Chapter 10 Ruger
Ruger
Wrenley and Remi ended up going to Alpine Brewing, a local brewery and taphouse, for dinner and drinks—something about wedding planning, though it sounded like more of an excuse to enjoy cheap beer night. Now, the house is a little too quiet.
Less than a month ago, I liked the silence. Looked forward to it, even. A house to myself. A meal pulled from the freezer, no one to ask if they’re okay with what I chose. Just me, a good meal, maybe a beer and a little TV. But tonight, the silence feels lonely.
I stir the elk chili in my bowl, something I made months ago and portioned out because some nights, I don’t feel like cooking. I take a bite, but it’s just heat and salt. I wonder if it would taste different if I weren’t eating alone.
My eyes drift to the sink. Wrenley stood there last night, hands in the soapy water, staring out the window like she was watching something only she could see.
She didn’t notice me, and I didn’t say anything.
I just stood there like an idiot, struck by the sight of her in my kitchen.
In my space. Looking like she belonged in a house I bought with no thought of anyone else ever living in it.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I pick it up.
brANDT: In town on my days off. Pool?
Thank God.
Something to take the edge off. Something to shake me loose from this unsettled feeling clawing at my chest.
ME: I’m in.
brANDT: Text Walter.
ME: On it.
brANDT: See you in an hour.
I run a hand through my beard and open a new thread to Walter.
A distraction is just what I need tonight. Just enough noise to ground me back into the reality that this is just a green card marriage.
One hour, two missed shots, and half a beer later, I’m at the pool hall, avoiding my empty house and all the complicated thoughts that seem to come with it tonight. It’s not going particularly well, since Brandt and Walter keep bringing up the very subject I’m trying to avoid.
Where’s the future Mrs. Seale tonight? Walter asks as I circle the pool table, cue in hand, scanning for my next shot.
With her future sister-in-law, I say, lining up my cue with a ball. Doing some wedding planning stuff.
The second he mentions her, my focus slips. My thoughts drift back to the quiet of my house tonight. I miss her, and that’s a problem.
I take the shot. Another miss.
You don’t sound too thrilled about that, Brandt says, watching me over the rim of his beer.
I’m focusing, I mutter, chalking my cue.
That all? he pushes.
I’m not a wedding guy, I admit.
But you’re excited for a wife, right? Walter asks, tone light but eyes sharp. He’s watching me too closely, and that makes me nervous because he’s always been able to cut through surface-level bullshit.
I keep my face steady and my voice even. Of course. That’s the only part of all this I want.
The words leave my mouth before I can really think about them, and they feel a little too true for comfort.
For fourteen years, I’ve gone out of my way to avoid relationships becoming complicated.
I never promised permanence, and I always managed to keep my life separate from any woman who entered it.
But living with Wrenley has blurred something in my brain.
Suddenly, I’m leaving coffee for someone in the mornings and coming home to someone sitting on my couch and, during the time in between, living in my house like they belong there.
Maybe I’m just confusing proximity with attachment. Either way, I know I need to keep Walter convinced of this relationship.
Walter loves love. Married over thirty years and still leaves flowers on his kitchen counter every Tuesday like it’s a holy ritual.
He’s the guy who got ordained just so he could marry off half of Alpine Harbor himself.
If I’m not wearing the right level of giddy fiancé energy, it probably rubs him the wrong way.
If anyone is going to sniff out that this whole engagement is built on a stack of shaky half-truths, it’ll be Walter.
At the very least, he was there for the coffee fiasco, after all.
I’m surprised I didn’t leave a puddle on the floor with how much sweat formed on my body while I tried to guess how Wrenley took her coffee.
Brandt, on the other hand, probably doesn’t think twice about any of this. He’s a summer guy—drifts in from Montana when the tourists come, works the season, and then goes back to whatever version of normal he has the rest of the year. We talk more about trail conditions than relationships.
And sex! Brandt cuts in suddenly, snapping me out of my spiral.
What?
He grins. A wife and sex. Those are the two big selling points.
I bark out a laugh because on the one hand, it’s such a single, twenty-six-year-old guy thing to say. On the other hand, if only he knew just how little sex I’d be having.
Marriage doesn’t guarantee sex, Walter chimes in, circling the table. Trust me. I’ve got carpal tunnel.
