Episode 8: The cost of Ambition

The early December chill seeped into Crestwood, frosting the windows of The Dandelion Pour as Anne hung a string of fairy lights above the bar, her breath visible in the cool air. The town buzzed with election fever—banners strung across streets, flyers littering every corner, voices clamoring over the mayoral race—and Gary was at its heart. He'd thrown his hat in the ring a month ago, his Coastal Coalition morphing into a full-fledged campaign, his energy now a whirlwind of speeches and promises. Anne had watched it unfold from the sidelines, her apartment a revolving door of his plans and passion, her bar a stage for his rhetoric.He'd been living with her since that rainy night in November, his duffel bag a fixture by her couch, his presence a constant hum. She'd fallen deeper into his orbit—his warmth, his touch, the way he'd pull her close after a long shift—and told herself it was real, a lifeline while Deon chased the world. But lately, his charm felt rehearsed, his smiles too sharp, and a nagging doubt had taken root, fed by the stacks of flyers he left everywhere, the petition signatures she'd unwittingly helped collect, the bar nights he'd turned into rallies.Tonight, he burst through the door, his jacket dusted with snow, his grin wide and electric. "Big news, Anne!" he said, dropping a stack of campaign posters on the counter—Gary Halsey for Mayor: A Voice for Crestwood. "Poll numbers are up—people love the green angle. We're hitting the ground tomorrow—door-to-door, the works."She nodded, adjusting a light strand, her voice muted. "That's great, Gary."He stepped closer, his hands finding her waist. "Couldn't do it without you—bar's been gold. Folks trust you, and that trust's spilling over to me."Her stomach twisted, his words landing wrong. "What do you mean?"He grinned, oblivious to her shift. "You're the face—The Dandelion Pour, the petitions, the vibe. Every signature, every nod—it's you they're buying into. We're a team, Anne."She pulled back, his hands falling away, and turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. "A team? Or a tool?"His grin faltered, but he recovered fast. "Come on, don't twist it—you've been in this with me. The bar nights, the flyers—it's all part of the push."She crossed her arms, the fairy lights casting harsh shadows on her face. "Part of your push—not mine. I thought this was about community, not your campaign.""It is," he said, stepping closer, his tone coaxing. "But it's politics—everything's a lever. You're my lever, Anne—my edge. People see you, hear you, and they vote."The truth hit her like a slap—every late-night chat, every touch, every promise laced with intent. She'd been his prop, her bar his platform, her trust his currency. "You used me," she said, her voice low, trembling with rage. "All this time—moving in, getting close—it was votes, wasn't it?""No," he said quickly, reaching for her. "It's real—I care about you. But yeah, it's helped. Can't deny that."She stepped back, out of reach, her heart pounding. "Get out.""Anne—" he started, but she cut him off, her voice steel."Out. Now. Take your stuff, your flyers, all of it. We're done."His jaw tightened, a flash of anger in his hazel eyes, but he nodded curtly. "Fine. Your loss." He grabbed his jacket, scooped up his posters, and stormed out, the door slamming behind him, the bell's chime a bitter echo.Anne sank onto a stool, her hands shaking as she clutched the counter. The bar—her refuge, her dream—felt tainted, its warmth stolen by his betrayal. She'd let him in, let him fill Deon's space, and he'd turned it into a game. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back, resolve hardening. Gary was gone—for now—and she'd rebuild what he'd taken.Weeks blurred into December's end, the election looming as Gary's campaign surged without her. Anne threw herself into the bar—new drinks, live music nights, anything to erase his mark. She kicked his flyers to the curb, scrubbed his influence from her life, and locked her apartment door to his memory. Deon's calls grew sporadic, his tour a whirlwind of Mumbai slums and Berlin streets, but his texts—Miss you, coming home soon—kept her tethered, a lifeline through the wreckage.On New Year's Eve, as snow blanketed Crestwood, the bar hummed with a modest crowd—Nina, Matt, Jacks, and a few regulars toasting the year's close. Anne poured champagne, her smile genuine for the first time in weeks, when the door opened, and Deon stepped in. His green jacket was travel-worn, his hair longer, his