Colder than Ice

by Jane Galaxy

  Sophie had never thought Ash felt anything but confident and sure of herself.

  “Sophie, you’ve brave, and you did something terrifying when you quit your job to be a comic book writer. That’s an honest-to-God dream-chasing moment. Lot of people are still going to their jobs every day wishing they could be creative and turn what they love doing into a whole career. That’s a huge leap of faith.

  “You gotta go easier on yourself,” the blonde continued, “I mean, a dude with a nine-page Wikipedia entry spent six months lying to your face every day, and it sounds like people online are being shitty for the sole purpose of being shitty shitasses. I think you’re legally required to wear sweatpants when that happens.”

  “That’s a really good way of putting it,” Sophie murmured into the top of Ash’s head. Her hair smelled like thyme and cranberries, and Sophie was overcome so suddenly with a deep love for her friend that she hadn’t realized she’d missed—the sense of nostalgia for all this was enough to make tears pool at her eyelids.

  “I can, I will, I do,” said Ash.

  Sophie pulled back to look her friend in the face.

  “I have absolutely no idea where you’re going with this, but it sounded very inspiring and motivational,” she said.

  “I’ve been working on some stuff the girls would understand,” said Ashley. “I just mean that you can get past all this Derek baggage you’ve been toting around—”

  “Oh, I’m over that,” said Sophie. “That was years ago.”

  “But it’s all coming back, isn’t it?” Ash looked her hard in the eyes. “Soph, maybe you feel like you’re supposed to carry a grudge, like it’s expected of you, but you are allowed to just… let go of it. Become a lighter human being. It’s not like you’d be denying that it happened; you’d be doing your brain a favor. Imagine all the free space Derek’s been taking up inside your head. And what’s he been doing, anyway? Flamed out after a couple of years of trying to get a novel published, last time I stalked him on Facebook. He couldn’t even finish your fucking comic, you know.”

  Sophie knew. That was the one consolation she’d had in that whole mess—she’d never written down the ending, so Derek hadn’t been able to take that away. When Ash put it like that, the grip she’d had on the whole situation didn’t seem so necessary or like she’d be betraying herself for choosing to set it aside.

  “And you can move on from this Tristan thing, too,” said Ashley, “if that’s what you want.”

  Sophie frowned into her friend’s hair and pulled away to rest on one elbow.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you were out in LA, checking in with me, it seemed like you were happy together,” Ash said, somehow blunt and compassionate at the same time.

  “Yeah, happy because he was lying to me,” Sophie replied, a little stung at what her friend seemed to be implying after a pep talk like that.

  “Don’t get me wrong—I’m not advocating for you to take him back, or go after him,” Ash said. “But I know you, and I know what you’re like, and I don’t want to see you taking this one experience as evidence of how all men operate.”

  All Guys Can Kiss My Ass, Sophie thought wryly.

  “You’ve had some bad experiences. But the way you respond to them—that’s the important part. I get up some days dreading the fact that I have to feed my children, help my husband figure out where his work boots are even though they’re in the same goddamn spot he put them in the night before and every night before that, and then try to get twelve juniors and seniors to quit phoning in their serves.”

  Sophie waited for her to continue.

  “But I still show up. I’m still here. I can’t avoid the negative feelings, or the bad days when everything seems to be happening at once.”

  “You’re saying you think I need to grow up a little,” Sophie murmured.

  “I’m saying that for you, it’s a different lesson,” replied Ashley, sitting up and grabbing a pillow to tuck under one arm. “Being vulnerable or feeling bad isn’t bad, it’s normal. Locking yourself away to work on a new series isn’t going to solve your problems. And more importantly, being vulnerable isn’t a weakness.”

  Sophie thought back to a few nights before when she’d gone to the kitchen for some water and seen Ashley and Greg together, Ashley tipping her head to the side to lean on his shoulder while he rubbed a hand over her back.

