Bash: I know this is random, but giving you a heads-up that I’m donating a kidney to a friend. So if I’m MIA for a bit, I’m probably just in the hospital.

    Tripp: Jesus. When is this happening?

    Bash: Tomorrow.

    Tripp: And you’re just telling me now?

    Bash: Didn’t want you to get all sappy on me or something.

    Tripp: Well, I do think it’s pretty cool that you’d donate a kidney to a friend. I don’t think I like anyone that much. Lmao.

    Bash: One day you will.

    Tripp: Maybe. For now, I will just admire your generosity from afar.

    Bash: Okay. Good luck with the end of the season. Catch you on the flip side.

    Tripp: Ugh. Yeah. End of the season is looking like it will be sooner rather thanter. Maybe I’lle visit you sometime. See your ce.

    Bash: I’d like that. Drop me a line.hr

    WEST STRIDES OUT OF HIS KITCHEN WITH A SHIT-EATING grin on his face and a kidney-shaped cake in his hands.

    He stops at the head of the table, right beneath the banner that reads We’re going to miss you, Daddy! “Bash, congrattions on finally finding your perfect match,” he announces to the dining room full of our friends. “None of us expected it to be Clyde, but sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants. And I, for one, could not be happier for you. Or him.”

    A ripple ofughter rolls through the room as he sets the white cake on the table for everyone to see. It’s covered in… veins? Capiries? I don’t fucking know. The decorative icing has done an incredible but disturbing job of making it look like an anatomically correct kidney. In perfect script it says Bon voyage, Kidney!

    And all I can do is groan.

    Only West.

    Beside him, Skr shakes her head but stares up at him with stars in her eyes. Like no matter how ridiculous he is, he still hung the moon for her. I sometimes wonder if it’s because he’s so ridiculous that she’s found peace with him.

    Rosie has dropped her face into her hands, and Ford has his arm slung over the back of her chair—the only thing he gives West is his typical dry eye roll.

    Rhys’s deep, rumbling chuckle filters in from the other side of the table. Arms crossed over his broad chest, he looks downright amused.

    Amused enough that his wife, Tabitha, shoves an elbow into his ribs along with a threatening sounding, “What are youughing at? I made that cake.”

    He turns his smirk her way with an innocent shrug. “And? That just means that even though it looks disgusting, it will taste delicious.”

    The warmth between them—the teasing and prolonged eye contact—makes me feel like an interloper.

    It makes me think of Gwen.

    And finally, I let my gaze flit to the opposite side of the table. To her.

    Gwen’s cheeks are rosy, her smile bright and genuine. Her eyes sparkle as she appraises the horror that is my cake. She has hercy white blouse unbuttoned far enough to show the slopes of her ample cleavage. Those buttons stood no fucking chance, and she owns it. Her subtle confidence might be the most attractive thing about her.

    Still, she looks different now than she did earlier, when those big doe eyes welled with tears.

    Tears for me. Happy tears.

    It threw me for a fucking loop. I hated it, but a part of me loved it too. Because for a moment, it felt like someone in the world really saw me—and liked what they saw.

    When Gwen looked at me today, I hadn’t felt like a second choice.

    “Tabby, I think it’s beautiful. How could a healthy kidney be anything but?” she gushes in her typical Gwen way. I swear she can find beauty in anything.

    “See?” Tabitha pokes Rhys. “Gwen thinks my kidney cake is beautiful.”

    I shake my head and look back toward West, who is watching me, eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. “So? Do you like it?”

    I roll my lips together, trying to keep fromughing. “You’re an idiot, Weston.”

    He brightens further. “Calling me an idiot is your lovenguage, so I will take it. I love you too, man. Stay safe tomorrow.” Then, ncing around the table, he lifts his champagne ss and waits for everyone to follow suit. “Here’s to Bash and his kidney,” he says as everyone raises their sses. “You just might be the most thoughtful asshole I know. Cheers, to you and that big soft ck heart of yours! And to Crazy Clyde!”

    I give in and chuckle now. West will wear a guy down like that, and after looking around the table at all my friends here today, it didn’t feel as hard to let that amusement trickle out. The othersugh, and we all gently tap our rims in a salute around the table with a shared murmur of “To Crazy Clyde.”

    Clyde needed to check into the hospital early for surgery prep and couldn’t be here tonight. But tomorrow morning I fully intend to tell him that everyone gave a toast for Crazy Clyde—I think he’ll get a real kick out of that.

    Gwen and I toastst, and it feels like everyone is watching us. I don’t think it’s lost on anyone that after months of avoiding her like the gue, I’m the one who extended the invite today.