sky-blue eyes searching until they found her. The room faded as she dropped the bottle and ran to him, throwing her arms around him, his warmth crashing over her like a wave."You're back," she breathed, her face pressed to his chest."Couldn't miss this," he said, his voice rough with relief, hugging her tight. "Missed you too damn much."The crowd cheered, Nina whooping, but Anne clung to him, the months apart dissolving in his grip. They pulled back, his hands framing her face, and she saw the weariness in him—the tour's toll—but also the love, steady as ever.Later, after the bar emptied and the snow fell thick outside, they sat on her couch, a bottle of wine between them, the fairy lights casting a soft glow. Deon traced her hand with his thumb, his stories of the world spilling out—war zones, revolutions, Hargrove's gruff mentorship—but his eyes kept searching hers, sensing the shift."What happened here?" he asked finally, his voice low. "You're different—tighter."She exhaled, the weight of it pressing down. "Gary," she said, the name bitter on her tongue. "He moved in while you were gone—helped with the bar, got close. Too close. I… slept with him, Deon. Then found out he was using me—my bar, my trust—for his mayor run. Kicked him out weeks ago."Deon's hand stilled, his jaw clenching, a storm brewing in his eyes. "He did what?""Used me," she repeated, tears prickling. "I was lonely, stupid—he was here, and you weren't. I'm sorry."He pulled her into his arms, his voice fierce against her hair. "Not your fault—he's a snake. I knew it from the start."She clung to him, guilt and relief warring within her. "I shut him out—swear it.""I know," he said, kissing her forehead. "But he doesn't get to walk away clean."The next day, as Crestwood nursed its New Year's hangover, Deon tracked Gary down. The campaign office—a rented storefront plastered with Halsey for Mayor signs—buzzed with volunteers, but Gary stood outside, barking into a phone, his breath misting in the cold. Deon approached, his hands balled into fists, rage simmering from Anne's confession."Gary," he said, his voice a blade.Gary turned, phone lowering, his grin faltering. "Deon—back from the big leagues, huh? Heard you're a star now.""You used her," Deon said, stepping closer, his eyes blazing. "Moved in, slept with her, turned her bar into your damn campaign. You crossed a line."Gary's grin hardened, a flicker of defiance. "She let me in—wanted me there. You were gone, man. Don't blame me for picking up your slack."Deon's fist swung before he could think, cracking against Gary's jaw, sending him stumbling into the snow. Volunteers gasped, phones emerging, but Deon didn't care—he lunged, pinning Gary to the icy ground, his hands around his throat. "You don't touch her—you don't use her!" he roared, squeezing, Gary's face reddening as he clawed at Deon's wrists."Stop!" Gary choked, eyes bulging. "I'm sorry—shit, I'm sorry!"Deon's grip tightened, fury blinding him—Anne's tears, Gary's smug betrayal fueling each second—until a hand grabbed his shoulder, yanking him back. Kim Blair, coat unbuttoned, breath heaving, pulled him off. "Enough, Travers—he's not worth it!"Gary coughed, scrambling up, snow clinging to his sweater. "You're crazy!" he rasped, backing away, volunteers swarming him. "I'll press charges!""Go ahead," Deon snarled, Kim holding him steady. "Touch her again, and I finish this."Gary fled, the crowd buzzing, and Kim dragged Deon to the curb, her voice sharp. "You nearly killed him—what the hell?""He hurt her," Deon said, his hands shaking, blood flecking his knuckles from Gary's split lip. "Used her—slept with her—while I was gone."Kim's eyes softened, understanding dawning. "Shit. Okay, I get it—but you can't go off like that. You're back now—focus on her, not him."He nodded, the rage ebbing into exhaustion, and let her lead him away, the snow swallowing the chaos behind them.That night, Anne met him at the apartment, her eyes wide at his bruised knuckles, the story spilling out in halting bursts. She pulled him into a hug, her voice trembling. "You didn't have to do that—but thank you.""He won't come near you again," Deon said, holding her tight. "I'm here now—staying."She nodded against him, the bar's fairy lights twinkling through the window, a fragile peace settling over them. Gary was out—for now—his campaign tainted, his hold broken. Deon was home, his tour done, their bond battered but unbroken. The snow fell silent outside, burying the past, as they clung to each other, ready to face whatever came next.