Chapter 21 Wrenley
Wrenley
I cradle my head in my hands because it feels like it might roll off my shoulders if I don’t. Coffee would help, but the thought of moving enough to make it is laughable. Or maybe cry-able.
Unfortunately, my brain refuses to be merciful. The events of the previous night come crashing back one humiliating memory at a time. The bar. The gravel pit. The fact that I apparently decided several beers was the perfect time to corner Ruger into discussing our emotional problems.
I groan and drag a hand over my face. Of all the nights I have forgotten after having one too many drinks, why is last night not one of them? Ruger said something I can’t ignore. That the kiss isn’t the thing that changed everything. It’s a symptom of something that was already there.
My head hurts too much for this level of self-reflection.
Because now I’m forced to confront a question I think I’ve been avoiding for a while but Anchorage has forced me to examine.
What exactly is the life I’m trying to build for myself?
Not that long ago, I would have for sure said a life with the career I dreamed about in university.
And it was easier then because there was only one version of my future I was willing to consider.
Now there are two.
The conversation at the reindeer farm comes back to me. The way Ruger talked about his ex, how they couldn’t find a future that worked for both of them.
Aren’t we in the same boat?
When I picture staying here, Ruger is right by my side. But as soon as I think of stepping out of Alaska, poof, he’s gone. Neither feels particularly right or wrong.
Oh God. My brain hurts far too much for this. I’m not twenty anymore, and drinking my problems into temporary silence is not a sustainable life strategy.
Ruger appears in the kitchen, tall, handsome, and maddeningly composed, with an amused smile tugging at his mouth.
How are you feeling?
Like this is a hangover I definitely deserve, I mutter.
We’ve all been there, he says, laughing softly. Coffee?
Yes, please.
He moves around the kitchen, preparing my hungover ass coffee, and it just makes the whole situation feel worse. The air between us is so thick, I could slice into awkward little cubes.
I try to form an apology. A joke. Anything.
Do you want—
I don’t know what I want! The words explode out of me so loudly they startle both of us.
Ruger’s brows shoot up. Cream, he finishes. I was asking if you wanted cream.
God.
I drop my face into my hands. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to go back to when this was a simple transaction and I didn’t feel like I was being torn in half by indecision.
Wrenley.
I groan louder. It was one thing having this conversation drunk, but doing it in the sober light of morning is scary.
Last night, I could hide behind the beer.
Today, I have no such excuse. I really don’t know what I want, and now that I’ve said it out loud, it feels like I’ve opened a door I can’t close again.
Suddenly, warm hands wrap around mine and gently pull them away from my face.
I look up.
Ruger’s crouched before me, eyes searching mine, patient and calm. There isn’t an ounce of frustration in them despite the fact that I’ve spent the last month turning his life upside down with this easy-peasy-marriage-and-divorce. The man deserves a medal, or hazard pay, or both.
I guess we need to talk about last night, he says.
He’s still holding my hands, his thumbs occasionally brushing against my knuckles, and I find the simple gesture comforting.
I think it’s safe to assume this situation has spiralled beyond anything either of us expected, and Ruger has never once made me feel like I need to carry it alone.
The realization allows me to drop my shoulders a little.
I’ve spent so long thinking there’s a right answer hidden somewhere, and if I choose wrong, everything falls apart.
But Ruger isn’t looking at me like he’s waiting for me to make a decision.
If anything, he looks almost as overwhelmed as I feel.
And it helps knowing I’m not alone at this crossroads.
Yeah, I say quietly. I think we do.
He looks down at our connected hands, then back at me. Should we do a refresher of last night?
A nervous, breathy laugh escapes me. I think we can just continue from where we left off.
And where were we? he asks.
I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. I think we both agreed that we don’t regret the kiss.
He nods. Good job.
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. I’m glad that we’re finally talking to each other instead of around each other. No pretending and no awkward silence. Just two adults sitting at a kitchen table, trying to make sense of something we didn’t expect.
What should we do about it? I ask. About this? I lift our connected hands. It’s clear neither of us wants to let go of the other. That has to mean something.
Ruger’s gaze drops to our intertwined fingers again. I think I can’t make that decision.
Isn’t it our decision?
He shakes his head, then meets my gaze. No.
I blink because it’s not what I expected his answer to be.
What do you mean?
Ruger lets out a slow breath and moves to sit in a chair. He doesn’t let go of my hands. If anything, his grip tightens slightly.
Wrenley, he says softly, and hearing my name from him in that tone in this moment feels more intimate than any endearment could.
You came here because your career got ripped out from under you.
You came here because you needed a way forward, he says.
And the career you’re talking about rebuilding doesn’t exist in Alpine Harbor.
The words are cruel, but they still sting because they’re true.
My ex and I went through something similar, he continues. Back then, I handled it like shit. I convinced myself I knew what was best for both of us. I made decisions for her instead of talking to her and ran from the consequences of those decisions. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.
The honesty in his voice steals my breath.
Ruger—
No. He shakes his head. I need you to hear this.
His thumbs brush across my knuckles.
If your future takes you somewhere else, I’m not going to make that decision harder by asking you to stay. If you stay, I don’t want it to be because you feel obligated to.
