9. Tyler
TYLER
"Julian? Have you seen my phone?" I call, rummaging through the couch cushions for what feels like the hundredth time that morning. Decorative pillows flew aside in my growing frustration.
"Nope," came the distracted reply from his bedroom, where he is engrossed in a video game with Karl—the two boys now so inseparable that our suite had become their shared domain.
Not that I minded. Having Karl around made Julian happier than I'd seen him since before the divorce. And the arrangement gave me more time with Ginger, which was...complicated in ways I wasn't ready to examine.
I make a mental note to suggest some outdoor time after lunch—balancing screen time with fresh air was one of those parenting fundamentals I try to maintain even on vacation, though today my mind was elsewhere.
Five days left. I catch myself counting the hours on my watch while waiting for Ginger to return from her morning hike.
The suite feels emptier without her in it—a silence that hadn't bothered me before now felt like a void.
Last night, we took the boys stargazing—no witnesses around, no need to hold hands or lean into each other—yet I'd found myself pointing out constellations with my arm draped across her shoulders, breathing in the vanilla scent of her shampoo.
This morning, I'd made an extra cup of coffee how she liked it—splash of cream, two sugars—before I even heard her stirring in her wing.
My stomach knots as I glance at the calendar.
Five days, then back to separate lives, separate cities, separate everything.
I rub my chest where an unfamiliar ache had taken residence—the kind of persistent discomfort I'd schedule a doctor's appointment for if I didn't know it had more to do with emotions than cardiology.
When had this arrangement shifted from convenient fiction to something that made my chest ache at the thought of its expiration date? The practiced touches now felt natural, the forced smiles genuine. Somewhere along the way, the performance had become reality—at least for me.
"Ah, found it," I mutter, locating my phone wedged between the coffee table and a stack of resort brochures. As I pick it up, the screen lights with a notification that soured my mood—three missed calls from Amy.
My thumb hovers over Amy's name on the screen as my jaw clenches.
Of course she'd call now. Right when Julian was laughing again.
Right when I'd mastered the resort's elaborate coffee machine to make Ginger's favorite latte.
Amy had a radar for moments of peace—a calibrated system that could detect happiness from three states away and immediately deploy countermeasures.
Last time I'd ignored her calls, she'd bombarded Julian's phone until he'd handed it to me, wide-eyed and worried.
I exhale through my nose and press 'call back’. My shoulders braced against the wall as if preparing for a physical blow.
"I'm stepping out for a call," I announce to no one in particular, doubting the boys even registered my words over the sound of their game. Only furious button-mashing acknowledge my exit as I slip out the door.
In the hallway outside our suite, I lean against the wall and return Amy's call, bracing myself for whatever drama was brewing.
The plush carpet muffles my restless pacing—a habit developed over years of contentious calls with my ex-wife where staying in motion seemed the only way to manage the frustration without saying something I'd regret.
Amy's voice slices through the line. "Tyler, finally," she answers on the first ring, her tone carrying that familiar blade of impatience. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."
"Just busy," I reply neutrally. "What's up, Amy?"
"I was calling about Julian's spring break. I know it's my time with him, but I've been invited to a destination wedding in Bali that week, and I was hoping we could swap."
Of course she was. Julian's time with his mother always seemed to take a backseat to her social calendar.
I press my thumb and forefinger against the bridge of my nose.
The familiar bitter words rose in my throat, but I swallow them back.
They would only make things worse for Julian in the long run.
"You want me to take him for spring break, and you'll take him when instead?" I ask, already knowing how this would play out.
"I was thinking maybe summer? Just a week or so."
"A week of your choosing, I assume, based on whatever else you have planned."
Her sigh is theatrical, a sound I knew all too well. "Don't start, Tyler. I'm trying to be responsible by giving you advance notice instead of canceling at the last minute."
The bar was so low it was practically underground. Subterranean. Possibly approaching the earth's core. "Fine. I'll take spring break. Let me know which week in summer works for you."
"You're a lifesaver," she gushes, her tone instantly warming. "So, how is your vacation? Julian texted me a photo of some dinosaur sculpture. Looks like he's having fun."
I tense, wary of Amy's sudden interest. "He is. We both are."
"And I hear you might not be vacationing alone," she continues, a sly note entering her voice. "Someone mentioned something about a suite-mate? Someone with a lottery ticket and a cute son?"
Of course the gossip had reached her. Crystal Peak's staff prided themselves on discretion, but nothing traveled faster than news of a potential relationship involving a wealthy guest—especially to an ex-wife who still monitored my social connections.
I grip the phone tighter, irritation coursing through me.
"Julian and I are sharing accommodation with Ginger and her son Karl," I confirm, keeping my tone deliberately casual. "The resort overbooked and this was the solution."
"Ginger, huh?" Amy's voice drip with false sweetness. "How cozy."
"Is there a point to this, Amy?" I struggle to keep my voice even as I pace the plush carpeted hallway, wearing a path that future archaeologists might someday uncover and label 'Exhibit A: The Ex-Wife Conversation Trail'.
"Just looking out for my son's wellbeing," she replies. "Making sure he's not being exposed to... questionable situations."
The implication made me grip the phone so tightly my knuckles blanch white. "Julian is fine. Thriving, in fact." I lower my voice, conscious of the neighboring suites. "And my personal life is none of your business."
"It is when it affects our son."
"It doesn't." My words come out like steel striking flint.
I pace three quick steps, pivot, and force myself to unclench my jaw.
"Julian and Karl have become friends. Yesterday they built a snow fort together for four hours.
