15. Gwen #2
He doesn’t look my way. Instead, he tips his head back against the Adirondack chair, letting out a deeply tired sigh.
It’s dark, but the outdoor sconces drench the deck in a warm glow.
Straight ahead of us, the lake moves in soft, undulating waves.
The soothing, steady sound of it lapping against the rocky shore calls to me.
But I know when I’m not wanted somewhere, so I begin to turn away, whispering a parting, “Sorry. I’ll go back inside.”
I see his eyes close as he subtly shakes his head. “No. It’s fine. I’ll go.”
“That seems silly. It’s your house. I’m intruding. I can meditate inside just as easily.”
“Gwen. Clyde argues with me enough as it is. Can you just…not?”
I swallow at that. Everything about Bash right now screams exhaustion, and guilt nips at me for interrupting his quiet moment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
His head rolls along the back of the chair and his dark eyes land on me. I try not to squirm under the intensity of his stare. “You don’t bother me, Gwen.”
I give him my best disbelieving look. I don’t want to argue, but I also don’t buy it.
He just sighs, turning to stare back at the water. “Not in the way you think.”
Perplexing—that’s what Sebastian Rousseau is. Inconsistent too. His moods shift like the tides.
“You’re confusing, you know that?” I toss my mat down, deciding to honor his wishes and stay outside. “And kind of exhausting,” I add as I take a seat and cross my legs.
“I know” is all he says back.
But he doesn’t leave.
I go inward anyway, not caring if he stays and watches. It might inspire him to do a little meditating of his own. God knows that nervous system of his could use it.
Doing my best to ignore his presence, I close my eyes, letting the sound of his breathing mingle with the echoes of the night. The hush of the lake, the call of a loon, the wind slipping between the needles of the pines that surround the private lot.
Unlike the main strip in Rose Hill, where I’ve been living, everything out here smells fresh and wild. Like amber and cedar and that bright mineral scent of rain on warm pavement.
My breath flows, and I let the tension of the day slip away into the mat beneath me. My shoulders drop and my hips soften. My neck unlocks and?—
Why is there a lock on the outside of that door?
Fuck my brain. It just won’t let me go these days.
It’s like years of working on stilling my mind are shot because I have a crush I can’t shake.
And I know myself well enough to realize the question will niggle at me.
So instead of forcing myself through it, I quietly ask him, “Why is there a lock on the outside of that balcony door?”
Several beats of silence follow my very random question. I peek one eye over at him, wondering if he’s drifted off in the few minutes of silence.
Though that seems out of character for what I know of him. There’s something watchful about Bash. Guarded. And falling asleep beside someone who makes him as tense as I do would just be plain unnatural. Fight-or-flight—it seems like I usually make him want to fly away as fast as he can.
Unlike him, I don’t find it difficult to relax when he’s near at all, despite all the true crime podcasts I’ve consumed. In my stalwart dedication to not irritating him in his own home, I decide to let it go. Or at least try.
I close my eyes and rest the pad of my thumb against the tip of my middle finger.
I breathe again, imagining fluidly wiping a mess of writing from a whiteboard and leaving behind a shiny, clear expanse.
Letting all my jumbled thoughts and feelings be wiped away—if for only fifteen minutes.
Because I know it will make me feel better.
“I thought I’d have kids.”
Bash’s gravelly words cut through the silence and stop me in my tracks. My head turns slowly in his direction. I keep the rest of my body still, like I’m approaching a wild animal. Worried I might spook him if I do too much too soon.
I say nothing. Instead, I just listen. Give him room to talk if he wants to.
And he does.
“When I built this place, I thought I’d have kids.”
I swallow and nod softly.
“The room you’re staying in was supposed to be the perfect kid’s room. The bench. The window. I figured by a certain age, they’d want to use the balcony too. But then I worried that when they were small, it might be a safety issue. So I put a dead bolt on the outside so my wife or I could?—”
He trips over his own words, stopping midsentence with an irritated twist of his lips before forging ahead. “Whatever. I just figured I could lock it from the outside, then head back into my room from the shared balcony and not have to worry about a curious toddler wandering out.”
Everything he’s saying makes so much sense. Except for the wife part—my brain trips up on that word.
