Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
BASH
The rest of the week, I keep my distance, just like I said I would.
But it’s not easy. Not when I see Romilly coming outside her cabin each morning, looking so beautiful in an otherworldly, angelic way.
But not just beautiful. Sad. I want to discover what’s on her mind, but I promised to give her space.
Still, it takes every ounce of strength I’ve got not to reach for her as she brushes past me in the mess hall or circles the chapel with her Bible and a purposeful expression. Especially since our kiss in the woods is still burned into my brain.
It’s been three days since, and all I want is to pull her right back against me and devour her.
But she rejected me, even after I told her I’d stay in Meadow Hills.
I thought it would make her happy, but it only pushed her away.
It’s a good thing I didn’t tell her how badly I want to make her little town my new home, how much it already feels like home, or just how much of my heart is with her. It would have made things worse.
And now, I want a cigarette for the first time in ages.
Lord, help me.
I’ve started training every morning to work out my frustrations.
Thanks to the prodding and reminders from my agent, Max, my fight is only four weeks away.
So, each morning before sunrise, I head into the woods with a jump rope, resistance bands, and enough tension in my body to snap a tree in half.
The crisp, cold air stings my lungs as I shadowbox beneath a canopy of amber and fire-colored leaves.
I grunt through push-ups in the dirt, slam my gloved fists into the trunk of a tree, and try not to think about her.
But I always do.
Romilly, with her soft laugh and stubborn streak.
Romilly, with her guarded eyes and the way she looks at me like I might just be dangerous enough to ruin her.
And maybe I am.
We barely speak the rest of the week. When we do, it's polite. Careful. Surface-level. She thanks me when I hand her a ladle in the kitchen. Nods when I offer to carry supplies for her. Smiles a faint, flickering thing that never reaches her eyes.
It kills me.
Because after that kiss—after the way she melted in my arms like she was made to fit there—I was sure we were on the same page. But I should have known better. And I should have remembered the walls she’s built were there for a reason.
I really need to stop trying to knock them down. I need to just…wait.
One of the few wise things my mother once told me comes to mind.
Sebastian, trying to rush a woman is like trying to force a fruit to ripen.
She said it to me while my dad was trying to rush her to get ready one morning so they wouldn’t be late, but still.
I think the sentiment applies in this case just the same.
I train. I help the other camp counselors.
I pretend to enjoy when the campers ask me if I’m really “Bash the Smasher,” a name that recently started circulating social media with my fight approaching.
I hike, chop wood, stoke the fire at night, and sit across the bonfire from her with my heart in my throat.
The next morning, I get up an hour before wake-up time and find a log to sit on. I’m so deep in thought, I don’t even notice when Logan comes up behind me.
“You look like a man who needs to punch something,” he says, arms crossed, his breath fogging in the crisp morning air.
I narrow my eyes at him. “What makes you think that?”
“Hm, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you’re currently sitting on a log by the empty campfires with your face resting on your fists.”
“I’m fine,” I grunt, pushing myself off the log and rolling my neck until it pops. “And I’m about to go train anyway.”
“You’ve been brooding like a rejected Disney prince for two days straight,” he says.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know the correct way to respond when I’ve been rejected after kissing Romilly.”
Logan pauses, wincing. “Ouch…okay, I know I wasn’t down before, but if you need to tackle someone, I’m game.”
I side-eye him. “You’re volunteering to be my punching bag? What about your surfing competition?”
“Hey, I’ve got brothers. I’m used to getting beat up emotionally and physically. Plus, I know you won’t actually kill me because then you’d have to attend all the extra activities you keep avoiding so we’re not short a counselor.”
Tempting.
“And look. I brought these.” Logan tosses me a pair of makeshift sparring mitts he must have brought from his cabin.
“What in the world, mate? Did you anticipate this moment or something?”
“You moping and needing to punch something? Always.” He shoots me a cocky grin. “Come on, Smasher. Let it out.”
“You sure about this?”
