Ace
Though he didn’t exactly feel up to it, Ace decided to go out the next evening. Phoenix had a point about him needing to meet new people. If he didn’t want this to end up like Boston, he needed friends. After a quick Google search, he settled on a club called Obsidian, a couple of blocks from his AirBnb in Greenwich Village. Pocketing his phone, he locked his door behind him and headed out into the night. The line for the club was surprisingly short for a Saturday, and Ace found himself inside sooner than expected.
The loud bass thumped in his ears as his eyes adjusted to the light. After checking his coat, he made his way through the throng of dancers, toward the bar. Part of him regretted coming here. He wasn’t the kind of person who went out to clubs. Not that there was anything wrong with people who did, but they weren’t his scene. He much preferred coffee shops, or even bars. But he needed a distraction from his lack of friends, and this would do just the trick.
He waited until the bartender sidled over to him and ordered a whiskey sour. Then he turned to watch the dancers. His eyes landed on one or two of them. A lithe redhead, a man covered in tattoos. But he never lingered.
“Haven’t seen you before.”
The voice in his ear made him jump, and he turned to see a muscular blond staring at him. Ace stared back. He was attractive, that was for damn sure. His attire was simple—black tee shirt, black pants—but he filled it out oh so well.
“I just moved here,” he shouted over the noise.
“I see. I’m Beau.” He held out his hand, and Ace shook it.
“Ace.”
“You here alone?”
There was no way Ace could lie. Beau would see right through him. Besides, the entire point was to have fun and meet new people. Beau was a new person. An attractive new person.
“Yeah.”
Beau grinned and held out his hand. “Come dance with me.”
Ace stared at the hand for a moment, then drained his whiskey sour and set the glass on the bar. He let Beau lead him onto the floor. The last time he’d been to a club like this, he’d been in college. He didn’t know how to dance. Fortunately, Beau did.
His fingers skimmed up and down Ace’s sides before settling on his hips. They moved together, and slowly, Ace felt himself relax and move to the beat of the music. The bass still pounded in his ears, but now he used it to guide his movements—the sway of his hips, the bob of his head. He draped his arms across Beau’s shoulders and closed his eyes. This was nice.
Beau’s hands slid underneath Ace’s shirt. That was less nice. His heart beat faster, and he swallowed hard. All he could think about was Phoenix. Even though they weren’t together anymore, he still felt a certain loyalty.
“Beau, I—”
His words were cut off by a kiss. It was playful and just a touch possessive. A year ago, he would have been into it. He would have taken Beau home and fucked him, and that would have been the end of it. But now, he found he didn’t want to.
Firmly, Ace pushed Beau away, breaking the kiss. Beau stared at him, confusion in his eyes.
“I can’t,” he shouted.
“Why not? You said you were here alone.”
“And I am! But there’s…there’s a guy.”
“He should have come out with you tonight.”
Ace could barely read his lips, but when he did, he sighed. “He’s not in New York. Look, I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
Beau’s face fell, and he pressed his lips together, but he let Ace go. He nodded curtly. “I hope he knows he’s lucky.”
Unable to form a reply, Ace made his way through the dancing crowd. After grabbing his coat, he retreated outside, his ears ringing from the music. This had been a mistake. Not just the dancing, although that hadn’t helped matters. All of it. The job, moving to New York, leaving Wilmingson.
He’d thought this was the perfect opportunity. The place he could finally be the journalist he wanted to be. His chance to be the next Bob Woodward. Only, he found he didn’t want to be the next Bob Woodward anymore.
The stories he had covered for the Wilmingson Herald meant something. Maybe not on a national scale, but they meant something to the people whose lives were featured in them. Those people knew him. Had known him since he was a child. When he was younger, he resented them for it. But now, he found it comforting. Far more comforting than dancing with a stranger in a club. That life was right for some people, but not for him. Not anymore.
The choice wasn’t really much of one at all, he thought, walking back down the street toward his apartment. Everything he wanted was in Wilmingson. It looked like he was going home again. This time, to stay.
***
“You’re what?”
Ace took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had expected this reaction from Catherine. In the short time he’d known her, he figured out quickly that she detested surprises and changes in plan. This certainly counted as both.
“I’m resigning, effective tomorrow,” he said again. “I’m sorry, Catherine, I really am. I thought this would be a good fit for me, but it isn’t. Would it sound horrible if I said it’s not you, it’s me?”
Catherine crossed her arms and glared at him. “Yes, it would. You can’t quit, effective immediately. You signed a contract.”
He had expected some resistance, so he’d come prepared. Reaching into his messenger bag, Ace pulled out his copy of the contract. “First, I said effective tomorrow. Not immediately. I intend to work for the rest of the day. Second, if you look in section three, it says that either party can terminate the contract with twenty-four hours’ notice, within the first sixty days.”
After the disastrous night out, he’d gone back to his apartment and spent the remainder of his weekend trying to decide how to get out of the situation. The obvious first move was quitting his job, but he needed to make sure he would have one when he made it back to Wilmingson. So he’d called Bud.
Any fear that he wouldn’t be welcomed back was immediately squashed when he explained the situation. Bud had been more than happy not only to give him his old job back, but to inform him the editor-in-chief position was still open, should he want it. He had an interview next Thursday.
Once that had been scheduled, he looked back through his contract to see just when he could leave. The answer, it seemed, was tomorrow. The AirBnb had been rented on a weekly basis, so he would only have to pay for the rest of the week. There was nothing that said he had to stay there, though.
Grabbing the contract, Catherine skimmed it, the crease between her brows deepening until she flung the paper back on the table.
“So that’s it, then,” she said. “You’re just going to leave us in a bind, with no associate section editor?”
Ace resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Emotional manipulation wasn’t going to work on him. “I’ve been at the job three weeks. You’ll find someone else to train in no time. Someone who actually wants to be here.”
“What changed? You were so enthusiastic in your interview, and you get here and you’re a completely different person.”
She wasn’t far off the mark. He was a different person than he had been then. The things he thought he wanted weren’t what he wanted now. If only he had seen it sooner.
“I didn’t mean to lie to you,” he said with a sigh. “At the time, I thought I was telling you the truth. Working for a newspaper in a big city was what I had worked for my entire life. But I’m not happy here. It isn’t just the job. It’s the city, it’s the people, it’s… it’s everything.”
Catherine pursed her lips and raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by his explanation. “And there’s nothing we can do to change your mind? I understand Ross has been an issue. Perhaps if we were to—”
“No,” Ace said quickly. “I mean, yes, he’s been a problem, I’m not going to lie. But he isn’t the reason I’m resigning. It’s more than one thing. It’s everything combined. I thought this was what I wanted, but it isn’t.”
Silence hung in the air between them, and for a moment, Ace expected Catherine to fight further. Instead, she sighed and nodded. “I can’t pretend I understand your decision, but it’s yours alone to make. Good luck in your future endeavors.”
Ace stood and shook her hand, then quickly made his exit. Once outside her office, he let out a slow breath. Burning a bridge wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted to do, but since he planned on returning to Wilmingson, he didn’t feel as bad. One more day. One more day, and he could go back home. Back to Phoenix.