    I did it to be polite. This isn’t an elementary school birthday party. Hell, I’m forty years old. I don’t need to exclude someone just because I’m all tangled up over her.

    I’m mature, dammit. I can totally be around Gwen. This invite was a peace offering.

    Our eyes catch and hold. For one beat and then two. Even as chatter breaks out around us, I can’t look away.

    And though Gwen is younger, she’s no little girl. She holds my gaze back just as boldly. I’ve thought that maybe she’s angry, going out of her way to be polite but secretly resenting me.

    After all, I’m the one who got the number wrong. I’m the one who didn’t try harder to track her down.

    I don’t know why she and Tripp broke up. He never told me, and I sure as hell haven’t brought it up with Gwen. But I can’t shake the thought that I caused the demise of that for her too.

    Yet looking at her tonight, I don’t get the sense she’s irritated by me at all. Have I been beating myself up in my head for no reason? It’s on the tip of my tongue. To ask her. To just spit it out so I can stop torturing myself wondering.

    But the moment slips away when West slides a slice of cake in front of me. “Dude. You have got to try this. Our Tabby Cat outdid herself.”

    Gwen shoots me a small quirk of her lips and a second silent toast, then she turns away to chat with Skr.

    I watch her as I hold the ss to my lips but put it back down without drinking. I know alcohol consumption before this procedure isn’t rmended. But I didn’t want to ruin everyone’s fun. Then I regretfully turn my attention to West and the cake.

    It’s delicious.

    But not delicious enough to steal my wandering thoughts away from the woman seated across from me.hr

    As is fairly typical for me, therge group atmosphere bes more irritating than fun. The music plus the chatter makes it loud, and being the center of attention is pretty much my worst nightmare.

    There’s a reason I keep to myself. There’s a reason I built on a private piece of property. And it’s because I like my peace. I enjoy my time alone. In fact, I don’t even usually feel all that lonely. It’s doing me no favors in the dating department—but there’s arge part of me that’s avoiding that scene altogether. Especially considering what happened thest time I felt a spark of connection with a woman.

    Still, there’s something abouting home from a long stretch away working a fire and finding space and silence. I’ll sit out on my balcony and dpress. The birds, theke, the swish of the breeze through the trees—that’s how I rejuvenate.

    Not by surrounding myself with friends.

    No, I do this for them. They need this. They wanted this, and as much as I love to see everyone together, my social battery drains rather quickly.

    It might also have something to do with the fact that everyone else is drinking while I’ve officially hit the point in the night where I need to fast before surgery.

    I’ve retreated to the kitchen for some breathing room, and everyone else is huddled in the living room ying an old game of Operation that West dug out of his crawl space “special for this party.” The buzzer is going off a hell of a lot more than it has any right to, which is resulting in a chorus ofughter each time.

    It makes me smile even though no one is here to see it.

    Seeking some quiet, I slip from the house during one of those more raucous moments. Spring is in the air, and the nights are growing warmer. Still, it’s spring in the mountains, and I rub my hands roughly over my arms for the friction.

    West has a stunning property. A sweeping stretch ofnd near theke, just outside of town. His old farmhouse sits back in the trees—not along the shore, like mine. But I know that just down a narrow, winding path, it opens up to a panoramicke view.

    Drawn by the sound of the waterpping at the shore, I shove my fists into my jean pockets and head toward theke. Dense pines line my path as I pass a small guesthouse on my way. Warm, dim light filters from inside, and I peek in through the window, wondering why it would be lit up at all. The space looks tidy but unused, not lived in.

    Except for the small, gray mouse in the corner. It’s nibbling on a piece of cheese that looks suspiciously simr to the Manchego on the ornate cheese board Tabbyid out earlier. My brows furrow, but I decide it’s not my issue. I can mention the mouse to Westter.

    I continue toward theke, the inky ripples highlighted by the bright moon. I haven’t let myself think much about the fact that surgeries go awry sometimes, but taking thest steps down the short drop to the shore, it hits me I might never see this view again.

    The sand shifts beneath my boots as I approach the shoreline. Rocking backward and forward, I suck in a sharp breath, the first inkling of anxiety twisting in my gut. Entirely unwee.

    “Fuck.” My heartbeat picks up momentum in my chest. “You picked a hell of a time to get cold feet, old boy,” I mutter, chastising myself for doing this now.

    As I shake my head into the night’s darkness, a soft rustlees from my right. If she wasn’t wearing a bright-white blouse, she might be harder to spot.

    But she is.

    Gwen tiptoes toward the trees, clearly trying to creep away silently. And failing.

    I sigh and turn to watch her. All it takes is one peek back over her shoulder for her to drop the ruse and face me with crossed arms.

