12. Bash #2
The sand shifts beneath my boots as I approach the shoreline. Rocking backward and forward, I suck in a sharp breath, the first inkling of anxiety twisting in my gut. Entirely unwelcome.
“Fuck.” My heartbeat picks up momentum in my chest. “You picked a hell of a time to get cold feet, old boy,” I mutter, chastising myself for doing this now.
As I shake my head into the night’s darkness, a soft rustle comes from my right. If she wasn’t wearing a bright-white blouse, she might be harder to spot.
But she is.
Gwen tiptoes toward the trees, clearly trying to creep away silently. And failing.
I sigh and turn to watch her. All it takes is one peek back over her shoulder for her to drop the ruse and face me with crossed arms.
It does nothing but prop her tits up, the moonlight bouncing off them in the most alluring way.
God, I might never see those again either. What a fucking shame.
“Don’t give me that look, Rousseau. I was here first. Can’t use that weaponized sigh on a girl who was just trying to give you some privacy.”
At least she misread the look I was giving her. Small victories.
“It’s fine,” I grumble, letting my eyes trail down her body. Because why the fuck not? I could die tomorrow. Might as well look my fill.
A wide, ornate western belt cinches her waist, highlighting the feminine curve of her hips and thick thighs—hugged by jeans that flare out into a wide-legged shape.
Jeans I’d happily tug off if she asked me to.
I shake my head. No . That ship has sailed.
My gaze drops lower, to her bare feet, her pink toenails wiggling in the sand. She holds her socks in a loose fist at her side.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask, confused.
“It was loud inside. I have to teach a hot yoga class early tomorrow morning and I would rather not be sweating champagne for all my students to smell. So I can’t really treat it like a night out, even if it is a Friday.
” She glances at the water with a soft shrug.
“Plus, I’m a sucker for going barefoot in the sand, so I snuck out for a breather. ”
I nod. “Same. Minus the yoga part.”
She quirks a brow but doesn’t call me on it. Then her expression softens. “Want me to leave?”
Do I want her to leave?
“I can get out of here. I wanted to go check out that little guesthouse. That’s my dream spot for yoga. Maybe bigger windows. Private. Quiet. A view of water. Just lock me up in there and I’ll be happy. Actually, bring me food too.”
I almost smile at her ramble. Despite the way I’ve behaved around her lately, Gwen doesn’t annoy me. Not in the least. She’s a go-with-the-flow free spirit, and I’m laced up tight—fighting against the flow a lot of the time. But she just…doesn’t.
“No,” I murmur, keeping my face turned toward the lake. “Just stay.”
I feel her approach, coming to stand beside me quietly before asking, “Are you nervous?”
“A bit.”
“Take your shoes off.”
I turn to glance at her now. “What?”
“Just trust me. It’ll help you feel better.”
I’m already kicking my boots off when I ask, “How?”
She closes her eyes, and her lips curve up. “It will help ground you. Feel the pulse of the earth on your bare skin.”
I scoff, and she peeks out one eye. “Shut up and lose your socks, Sebastian.”
Her snapping at me like that makes me chuckle. It’s so out of character. And yet, I’m reaching for my socks and soon standing barefoot beside her.
“Now what?”
“Push your feet into the sand.” My head tilts as I watch her, ankles rotating, toes wiggling as she slowly works them down into the cold grains.
I follow suit and a wave of déjà vu hits me even though I can’t specifically remember the last time I did this.
“It’s fucking cold,” I mutter.
Gwen smiles, eyes fluttering closed once again as she sighs deeply. “Makes you feel alive, right?”
I don’t respond to that. I’m not sure what to say, because, as ridiculous as it sounds, yeah, it does make me feel alive.
“Now turn your palms toward the water and press your middle finger to your thumb.”
A small part of me wants to roll my eyes, but a bigger part of me trusts that she might actually know what she’s doing. So I go along with it, positioning my hands the way she instructed.
We stand like that for a while before she speaks again.
“It would be weird if you weren’t nervous, Bash.
It’s normal to let your brain wander down every path of possibility.
So long as we don’t let it go too far. You have to come back to that feeling of knowing yourself better than anyone.
Of being so in tune with yourself that your mind always comes back to center. You need that stability. Grounding.”
“You have a lot of practice with that, do you?”
“I do.”
“You seem pretty at peace with almost everything.”
Her head tips softly. “I practice a lot.”
“How do you practice?” I ask, genuinely curious. Because I should start practicing pulling myself out of this hole of self-pity.
She breathes in deep through her nose, letting the air breeze back through softly parted lips. “For example, right now my thoughts start to turn to what must you think of me ? I was often told growing up that I’m too much?—”
“Who the fuck told you that?”
She doesn’t respond at all to my outburst even though all I want to know is who had enough nerve to say that to her face so I can set them straight.
“And I allow myself to acknowledge that I am not every person’s cup of tea.
Maybe I am more than they can handle. And that’s okay because I’m quite fond of myself and no one can take that away from me.
I’m at peace with who I am, so what you think of me doesn’t matter. ”
I think you’re just right is what I want to say. But I don’t. Instead, I go with, “I don’t think you’re too much.”
She turns and winks at me. “I don’t care.” Then, her head tilts my way. “Now you go. Close your eyes and quit staring at me like you’re going to beat someone up to defend my honor.”
I roll my eyes and then close them, letting the peaceful sounds of night settle in around me and that spark of anxiety ignite.
“Where are your thoughts turning?” Gwen asks.
“What if I die tomorrow?”
She’s silent for several beats. I get the sense that’s not what she expected me to say. Still, I hold my position. Feet in the sand, thumbs against my middle fingers, trying to feel whatever this is supposed to make me feel.
I start slightly when her cool fingers slip over mine, dusting over my skin until she’s holding my hand. Just like we did that night in the airport. My palm hums with the contact, and my entire arm feels warm. I should shake her off, but it’s a friendly gesture. A gesture of support.
And truthfully, I’m feeling a little too flayed to not take it.
“Okay,” her smooth voice starts. “We can acknowledge that’s a possibility. In all reality, any of us could die at any moment. Nothing is ever promised.”
I nod at that. It’s true. I’ve seen the fury of a wildfire turn people’s lives upside down, destroy towns, decimate nature. And no one could have seen it coming.
“But, Bash, what if you live?”
Her question echoes in my head as her warm palm molds to mine. I feel her pulse. It thrums through my body. Hell, maybe I even feel the earth beneath my feet a little differently.
All I know is that the first thing that comes to mind is, If I live, I’m coming after you.
But I bury it as quickly as it pops up. Because I know I won’t let myself cross that line. So I release her hand with one grateful squeeze and try to force myself to think about all the things I’m actually going to do once I recover.
Things that aren’t just a fantasy.