35. Bash
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
BASH
Bash: Hey, Tripp. Checking in on you. Wanted to make sure you made it home safe.
Tripp: Yup.
The days that follow carry on in a happy, lust-addled haze.
Gwen teaches and takes care of Clyde.
I bowl and work on my mental health so that I can be in proper shape to do the job that I love. Hell, I even attend the odd yoga class.
Every day feels better. The combination of healthy eating, exercise, and companionship has me feeling lighter overall.
I would be lying if I said that I’m not avoiding dealing with the Tripp aspect of our current situation. Clyde knows, and aside from the odd, incredibly awkward and inappropriate comment, he lets us carry on without judgment.
My room has become our room, and I no longer avoid family dinners with the two of them. Still, knowing that Tripp left town on such awkward terms nags at me. It’s been almost a week since Gwen’s party and he hadn’t contacted me, which made me wonder if Gwen was right—if he was onto us.
So I figured I’d test the waters by sending him a text this morning. When I got a one-word answer, never has a person overthought the word yup so thoroughly.
Part of me had enjoyed having Tripp there that evening. In so many ways, it felt like a step forward. Like something that could be possible. Like Gwen and I could build a life in Rose Hill with our friends around us and Tripp could still come to visit.
Like maybe, just maybe, everything that I wanted was within reach.
I was playing house in my head, avoiding the reality of having to tell him. But now a thread of worry has taken hold. One I can’t shake.
My brain circles back to the words I might use to explain how everything got so complicated.
I met her first.
I couldn’t help myself.
I tried to stay away.
I’m sorry I didn’t try harder.
I want you in my life, but I can’t give her up.
Please forgive me.
I met her first.
I met her first.
I met her first.
I keep coming back to the childish retort. Like somehow it excuses every decision I’ve made since meeting her. But the truth of the matter is I did meet her first. It was only one night, but in an endless sea of nights that were only ever numb, she made me feel something.
And that feeling has never left me. I’ve clung to it almost desperately. A beacon of light that has kept me swimming through rough waters. And only recently have I really had to grapple with the fact that I have no intention of letting that feeling go.
Of letting her go.
I’ve enjoyed living in our happy bubble, and I’m not ready to burst it.
After wanting Gwen for so long and being alone for so many years, a large part of me is desperate not to disrupt the peace.
That’s why I’m sitting on the back deck, waiting for her to come home from yoga, with an absolutely embarrassing surprise ready to go.
“I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this,” I mutter to myself as I stare out over the darkened water, the shrub-lined edge of the property still and quiet.
The day was hot and dry, but the nighttime temperatures still plunge.
Spring usually brings rain to the valley, but this year it’s like we skipped a portion of the season.
We went from early spring straight into early summer.
Soon I hear the crunch of tires on the driveway from the opposite side of the house. Gwen is humming when she hops out of her truck, and it makes me smile. The front door shuts behind her, and she calls out, “I’m home!”
Next, I hear Clyde yell, “That lovesick fool is waiting for you on the back deck.”
I shake my head. I thought I saw him peeking out from behind his curtains. Snoopy motherfucker.
I’m met with the soft, rolling sound of her laugh, as though she thinks he’s joking. But she still pads toward the back of the house and steps outside.
“What are you doing out here, Casanova? Just being lovesick ?” she teases before stopping rather abruptly.
I chuckle, peeking at her over my shoulder. “You know me. Just been waiting all day for you to get home.”
She scoffs and drops beside me as I reach for the tray covered in tinfoil. I lift it onto my lap, watching her curious gaze dance over the foil as it crinkles.
“What have we got here? Did you spend your day in the kitchen making me a lovesick little picnic?”
I laugh. “Gwen, so help me. If you don’t let that one go, you’re gonna pay for it.”
Her eyebrows shoot up on her forehead. “Now you’ve got my attention.” She salutes me. “Reporting for duty, sir. Ready to pay for it.”
I groan. Ever since we started sleeping together, it’s been like this.
Fun and light and so fucking addictive .
I look her over, knowing that she’s exactly what I’ve needed.
I’ve been living with a dark shadow covering everything around me, and along comes Gwen, peeling it away, letting all that light in.
With her, the world looks so different.
So much better . For the first time in years, I feel excited about the future. With her, anything is possible.
But then Tripp’s name pops up in my mind, and I feel sick all over again. Sick because I know I can’t truly move forward without coming clean to him.
