20. Bash
CHAPTER TWENTY
BASH
I swing the front door open, quelling my rising irritation over the fact that whoever is here is pulling me away from Gwen. They’re interrupting an important conversation, and I’m ready to tell them to fuck off.
But shock renders me silent when I come face-to-face with my son.
“Tripp,” I say blankly, taking in his casual attire of jeans, a plain gray hoodie, and a team cap.
He shifts awkwardly, hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. “Hey. Sorry to just drop in on you. I just… Well, my schedule opened up, and I know you had the surgery, so I figured I’d whip out here and check on you.”
I keep my face impassive, disguising my shock over his presence as I search for words that aren’t your timing is shit .
“You know, like I said I would,” he adds for context.
“Unannounced?” I ask and then add a wink, hoping to hide the thread of defensiveness in my tone. Because I’m instantly swallowed by guilt.
He chuckles good-naturedly. “I don’t know, man.
It felt more casual this way. No pressure or whatever.
I’m trying, okay? Kept thinking that I’d be there for my parents so…
” Tripp trails off, trying to cover his wince.
“I know we don’t know each other all that well, but…
It’s cool for me to check on you, right? ”
Parents . A term I’m not included in and one I’m not so sure I deserve after the way I’ve been behaving. “Yeah, totally cool.”
Except I just told your ex to come watch me next time I jerk off, so anytime except right now?
“Can I come in? Or, like, take you for a coffee? I don’t know what you’re up for. But I got a room in town for a couple of nights. Figured you’re probably still recovering, so I wanted to make it as easy for you as possible.”
Easy? There is nothing easy about having to explain to him that his ex is living at my house—has been for weeks—and I chose not to tell him when I had the chance.
I think about Gwen, sipping coffee in the kitchen, and my chest tightens.
One part of me is relieved he’s here, talking to me.
The other part is dreading having to explain.
His wide, earnest eyes get me right in the heart. He’s here, trying . And I’m fucking it all up. Again. I open the door wider and step aside, ready to give a vague and inaccurate explanation of what he’s walking into. “Listen, you should know that?—”
“Okay, you are taking way too long…” Gwen says as she rounds the corner into the foyer before freezing midstep when her eyes land on Tripp.
Fuck.
Tripp goes rigid on the front doormat, arms limp at his sides as he eyes her. “Gwen?”
She just stares at him like a deer in the headlights—round face pale, full lips slightly parted, even her eyes look colorless in this moment.
“Tripp?”
Tripp’s head tilts. “What are you doing here?”
His gaze darts to me, more in confusion than accusation.
“That’s what I was about to explain to you,” I start in, wanting to explain this away as quickly as possible.
“Gwen randomly ended up in town because she took over the yoga studio here while the owner was away. But then she met Clyde—the man I donated my kidney to—and started helping him out with tasks while he was sick. He moved in here after the surgery, for better proximity to the hospital, so she came with him. To take care of him.”
I suck in a breath when I finish my long, overly wordy explanation. I worry it sounded awkward. Because it was .
“Sorry.” Tripp’s eyes shift between us, finger flipping back and forth. “You guys are living together?”
“Yeah.” Gwen waves a hand dismissively. “But barely. Ships in the night and all that. I just asked Bash to grab Clyde’s meds from my truck so I could organize them and wondered what was taking so long.”
I know she’s lying. But she gives nothing away, other than possibly smiling just a little too brightly. Then she steps around us like we’re in her way and reaches for her key chain on the wall near the front closet. “I’ll just do it myself. You two have fun. Just pretend I’m not even here!”
With that, she waves over her shoulder, slips a pair of slides on, and slinks out the front door.
Leaving me to deal with Tripp.
Tripp, whose bewildered eyes stay glued to Gwen as she hustles down the driveway.
“I wasn’t expecting to see her, and now it’s like… Coming face-to-face with her makes me think I should try again. You know? I still feel like maybe there’s something there.”
I sit across from my estranged son, sipping a soda water I don’t even want just so that I have something to do with my hands. And my face. Because I can barely look at the kid.
He spent the day around the house, and I showed him my property. Hell, I even took him out to the airstrip, pulled out my old plane, and went for a rip.