  Being vulnerable with the right person was another facet of intimacy, of being able to support the other person and receive some caring and understanding in return during hard times. It wasn’t about protecting yourself away from the possibility of getting hurt, but putting yourself out there because…

  What if it all turned out okay?

  And what if it just made you stronger in the end?

  Sophie still lay on the bed, even as Ashley patted her on the shoulder and left the room to give her some space with her thoughts. She needed to figure this part of herself out. The experience with Derek had had too much control over her for far too long—what was the point of reliving that all over again?

  She wondered if she needed to go to Los Angeles, or London, and headed into the bathroom to wash her hair.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The view from the Rainbow Room at the top of 30 Rockefeller Plaza offered stunning views of New York City, with the leaves on the trees in Central Park turning glowing shades of red and gold, the peak of leafing season. Just the right day.

  “Jax was right,” Vanessa was saying to someone a few tables away, “I didn’t know he had it in him, so it’s probably the last time I’ll ever say that!” The group around her laughed appreciatively. “I mean, the New York Public Library is gorgeous, but we just happened to get good leaves this year, and he had the bright idea…” She trailed off as the crowd shifted, and Tristan turned back to the floor-to-ceiling view she’d been gushing over.

  It had been a perfect wedding. Vanessa’s dress was a Carolina Herrera drop-shoulder, with thick folds of fabric that went to the floor. She’d excitedly stuck her hands in the pockets of the dress when it came time to exchange rings, and turned to grin in delight at everyone gathered to watch, as if things couldn’t possibly get better than this.

  Definitely not a huge, overpublicized affair, but expertly done as far as the sophistication and closeness of guests. Nobody felt like they had to glad-hand or perform for each other, which was a relief, honestly. Apart from Vanessa’s sister Claudia and the Danish director Knute Forsyth, Tristan recognized mostly other Card One folks who were good friends with the couple. Vanessa had given up a fairly lucrative but stressful career as a member of the paparazzi, chasing celebrities around town on a bicycle with a camera, to become an on-set stills photographer, and was now an assistant director of photography on several of Forsyth’s latest documentaries. Her dark hair was done up in a loose bun that Tristan kept finding with his eyes, for some reason.

  Jax himself couldn’t have looked more pleased with how things had turned out. Tristan could tell that he seemed more… relaxed. Or at least like he wouldn’t do something outrageous and ridiculous just so he could wind up on the front of Shhh!’s Twitter feed for the next two weeks straight. He was in a tuxedo made of such dark blue velvet that it read as black, except when he’d turned to watch Vanessa come down the aisle, glowing in a beam of light as the afternoon sun came through.

  They’d gazed into each other’s eyes the whole time, and the officiant had had to nudge Jax a little to get him to break away from his bride to say his vows. An admiring chuckle had gone through the audience at that.

  Vanessa had said her vows in a quiet voice thick with emotion, composed of a lot of lovely things about how Jax made her feel like a whole person again, like she wasn’t alone against the world but had a friend and a partner. Even Jax himself had teared up at that, and laughed at himself for getting so emotional, which set off a round of tears and laughter from Vanessa, too.

  Again, it couldn’t have been more perfe
ct.

  He turned back to the window and watched the shadow of a cloud quickly pass over the face of the Empire State Building. A noise and sensation of someone at his elbow made Tristan look up to find Prasad holding out a champagne flute. After a moment’s hesitation, Tristan took it from him.

  “Alright, then, mate?”

  Tristan gave a half-smile out onto the skyscrapers nearby. He could hardly stay angry at Prasad when he wasn’t really even mad at him to begin with.

  “Alright,” he echoed, and watched his best friend relax out the corner of his eye.

  “I honestly thought she’d asked you, or you’d sorted things out with her,” Prasad said. “I didn’t mean to muck it all up, I promise.”

  “I know,” Tristan replied, looking at him sidelong and taking a sip of the champagne before holding out the glass to look at it. “They’re serving the guests Taittinger? This is a good party.” He idly cast his eyes about the room before settling on Taran Pope, who was speaking to a young woman with black hair in a very dark violet dress. “Who’s that?”