“No, but I had two cups of coffee and a piece of banana bread this morning, so I feel invincible.”
I laugh, despite myself. “Okay. But I’m not going easy.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We grab some pads from my bag in the cabin and head straight for the woods.
Since it’s early in the morning, we have some time before camp activities begin for the day.
Logan insists we warm up first, and by the time we’re on our second set of push-ups in the clearing near the trailhead, both our sweatshirts are drenched in sweat.
The sharp breath I inhale carries the scent of the damp leaves clinging to the air around us.
“You ready?” Logan asks.
“Let’s do this.”
We square off. I throw a few light jabs at the pads to start.
“You’re holding those wrong,” I tell him.
“Says the guy who’s currently monologuing between punches.”
I hit harder.
Logan staggers back, then recovers. “Okay, wow. Your feelings for Romilly are doing wonders for your upper body strength.”
“Shut up.”
“Just saying. If you two ever actually kiss again, I might have to start wearing tougher stuff to these sessions.”
I hit the mitts harder, ignoring the way my jaw clenches.
Logan whistles. “Oh yeah, that’s the sound of a man scorned.”
“She’s not—” I cut myself off with a jab-cross-hook combo. “I’m just giving her space.”
Logan lowers the pads, breathless. “You’ve been giving her so much space I’m starting to wonder if she’s on another continent.”
I glare. He shrugs.
“I’m just saying, maybe she’s pushing you away because she’s scared, not because she doesn’t feel anything.”
I throw one last punch for good measure. “Maybe.”
“Or maybe,” he adds with a smirk, “you’re both hopelessly gone for each other but too stubborn to admit it.”
“I liked you better when you were letting me hit you.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, picking up the mitts. “I’ll shut up now. But fair warning, if you keep looking at her like she’s the moon and stars, one of the kids is going to start writing poetry about it.”
I roll my eyes. “Get back in position.”
He grins. “Yes, coach.”
And by the time we’re finished, I feel much better. I hate it, because that means Logan was right about me needing to punch something. And of course, I’ll never tell him.
But he was right.
Two days later, it’s finally time to pack up and leave. The kids have a dazed look in their eyes from all the fun, and even the trees seem to rustle a little more softly, like they’re mourning the end of our time together.
When I see Romilly loading her luggage into the trunk, I approach her. Nerves swim in my stomach because I haven’t spoken much to her since our kiss. But I manage to say to her, “I was thinking about riding back with Logan. If you’d prefer it.”
As if by instinct, she bites her lip. She meets my gaze like it’s painful for her. “That’s probably a good idea.” And then she stares at the ground. “See you at work tomorrow?”
I nod. “Of course.”
When I grab my things and stuff my duffel bag into the trunk of Logan’s SUV, he shoots me a wince. “Ouch, man.”
“Stop it.” I stand by the open door, watching as Romilly gives a lingering hug to each of her campers. She laughs at something Taylor says, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear, and I feel that ache in my chest all over again.
I’m standing at the front door of the lake house when my mother texts me.
Mum
Have you been ignoring my messages, Sebastian?
Me
Which messages?
Mum
The ones asking if you’ll be attending the gala this Tuesday in Portland with us? After all, you’re already there.
Frowning, I scroll up to see what she’s talking about. Indeed, there are at least three texts I somehow missed about a gala.
Dread pools in my stomach. If I believed she was asking me to attend out of kindness, or even convenience, I might consider it. But I know for a fact this is her way of trying to rope me back into my old life. Mum has never asked me to come to their annual autumn gala before.
Even though I feel pressured by her right now, guilt slices through me as I reply.
Me
Sorry.
Mum
Well, then, expect a visit from me and your father at some point while we’re there. This is getting ridiculous.
Me
Should I find somewhere else to stay while you’re in town? I’m guessing you’ll want the lake house to yourself.
Mum
No. There’s a beautiful hotel in Portland I’ve been itching for an excuse to stay at.
I sigh and tuck my phone in my pocket.