I didn’t know what else to do with him, but after the odd phone conversation about my job as an aerial firefighter, I do know boys like planes.
And the ride was a hit. The picturesque valley-and-mountains view stretched below us, and he seemed genuinely impressed.
Maybe even a little in awe over what I do.
But now we’re at the Reach, having a drink and a bite to eat, and he’s unloading on me like I’m a trusted confidant.
About Gwen.
Guess I did a little too well at the dad thing today because, after months of bare-bones communication, he seems eager to tell me all kinds of stuff.
For example, his unresolved feelings for the woman living under my roof. The one who watched me beat off while thinking about her less than twenty-four hours ago. His ex-girlfriend. The one I told to ask next time she wants to watch—mere seconds before he knocked on the door.
Talk about awkward.
But worse, talk about feeling like shit.
Yes, I, Sebastian Rousseau, feel like a giant pile of steaming dog shit for even thinking about crossing that line with Gwen.
It would be like any random dude dating an ex of mine. Unless I was hung up on her.
Those were Rhys’s words. And I’ve thought about them a lot. Those words started my brain down the path of thinking things might be okay between Gwen and me.
But the “hung up on her” part has really fucked me over.
“But today at your house, she didn’t even come around.” He looks like a sad puppy dog, head hung over a pint of gold beer.
“Have you spoken since it ended?”
The question sounds supportive, but I’m really only asking out of my own morbid curiosity. It’s felt inappropriate to ask Gwen about the demise of their relationship, but somehow squeezing the details out of Tripp seems easier, if slightly more distasteful.
His hand slaps the table as he straightens and looks across at me. “That’s the other thing. She dumped me . I’ve never been dumped before, let alone by someone like her.”
My hackles rise. “Someone like her?”
His hands grip the brim of his hat, folding it into a curve.
“You know, like, older. More established. If some young puck bunny dumped me, I wouldn’t care.
But Gwen knows what she wants, you know?
And it’s obviously not me. She was so decisive about it.
Kinda embarrassing. Which is why I haven’t really talked about it. ”
No one has ever spoken a truer sentence. Gwen certainly does know what she wants. And I can see how that rejection might have stung—especially for someone with a sense of pride like Tripp.
“Rejection is tough, man. I know that feeling well,” I say, being supportive, even though a part of me wants to tell him to grow up.
“It’s like… She hasn’t even called me. And they always call.”
I let out a beleaguered sigh and try to remember that, at twenty-four, I was pretty stupid too.
“Have you called her?”
He scoffs now, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Nah. I can’t just roll around groveling for a second chance. I’m not that guy.”
My eyes hurt from the effort of keeping them from rolling. It strikes me that maybe I’m not cut out for parenting after all because talking to Tripp about this makes me want to grab the fork beside me and stab myself in the face—anything to end this conversation.
With every word he says, my agitation builds. Partly because I’m realizing that my son might be a bit of a douchebag. And partly because, even if he is a douchebag I sure as hell can’t pursue Gwen after hearing all this.
I shrug, feeling defeated. “Sometimes that’s what it takes when we mess up. And maybe Gwen isn’t the right one if you’re not willing to grovel. You’ll know when it’s right because you’ll be willing to do absolutely anything to get her back.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t mess up.” He takes a swig of his drink and shakes his head. “She has no idea what she’s missing, how good we could be together.”
I marvel at his lack of self-reflection, wondering what that must feel like to move through life without questioning every choice and misstep. Meanwhile, I’m dissecting all the places I’ve gone wrong, all the turns I’ve taken to get me where I am today.
I’m paralyzed by it. And he’s just…coasting.
I can’t fathom what it’s like to possess his level of confidence and nonchalance.
He goes on to tell me about his team. His summer training plans. The Lamborghini he plans to buy.
I try to enjoy it and soak up his company. After all, I’m the one who wanted a place in his life. And now he’s here, practically handing it to me on a silver platter.
But I feel sick and miserable the entire time. He was a fool to let her get away in the first place and his sentiment about how good they could be together eats at me.
The more he talks, the more agitated I become.
All I can think about is… how good they’d be together.
Not as good as she and I would be.
Tripp and I part ways. He mopes back to his hotel room with Gwen on his mind while I opt to grind my teeth the entire drive back to my place—with Gwen on mine too.