I push my anxiety aside, focusing instead on the present. Her. Tonight.
“You can pay for it later. Right now, we’re feeding raccoons.” Her eyes widen as I peel the foil back and reveal a tray covered in small bowls filled with different raccoon snacks. And yes, I spent the day researching on the internet to find out what they like to eat.
“Is this…is this…” She leans closer, her fingers hovering just above the variety of food laid out. “Is this a raccoon charcuterie?”
I chuckle. “It’s whatever you want to call it, Gwen. But I picked out an array of options to see if we can get your raccoon friend back.”
Her bright eyes flash up to mine, glowing that pale purple color in the dark blue of the night. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says.
“No, but I wanted to.”
A soft smile touches her lips. She doesn’t respond to that. I know I’ve said it a couple times, but it’s true. With her, nothing seems like that big of an ask. It turns out that when I care about someone—when I love someone—I’m willing to do anything for them.
Join a stupid bowling team that I never really wanted to.
Give them a kidney.
Play Disney Princess with some shitty raccoon.
All just to make them happy. With Gwen, it’s especially easy.
“So what have we got here? Can you explain the menu for me?” she asks with a wink.
“Okay, so over here we’ve got some watermelon. I read they really like that. And then I did some cheese. A little bacon.”
She stops me. “You cooked them bacon?”
“I mean, yeah, the internet said they like that. I figured we could try them all.” Feeling slightly bashful, I carry on as she looks at me with wonder.
“There’s canned tuna. Doritos. Marshmallows—apparently they love those, but I feel like it’s probably not good for them.
” I point to the last bowl. “And finally, we have cat food.”
Her brows burrow. “Cat food? You went and bought cat food?”
I scoff and wave her off. “No. I asked Rhys if I could borrow some of his cat food. They have a cat, you know.”
She laughs, but it’s more of a giggle, airy and disbelieving. “Is it weird if I tell you that this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me?”
I eye her carefully. It bugs me that no one has ever done something this simple for her. And I don’t need a bunch of accolades for it, so I deflect. “Yes. Because raccoons are the official animal of romance. Nothing says I’m into you like sharing rabies over a bowl of Doritos.”
Her elbow juts into my side. “Watch it, Rousseau. You’ll be the one paying for it later.”
And with that, she takes a handful of cat food from the bowl and tosses it across the lawn.
I try to stifle my groan.
“What?” she says, sliding her gaze to me with mock offense. “You’re the one who set this up. Now you’re gonna make that little bitchy grumble about it?”
“I’m not being bitchy,” I reply. “I just… Do you know how meticulously I tend to this grass? The raccoons are going to come around and they’ll dig, and they’re going to—you know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. If my lawn is fucked up but you’re happy, then it was worth it.”
She throws her head back and laughs. But as she does, a rustling comes from the bushes, and Gwen slaps a hand over her own mouth to stop herself. Moments later, a small, masked bandit—who may or may not be carrying rabies—pokes its head from the bushes. Gwen lets out an excited squeal.
“Oh my god, he’s back!” she says, eyes lighting like a cartoon character with that diamond twinkle in the corner.
Yeah. Googling raccoon foods and texting one of my friends to borrow a cup of cat food was all worth it to see her like this.
The raccoon’s beady eyes land on us suspiciously, but its pointy nose wiggles in the direction of where she threw the cat food. Tentatively, it moves across the yard, picking up a single piece of kibble.
Gwen doesn’t rush it by reaching for more food. Instead, a happy smile spreads across her face as she watches the raccoon make his way from one piece to another, his pointy, evil teeth working maniacally at crunching each chunk.
“How was your day?” Gwen whispers softly.
The raccoon freezes, eyes shifting toward us.
“Pretty good,” I whisper back, not wanting to ruin the moment for her by talking too much. But she makes a rolling motion with her hand, urging me onward. “I went to a yoga class.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. My instructor is extremely fuckable. I couldn’t stop staring at her ass the whole time.”
Gwen bites down on a satisfied smile. “I love this for you. How incredibly motivating.”
We share a heated look that has me grinning and hardening in my jeans.
“What else did you do?” she continues, watching the raccoon move forward ever so slightly.
“Talked to the therapist I’ve been chatting with. They gave me clearance to work again. Might start slow, though. I don’t need to overdo it.”