I’m going to see my parents.
It’s been so long.
A mix of emotions present themselves—anxiety, sadness, and even a little excitement. Because even if we don’t see eye to eye, they’re still my parents, and I love them.
But I’m guessing after they see me, they won’t go back to Australia without me. Not easily, at least.
Ingrid waves at me when I come through the front door. She’s flipping a grilled cheese at the stove that makes my stomach rumble. She’s really gotten good at the cooking thing. “About time you showed your face around here,” she says.
“Nice to see you too, sis.”
“Yes, well, I have to admit it’s been lonely. Having the house to myself has made me realize you technically count as company.”
I laugh. But it fades too soon, and Ingrid must notice.
She narrows her eyes at me. “What is it?”
“What is what?”
“That look on your face. I think it might be defeat, but I’ve never seen it on you, so I can’t be sure.”
“It is not defeat.”
Ingrid’s eyes widen as she points a finger at me. “It’s defeat!”
I sigh.
“Tell me what’s happened.”
I launch into the story of my time at camp with Romilly.
Though I know it will cause Ingrid to gag dramatically, I don’t exclude the bit about that searing kiss between us after the kayak dumped us into the water.
When I get to the part about Romilly needing space, Ingrid frowns thoughtfully.
She rubs her spatula back and forth under her chin without seeming to realize it.
“Poor thing. She’s just afraid,” she says simply.
I hold my palms out. “How do I show her she doesn’t need to be?”
“Well, stop giving her space, for one. You’re basically giving up, and that’s exactly what she’s worried will happen when things get serious between you two.”
I arch an eyebrow. “When?”
“Yes. When. I’ve never seen you so hung up on anyone before, so things are clearly already serious for you.”
I grunt in response. “So you’re saying I need to go back to smothering her?”
She snorts. “Believe me, you weren’t smothering her. Otherwise she wouldn’t be freaking out. Whatever you were doing before was working. Just keep doing it.”
I mull over her words. It sounds simple enough, but the problem is I’m not even sure what I was doing to begin with. I haven’t been playing any game. What’s happening between me and Romilly is genuine. And I think that’s why it’s so hard for me to see things from a distance like Ingrid can.
“Thanks, Innie.” I muss up her red curls like I know she hates.
“Stop it.”
“I mean it.”
She sighs. “Don’t mention it. And if you think it will help, I’ll bake something. You could invite her over again.”
I grin at her. “It sounds to me as if you like Romilly.”
She shrugs. “Well, I can’t afford to shop for clothes. So, why not sister-in-laws?”
Her words stir something inside me. Not the sister-in-law part, but the bit about not having enough money. I rub my hand across the back of my neck. “That reminds me. I’ve been thinking that maybe you should go back home soon.”
Ingrid pauses her stirring at the stove. When she faces me, there’s a mixture of shock, confusion, and hurt playing across her features. “What in the world for?”
“I have a job now. And I’m going to be fighting again soon, so I’ll be fine on my own. There’s no need for you to work so hard for my sake.”
She studies her food. “I really don’t mind working all that much. I actually quite like it.”
But I know it’s a lie. She hates working more than she hates smiling. “I…I’m staying in Meadow Hills. Like, permanently.” Saying it aloud makes it more real. And despite where I stand with Romilly right now, it feels good knowing I’m ready to stay and, God willing, fight for her.
She raises her eyebrows. “What about Mum and Dad?”
“They’re coming to town for the autumn gala, and they’re planning to come visit. You should go back with them because they want us out of here next month, anyway.”
She narrows her eyes. “What about you?”
“I’m not going back. I’m going to get my own place here.”
She sighs. “I have to admit, I thought you’d eventually go back to Australia, if not back with our parents. But…I’m happy for you. I think this is a good decision.”
I smile. “So, you’ll go back home?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” I grin at her. I can’t deny it relieves me to know she’s closer to mending things with our parents, even if I haven’t yet. “In the meantime, tell me about this loaf you’re considering baking.”