My throat tightens.
That’s not fair, I say, squeezing his hands. You’re acting like this only affects me.
Something vulnerable flashes across his face. I know it affects me. The admission is painfully quiet. I know exactly how much it affects me.
How can I truly make a decision if we don’t try?
His eyes meet mine. Try what?
I stare at him for a second, wondering if he’s genuinely asking or if he’s giving me one last opportunity to back out of what I’m about to say.
This. I scooch my chair closer to his. Us.
It’s the first time one of us has actually said it. It’s equal parts exhilarating and scary.
I can’t make a decision about my future while pretending this isn’t happening, I continue. I can’t keep telling myself that everything I’m feeling is because we’re spending too much time together or because we’re planning a wedding or because we’re trapped in some weird immigration situation.
His mouth twitches. I get it. I’ve tried that too.
I mean it. My voice softens. Somewhere along the way, this stopped feeling like it was entirely about a green card.
The admission leaves me feeling exposed. Like I’ve peeled back a layer of skin and handed it to him.
I don’t know if I belong in Alaska, I admit. I don’t know if I belong in New York or Los Angeles either. Right now, I don’t know much of anything. My throat tightens. But I do know I want to stop avoiding you and see what this is.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows deeply.
What do you want, Wrenley? he asks quietly.
To stop pretending we’re only doing this for immigration. My pulse thunders in my ears. Maybe we find out if there’s actually something here.
We hold each other’s gaze. Ruger lets out a slow breath, but the conflict doesn’t leave his face. I can practically see him thinking about all the reasons this could go wrong.
I promise, if I figure out I’ll be miserable here, I’ll tell you, I say. We can figure it out day by day.
Ruger’s eyes search mine, like he’s looking for the certainty neither of us can give.
Finally, the corner of his mouth lifts. Okay. Let’s do it.
I lean forward, fully intending to kiss him, then stop. Wait.
What?
Does this mean everything is on the table, including… that?
Ruger’s eyes narrow. That, meaning sex?
I’m thirty-six. I have a past. And somehow, the word sex makes me feel like a virgin and incapable of making eye contact. Yeah.
A slow smile spreads across his face. Are you offering?
A blush erupts across my cheeks as heat curls low in my belly. Are you accepting?
His laugh is low and warm. Wrenley, there isn’t a universe that if you offered yourself to me, I wouldn’t praise every. Inch. Of. You.
The last three words are staccato and said with such intensity that I find myself squeezing my legs together a little tighter. I want him in every way, and it’s freeing to know that I can have him.
Slowly, he leans closer, the space between us shrinking. His nose brushes mine. His breath mingles with my own. But before we can seal our decision, a thought comes racing to the forefront of my mind.
Remi, I say suddenly.
Way to kill the moment.
I chuckle. Sorry.
He finally releases my hands, but only so he can cup my cheeks. What about her?
What do we tell her?
His thumbs brush lightly across my cheeks.
Wrenley, I don’t think we need to tell anyone anything right now, he says. We don’t even know anything yet.
He’s right. We’ve just spent however long admitting we have feelings and trying to figure out what they mean.
Giving this space to grow into whatever it’s meant to be makes sense.
If we tell Remi we’re together, only for me to realize six months from now that Alaska isn’t where I’m supposed to be, it will only turn this complicated situation into an even messier one.
Plus, it’s kind of fun having something that’s completely ours.
Okay, I say.
Okay. His smile returns. Now, can I finally kiss you?
Yes. You can finally kiss me.
The look he gives me steals the breath from my lungs.
Slowly, Ruger leans in. My hand slides up his arm until it settles against the side of his neck, and he gives a soft smile. Like he needed that tiny bit of encouragement—that knowledge that I’m choosing this too.
Then his mouth finds mine, and this kiss doesn’t feel like a million unanswered questions. It feels like the answer to all of them.
A soft sound escapes me before I can stop it, and Ruger’s hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck.
The touch sends a shiver through me. I shift closer, and the movement earns a quiet groan from him.
My stomach flips. The kiss deepens naturally, not rushed or desperate, but impossible to mistake for friendship.
Every lingering brush of our lips seems to say the things we haven’t quite managed to put into words yet.
When we finally pull apart, I can still feel his breath against my lips. His forehead rests against mine, and my heart pounds so hard and loud I’m sure the neighbours can hear it.
There, he murmurs.
There what?
His thumb brushes my cheek. That felt so much better knowing than guessing.
I smile. It did.
My phone vibrates, breaking the moment, and I look down. It’s my alarm to start walking to the shop.
I have to go, I say, unable to hide my disappointment.
He nods, grabs a travel mug, and pours my coffee with the perfect amount of cream like he always does. When I reach for it, he pulls it back, making me step closer.
Once I’m within reach, his free arm slips around my waist, pulling me flush to him.
Have a good day, baby, he murmurs, kissing me again, slow and deliberate.
When we break apart, I smile.
I’ll see you later?
I’ll have dinner ready.
I kiss him gently again before heading out. On the walk to the shop, I touch my lips and smile. At least this hangover isn’t for nothing.