Brandt’s eyebrows shoot up. He hasn’t known Walter long, but it doesn’t take years to figure the guy out. One conversation is enough to know Walter’s filter broke sometime in the early 2000s and never got fixed.
I hear you, I say, falling back into the role I’ve agreed to play. Long distance isn’t any better.
There’s phone sex, though, Brandt tosses out like it’s a solution, taking a pull from his beer. That’s gotta be decent.
I lift a shoulder. Get yourself a Montana girlfriend and find out.
You know, I come to Alaska to get away from that kind of talk, he says, waving the idea off. I’ll tell you the same thing I tell my mom: no one wants to talk dirty or get naked on the phone with a guy in a cabin surrounded by other unwashed men.
I make a face. You tell your mom that?
I might’ve embellished a little for your sake, Brandt says with a sly smile.
Plus, the real thing is better, Walter slides in nonchalantly.
Brandt and I nod in agreement because he’s not wrong.
You staying on next season? Brandt asks.
My brow furrows. Why wouldn’t I?
Brandt shrugs. Just saying… not many partners can handle this lifestyle. You’re off grid for two seasons.
I nod and add that to the list of reasons I can’t let myself get this confused. She could never be happy with a life where she’s staring at four walls, waiting for me for weeks at a time.
How does it feel working for the wildlife office this time of year? Brandt asks, changing the subject.
I shrug. Different.
The end of the cruise ship season always gives the town a weird kind of energy.
Half the businesses are trying to squeeze out the last tourist dollars before winter hits, and the other half are already mentally hibernating.
Tourists bring problems I hate dealing with, like the idiot feeding the bear.
Thankfully, I miss it when guiding. By the time I’m back for good, the ships are gone, and most of the town has hunkered down for winter.
My days are mostly patrolling, with the odd response to wildlife conflict.
But I’m only picking up shifts. Covering vacations. That kind of thing, I say.
When do you go back full-time?
After the wedding, I say, quick and simple.
Brandt glances at Walter, and they exchange a look that says more than I want to hear.
The sex, Brandt declares with a grin.
I groan. Can we not?
But it’s too late. My brain is already there, spiralling into every damn sinful thought I’ve had since she arrived.
The way her skin would feel beneath my hands, warm and smooth, like satin over muscle.
The way she’d taste if I kissed down the curve of her neck.
I imagine her arching into me, her breath catching as her nipples pebble beneath my fingers, her mouth forming my name like it’s a prayer she’s been waiting a lifetime to say.
I adjust my grip on the cue, trying to focus. I want to spend time with my wife, I say instead. That’s all.
I line up my shot and sink the yellow solid in the corner pocket. Finally. A small win.
I move around the table, eyes scanning for the next opportunity, when Walter speaks again. Just be careful, Ruger. This is a big thing. She’s changing a lot to be here with you. Don’t take that for granted. Ever.
My cue slips. The white ball veers left, grazes a stripe, and sinks it instead of the yellow solid.
Foul, Brandt announces with a smug grin.
But I’m not even listening anymore because Walter’s words hit me like a punch to the sternum.
She is changing a lot. She’s leaving a whole life behind.
She’s leaving a bustling city to land in a town where we get more moose than mail and where healthcare isn’t just expensive, it’s damn near impossible without coverage.
I think about that moment when I hit her in the face with a water bottle, and her instinct was to worry about affording a clinic visit.
The guilt of it—her concerns, her sacrifices—tightens around my chest like a vise.
She shouldn’t have to worry about any of it.
I’ll add her to my insurance the second the paperwork goes through, no questions asked. But what happens after we divorce?
I school my expression and force a smile in Walter’s direction. You’re right, I say. But we’re working on it.
I line up another shot.
She’s worth it. And God help me, she really is.
When I get home, Remi and Wrenley are in the living room, drinking tea.
Remi’s perched on one end of the couch with her laptop open, typing furiously.
Wrenley’s on the floor, surrounded by black fabric, bits of it cut into intricate shapes and pinned into something I can’t quite picture yet.
Her tongue peeks out each time she slides a pin into place, and I watch her a few seconds longer than I should.
An ache settles in my chest.
The longer I stand here watching them, the more it feels like this is a glimpse of what her life will be when all’s said and done.
Quiet nights with Remi in her living room.
And I’ll just be the guy who helped for a while.
The best friend’s brother. Not the one she stays for. Not the one she chooses.