Julian taught Karl how to play chess. That's the extent of any 'exposure' happening here. "
"So you're not sleeping with Lottery Girl?" Amy asks with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
"Jesus, Amy! That's inappropriate, and again, none of your business." I run a hand through my hair, pacing faster.
Her laugh is cold. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Take it however you want. I need to go." I am about to end the call when the elevator doors down the hall open with a soft chime, and Ginger steps out, carrying several shopping bags.
She spots me and smiles, her hazel eyes crinkling at the corners—that genuine, warm smile that had become the highlight of my days. Then she registers my expression. Her smile falters. Concern replacing cheerfulness.
"Everything okay?" she mouths silently.
I nod, trying to convey that it was nothing serious.
"Is that her?" Amy demands in my ear, somehow sensing the shift in my attention. "Put her on."
"Absolutely not," I say firmly. "Goodbye, Amy. I'll email you about the spring break details."
I end the call before she could protest further, pocketing my phone with more force than necessary.
"Sorry about that," I say to Ginger as she approaches, her shopping bags rustling with each step. "Ex-drama."
"Ah," she nods sympathetically, her expression softening. "I know that particular hell well."
"Some people don't understand that divorce means they no longer get a vote in your personal life," I grumble, holding the door open for her.
"Mark once called me at 3 AM to express his disapproval about Karl's science fair project photos I'd posted on my socials," Ginger offers, shifting her shopping bags. "My choice of Instagram filter was 'misrepresenting our son's academic achievements.'"
I can't help but laugh, the tension from Amy's call dissipating. "Wow. And I thought Amy was bad."
"It's probably a tie," she says with a wry smile.
"Need help with those?" I gesture to her bags, which were clearly straining her arms.
"Please. My arms are about to fall off. Who knew souvenir shopping could be such a workout?"
I take several bags from her. The resort logo adorning most of them, a reminder of our dwindling time here. "Stocking up before we leave?"
"Karl wanted gifts for his friends back home," she explains as I open the suite door for her. "Then I got carried away buying things for my sister, my neighbor who's watching our cat, Karl's teacher..."
"The mailman, random strangers on the street," I tease.
"It's a sickness." She sets her remaining bags on the counter with a sigh of relief, flexing her fingers to restore circulation. "How are the boys?"
"Zombified by video games, last I checked."
As if on cue, a chorus of groans erupt from Julian's room, followed by Karl's triumphant, "YES! New high score!"
"Should we be concerned about their screen time?" Ginger wonders, though she didn't sound worried as she began to organize her purchases.
"Probably," I shrug. "But it's vacation, and they're bonding."
"Fair point." She begins unpacking her purchases, organizing them into neat piles on the kitchen counter. "So, what was the ex-drama about? If you don't mind me asking."
I hesitate, debating how much to share. "The usual. Amy wants to change our custody schedule to accommodate her social life, then felt entitled to pry into my personal business."
"Ah, the classic combo," Ginger nods sagely, holding up a snow globe to examine it. "Mark specializes in those too, with a side of financial manipulation."
"Amy heard about you," I admit after a moment, watching her reaction. "About us sharing the suite. She had... opinions."
Ginger's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh? What kind of opinions?" Her hands still on a snow globe.
"The kind that assume I'm incapable of having a platonic relationship with a woman," I say, rolling my eyes. "She wanted to talk to you, which was never going to happen."
"I appreciate the protection," Ginger says dryly.
"It wasn't about protection," I clarify leaning against the counter. "I didn't want to subject you to her particular brand of interrogation. Plus..." I trail off, unsure how to articulate the rest.
"Plus?" Ginger prompts, her eyes meeting mine with quiet intensity.
"Plus I didn't want her polluting this—whatever this is—with her assumptions and judgments." The words tumble out raw and unfiltered, surprising even me.
Ginger's fingers still on the snow globe. She sets it down with the precision of someone handling explosives, her eyes meeting mine. The tiny muscle at the corner of her mouth twitches once, twice. "And what is this, exactly?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
My throat tightens. Every morning for the past week, I'd woken up reaching for her before remembering she slept in the other room.
I'd memorized how she took her coffee, the time she emerges from their wing, the way she hummed under her breath when reading.
Yesterday, I'd caught myself looking at real estate listings in her hometown.
I open my mouth, close it again, the truth stuck somewhere between my heart and my tongue.
"I don't know," I admit finally. "It started as one thing, but now..."
"Now?" Her voice is quiet.
Before I could answer, Julian and Karl burst from the bedroom, full of manic energy from too long staring at screens.
"Dad! Can we go to the pool? Please?" Julian begs, vibrating with excitement. "Karl's never been to one with a waterslide!"
"What kind of deprived childhood..." I begin, earning a playful swat from Ginger.
"We had a lovely community pool," she defends, "It lacked certain fancy amenities like slides and heated whirlpools. And water that didn't occasionally turn your hair green."
"Well, we can't have that continuing," I declares solemnly to Karl. "Every child deserves the life-changing experience of a waterslide."
"So we can go?" Julian presses, bouncing on his toes.
I glance at Ginger, raising an eyebrow in question. She nods, a silent communication that flowed between us with surprising ease—as if we'd been reading each other's signals for years rather than days.
"Give us twenty minutes to change, and we'll head down," I tell the boys, who race back to Julian's room to prepare, high-fiving as they went.
An awkward silence falls between Ginger and me, the interrupted conversation hanging in the air like a suspended note.
"We should probably—" I begin.
"I should go get—" she says simultaneously.
We both laugh, the tension dissipating.
"Rain check on that conversation?" I suggest.
She nods, though something like disappointment flickers across her face. "Rain check."