  Prasad followed his gaze.

  “Dunno.”

  And then Prasad handed off his empty champagne glass to go over to the pair, where Tristan heard him say,

  “Hullo there! Who are you?”

  “Good Christ, man,” Tristan muttered to himself. Prasad was always going to be the person who’d walk up to anybody and point-blank ask them who they were in his cheerful and oblivious way. Tristan felt the deep urge to follow in his wake and smooth things over, tell the woman that her dress was nice, ask her how she was enjoying the wedding, how she knew the couple.

  “Natalie,” Prasad said upon his return. “Jax’s personal assistant.” He looked at Tristan in alarm suddenly. “Or do you mean Taran Pope? Because that’s Taran Pope.” He pointed directly at the man Tristan had known for about five years as Taran Pope. “That one, over there. No, right there. The mopey one. Well, second-mopiest in the room compared to you.”

  “Thanks,” Tristan replied dryly.

  “Are you still mad at me? It’s a party, surely you can set things aside for a couple of hours,” Prasad said, for some reason executing an awkward dance move. The expression on his face was odd, though, and Tristan realized that their brief exchange hadn’t sufficiently smoothed things over.

  “Prasad, we’re fine, please stop doing that, people are staring and also it’s hideous.”

  His friend did not stop doing a jerking approximation of the twist, and Tristan passed a hand over his face in mortification.

  “You sure? Because I did cause your breakup with someone you obviously really liked and who liked you, and it was honestly nice to see you back in a good mood for once, and I’d hate to think that you might resent me for utterly destroying your ability to be happy, or whatever,” he finished a bit lamely.

  “Oh, you didn’t do anything,” said Tristan with a sigh. “It’s… probably for the best that the truth came out, even if I didn’t want it to.”

  Prasad finally stopped dancing.

  “How bad was it?” he asked after a few moments.

  Tristan thought about it.

  “Devastating,” he said honestly. “But she was so dignified about it. If I’d been watching from the outside, I think I’d have cheered her on.”

  He could see in the window’s reflection his friend sizing him up.

  “That’s big of you,” Prasad told him. He took two appetizers from a waiter’s tray and passed Tristan something that tasted like spicy cream cheese and puff pastry. “I’ve been meaning to tell you—I’ve been asked to write up a treatment for the next Card One film.”

  “Oh?”

  Prasad licked the tips of his fingers.

  “Yeah. The thing is, though, I’m not sure if I want to do it.”

  Tristan took a step back and glanced over, surprised. Prasad had spent so long trying to get on salary with the studio—why give up now?

  “There’s a new group looking into adapting Indian historical figures into superheroes, and I’m sort of thinking it could be interesting,” Prasad went on. “I’d have a lot more creative control, and maybe even direct eventually.”

  “That’s great,” said Tristan. “You should get to direct, you’d be good at it.”

  Prasad gave him a half-smile.

  “Maybe you should take the treatment opportunity.”

  Tristan screwed up his mouth.

  “Too soon?”

  “I’m easing out of the game, I think,” Tristan replied. “It was pulling me in too many directions anyway.”

  “Oooh,” said Prasad, looking across the room, “I thought I saw Dominic Thompson at the ceremony—have you heard about all that?”

  “No, who’s that?”

  Prasad gestured to the young Black man chatting with Jax at the edge of the dance floor.

  “They’ve recast Gideon for the next movie.”

  “Why?”

  “Taran says that Gerald Laker is looking to get onto Broadway, and bought out his own contract.”

  “Bold move,” Tristan remarked, gazing at Dominic. “Hope the gamble works out for him. Any idea what Thompson’s like?”

  “He’s definitely on the rise—up for awards, involved in social activism. A very carefully planned career.” Prasad tilted his head in contemplation. “All set to be a legend someday.”