“I can take it off if it makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t even think.”
I glance over my shoulder at the pewter circle adhered to the door. For some reason, that one little touch feels monumental somehow. It’s endearing to think he planned that far ahead.
“No, that’s fine. You should keep it up for when you do have babies.”
He snorts at that.
“I think that ship has probably sailed.”
“Why?”
“I’m forty and a bachelor. And I’m not sure if you noticed, but I’m not exactly great company these days. The thought of wading back into the dating world is exhausting and daunting. The clock is ticking, and my options have dwindled.”
Options. The sentiment rankles me, and I have no right to it. Pushing the feeling aside, I shimmy my shoulders, drawing my spine up tall as I stare out over the moonlit water. “I enjoy your company.”
“Gwen.” He sighs my name like I exhaust him, his palm scrubbing over his stubbled jaw.
“Oh, quit constantly flattering yourself. That statement doesn’t need to mean more than it does.” I swear I see a dimple flash in his cheek, so I forge ahead. “I just meant that I’m not put off by all your snarling.”
He finally looks my way. “Snarling?”
“Yes. Barking and growling too.”
“Am I a dog now?”
“A big, dumb one who’s been living tied to a post for too long and doesn’t know how to interact anymore? Yes. You are.”
His cheek twitches quickly, once, before smoothing, and the responding grunt sounds suspiciously similar to a chuckle. I take satisfaction in thinking I may have lightened his mood for even a moment. I watch him raptly, his expression growing thoughtful, his gaze moving back out to the water.
“I wasn’t always like this. It kind of snuck up on me, I guess.”
“Well, we’re all constantly changing. Evolving. Growing. I don’t know a single person who is the same as they once were. I know I’m not. And how boring to just…know who you are and think there’s nothing more out there for the rest of your life.”
He shrugs. “I might have changed too much.”
I inhale deeply, a soft smile curving my lips. “Impossible.”
Bash scoffs. “Not if you ask my ex-wife.”
There’s that word again. I ignore the sudden tightness in my neck and jaw. Wife . But no, ex -wife.
Swallowing, I forge ahead with something suitably vague. “Maybe she was wrong.”
“Nah. She wasn’t wrong. And I don’t blame her one bit.” He scoffs. “You know, actually, due to recent developments, maybe I do.”
My eyes lead my head in his direction again. “Listen, I want to respect your privacy and not annoy you and all that, but I am way too snoopy to sit here and pretend that talking in code about this is the least bit satisfying.”
Our eyes meet across the ten or so feet that separate us and my stomach flips over on itself.
Fuck, he’s handsome . I never—not once in my life—had this kind of physical reaction to another person.
Several beats pass, and I’m transported to a quiet corner of an airport with a handsome stranger who makes butterflies erupt in my stomach.
That feeling of being alone with him is impossible to shake.
“It’s not an exciting story. We got married young. It was impulsive, but we had a lot of fun. Both of us had good jobs and too much disposable income. In a lot of ways, we were very compatible. Life was great.”
He pauses for a few moments, then continues.
“Then one day adulthood snuck up on me and I realized I wanted a family. She didn’t.
We tried to work it out. For a few years, I thought I could go along with it.
Thought maybe she’d change her mind. But…
” He shrugs, dropping my gaze and looking off into the distance.
“Resentment grew anyway. And I really wanted a family. We were at an impasse, and neither one of us was happy. So I left and built this place as therapy, thinking maybe I’d be able to meet someone new and have it all one day. ”
I let a breath rush out through my lips. That’s…a lot. The disappointment of it. But then he hits me with the killing blow.
“The really hilarious update is that I ran into her when I left Tripp’s birthday party all those months ago.
I was waiting around at the airport, hoping to get onto a flight, and bam there she was.
Remarried. With a toddler. And very, very pregnant.
So now I know it wasn’t that she didn’t want a family.
She just didn’t want it with me. And all I’ve done is spend years licking my wounds, wishing for something I’ll never have. Too scared to even try.”
The pain in his voice is like a spear to my chest. It aches for him.
I ache for him.
“You can. You should. Try, that is. You’re a catch. Someone will happily snap you up.” I work to keep my voice neutral and my face passive, but my tone feels frantic—a little desperate. Like I want him to believe me just a little too badly.
