. "The feeling's mutual."