  The young man across the room was very good looking, and it was easy to imagine him as Gideon Cole, the young inventor who gave up his chances at entrepreneurial fame and fortune to build the powerful devices and suits that the Protectorate depended on to complete their missions. He was the logical core of their group, acting as a technical advisor and early advance warning. Gideon stayed in the Steel Knight’s headquarters and warned the group of danger through earpieces they wore as he kept a constant watch on their enemies.

  Dominic was dressed in a very sharp-looking tuxedo with subtle brocade embroidery across its fabric that was only visible when he turned a certain direction in the light. He had a smile that suddenly burst out of nowhere and was gone just as quickly, replaced with an intense focus on what Taran Pope was currently saying to him.

  “Should be an interesting addition to the cast.”

  Prasad shrugged, took a contemplative sip of champagne, and cast a glance at Tristan—the key indicator.

  Tristan gestured for his friend dash across the room for another startling social interaction, and went back to moping—or gazing, really, it was just gazing, why did Prasad have to be so dramatic?—out the window.

  He was going to be disowned and separated from his family, probably forever. He didn’t have a job. He was pretty sure his acting career had taken a major hit.

  It was just a touch difficult to be blissfully happy for other people at a time like this. Tristan was pretty sure that brooding quietly near the windows was as good as anyone was going to get out of him for a while.

  “I heard through the grapevine that Lucius is getting killed off at the end of Dark Magic,” said a voice next to him, and Tristan turned to find Vanessa, her gown even more extraordinary up close. She looked up into his face. “Well, Jax told me. Actually, you know what? You probably didn’t come to a wedding for someone to bring up something like that.” She paused, and with a dead serious expression said, “Did you see my dress?” Vanessa shoved her hands into the pockets clear up to her elbows and swished the fabric around her violently to make a point.

  “Vanessa, quit doing that to your dress!” her sister called from the table near the cake.

  The bride whirled on her. “I will do whatever I want, okay?!” she hollered back, but it was without any malice or real anger. Tristan chuckled. She grinned up at him.

  “Guess how many glasses of champagne I already have inside me.”

  “Sixty-seven,” said Jax coming up from Tristan’s other side to throw one arm around her shoulder and plant a loud smooch on her cheek that had Vanessa making a face.

  “That’s what the dress
is for,” Vanessa joked, rubbing her hands over her midsection, “To hide the champagne I’m smuggling out of here.” Jax’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked genuinely impressed.

  “Did I marry up or what?” he asked Tristan. “Gorgeous and smart.”

  “You both look very happy,” he replied.

  “We should go someplace hot for a honeymoon,” said Jax.

  “I thought we were going to the French Seychelles. You said we were.”

  Jax went mock wide-eyed for a moment.

  “Oh my God, was I supposed to book a honeymoon?” He looked around the room behind them. “Where’s that purple girl? Did she do it? Natalie!” Jax wandered off in search of his long-suffering assistant. Before she followed, Vanessa placed one hand on Tristan’s forearm and rose up on her tiptoes. He bent over, and she placed a kiss on his cheek.

  “It’ll all work out, I promise,” she said quietly, and floated away in her lovely gown to the dance floor, leaving Tristan with a lump in his throat.

  Central Park had gone mostly dark, and the lights atop the Empire State Building were changing between red and blue when Tristan watched the reflection of Joanna Hart approach him, carrying a plate. He turned to see what it was, and suddenly found himself holding a slice of wedding cake.

  “You’ve been standing there the whole time, at least come sit and keep me company so I don’t feel like a weirdo gawker,” she said. The revolving dance floor was proving very popular, and Jax had stuck his hands into his wife’s pockets from behind to swish her dress back and forth while she was singing along to ABBA at the top of her lungs. The chandelier above them glistened as the spotlights shifted through a rainbow of colors. He took a bite of cake; the center had pineapple-flavored syrup in what he guessed was a nod to Vanessa and Claudia’s Puerto Rican heritage.