He laughs, a flat, biting chuckle. His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t respond immediately. Eventually, he turns his attention my way, dark eyes boring into mine. “Turns out it’s not that easy to find a person you actually connect with.”
My throat constricts and my mouth goes dry because I can read between the lines. Hear the bitterness in his voice. Pick up on the thing he just can’t bring himself to say. The elephant in the room that neither of us knows how to talk about.
We connected. We had that spark. The one you can’t force. The kind that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. And the worst part is, we both know it.
Who knows where it could have gone? It could have been nowhere at all, but I still feel the loss of that possibility.
Acutely.
Tripp doesn’t have to be here for his presence to loom between us. We both know it’s there, but we don’t talk about it.
I turn my body, rising to face him. “I broke up with him at his birthday party. Right then and there. If I had known…”
Bash goes deathly still as I trail off. It’s almost as though he stops breathing.
“You left me in that bathroom and?—”
“Gwen, just don’t.”
But I don’t listen. “The way he spoke about you? The way he spoke to me? I went straight back to him and ended it on the spot.”
“Gwen—”
“I left,” I say, forging ahead. I want him to know. No, I need him to know. “I wasn’t even that far behind you. I thought maybe I could catch up. I tried to find y?—”
He sits up, spinning to face me, a pained look of fury on his face. “Gwen. Stop.”
“That night something happened between us?—”
“Stop!” His harsh voice cuts through the night air, and I still, watching as he wipes a trembling palm over his mouth in frustration. “I can’t have this conversation with you. I can’t. ”
Eyes wide, I just blink back at him. He looks pained and desperate all at once. But his voice leaves no room for debate. This isn’t a conversation. It’s a demand. A plea to stop even thinking about us.
My throat aches as the reality of our situation crashes against me in a sudden wave. It bowls me over. The sharp bite of cold water stealing all my warmth, drowning all my unfailing optimism.
“Don’t you get it?” he implores, propping his elbows on his knees and holding his hands out like he’s begging me to understand.
“Tripp might have some glaring character flaws—I won’t argue that with you—but he’s my son .
And I’ve wanted that. Maybe not like this.
But it might be my only opportunity to have even a sliver of this thing.
My dad was a piece of shit. Walked out without a word and never came back.
I’ve always wanted to…I don’t know… fix that wrong.
Do better one day. Prove to myself that while I might have half his DNA, I’m not him.
It’s why…it’s why your being here has to be for Clyde.
For professional reasons and nothing more. ”
His breathing is rough as he pierces me with a scorching gaze that would normally make me squirm. Tonight, it just hurts.
“Gwen. I can’t fuck it all up. I can’t cross that line, no matter how tempted I am.”
His reasoning hits me like a ton of bricks. It feels as though this entire conversation has been building toward this exact moment. Like the universe is a lawyer presenting its case in court, slowly laying a trap that I waltzed right into.
My breathing turns shallow, and I press my lips together to keep from saying anything. Because what is there to say? And I don’t trust my voice not to break if I speak. I hug my arms around my torso, feeling like I need to cover up, even though I’m fully clothed.
He shifts forward, drawn toward me, and I swear he’s about to stand. But his motion stops abruptly, his fingers gripping the armrests of his chair as though holding himself back.
He makes no other move and I’m more disappointed than I have any right to be. My eyes sting as I push to stand. The weight of having to be mature about this whole thing feels impossibly heavy, but I get to my feet all the same.
Then I offer Bash a sad smile and a whispered, “I’m sorry,” as I turn and head back to my room.
And he doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t offer me a single other word.
A familiar feeling stirs inside me. The one where I’m in the way or not good enough—a burden. I know it’s not true. I know that’s not what he meant.
But I feel the sting of it all the same.
I wash my face, telling myself the wetness on my cheeks is just tap water, then crawl into the pillowy, soft bed with a heavy heart and a busy mind. Our confrontation keeps me awake for hours. I think myself in dizzying circles. Turning every possibility between us over in my mind again and again.
The entire mess feels monumentally unfair. Because I like Bash.
I really like Bash.
Unfortunately for me, I like Bash enough to keep my distance.
It shouldn’t be too hard. I was never planning to stay anyway.