    It does nothing but prop her tits up, the moonlight bouncing off them in the most alluring way.

    God, I might never see those again either. What a fucking shame.

    “Don’t give me that look, Rousseau. I was here first. Can’t use that weaponized sigh on a girl who was just trying to give you some privacy.”

    At least she misread the look I was giving her. Small victories.

    “It’s fine,” I grumble, letting my eyes trail down her body. Because why the fuck not? I could die tomorrow. Might as well look my fill.

    A wide, ornate western belt cinches her waist, highlighting the feminine curve of her hips and thick thighs—hugged by jeans that re out into a wide-legged shape.

    Jeans I’d happily tug off if she asked me to.

    I shake my head. No. That ship has sailed.

    My gaze drops lower, to her bare feet, her pink toenails wiggling in the sand. She holds her socks in a loose fist at her side.

    “What are you doing out here?” I ask, confused.

    “It was loud inside. I have to teach a hot yoga ss early tomorrow morning and I would rather not be sweating champagne for all my students to smell. So I can’t really treat it like a night out, even if it is a Friday.” She nces at the water with a soft shrug. “Plus, I’m a sucker for going barefoot in the sand, so I snuck out for a breather.”

    I nod. “Same. Minus the yoga part.”

    She quirks a brow but doesn’t call me on it. Then her expression softens. “Want me to leave?”

    Do I want her to leave?

    “I can get out of here. I wanted to go check out that little guesthouse. That’s my dream spot for yoga. Maybe bigger windows. Private. Quiet. A view of water. Just lock me up in there and I’ll be happy. Actually, bring me food too.”

    I almost smile at her ramble. Despite the way I’ve behaved around hertely, Gwen doesn’t annoy me. Not in the least. She’s a go-with-the-flow free spirit, and I’mced up tight—fighting against the flow a lot of the time. But she just… doesn’t.

    “No,” I murmur, keeping my face turned toward theke. “Just stay.”

    I feel her approach,ing to stand beside me quietly before asking, “Are you nervous?”

    “A bit.”

    “Take your shoes off.”

    I turn to nce at her now. “What?”

    “Just trust me. It’ll help you feel better.”

    I’m already kicking my boots off when I ask, “How?”

    She closes her eyes, and her lips curve up. “It will help ground you. Feel the pulse of the earth on your bare skin.”

    I scoff, and she peeks out one eye. “Shut up and lose your socks, Sebastian.”

    Her snapping at me like that makes me chuckle. It’s so out of character. And yet, I’m reaching for my socks and soon standing barefoot beside her.

    “Now what?”

    “Push your feet into the sand.” My head tilts as I watch her, ankles rotating, toes wiggling as she slowly works them down into the cold grains.

    I follow suit and a wave of déjà vu hits me even though I can’t specifically remember thest time I did this.

    “It’s fucking cold,” I mutter.

    Gwen smiles, eyes fluttering closed once again as she sighs deeply. “Makes you feel alive, right?”

    I don’t respond to that. I’m not sure what to say, because, as ridiculous as it sounds, yeah, it does make me feel alive.

    “Now turn your palms toward the water and press your middle finger to your thumb.”

    A small part of me wants to roll my eyes, but a bigger part of me trusts that she might actually know what she’s doing. So I go along with it, positioning my hands the way she instructed.

    We stand like that for a while before she speaks again. “It would be weird if you weren’t nervous, Bash. It’s normal to let your brain wander down every path of possibility. So long as we don’t let it go too far. You have toe back to that feeling of knowing yourself better than anyone. Of being so in tune with yourself that your mind alwayses back to center. You need that stability. Grounding.”

    “You have a lot of practice with that, do you?”

    “I do.”

    “You seem pretty at peace with almost everything.”

    Her head tips softly. “I practice a lot.”

    “How do you practice?” I ask, genuinely curious. Because I should start practicing pulling myself out of this hole of self-pity.

    She breathes in deep through her nose, letting the air breeze back through softly parted lips. “For example, right now my thoughts start to turn to what must you think of me? I was often told growing up that I’m too much—”

    “Who the fuck told you that?”

    She doesn’t respond at all to my outburst even though all I want to know is who had enough nerve to say that to her face so I can set them straight. “And I allow myself to acknowledge that I am not every person’s cup of tea. Maybe I am more than they can handle. And that’s okay because I’m quite fond of myself and no one can take that away from me. I’m at peace with who I am, so what you think of me doesn’t matter.”

    I think you’re just right is what I want to say. But I don’t. Instead, I go with, “I don’t think you’re too much.”

    She turns and winks at me. “I don’t care.” Then, her head tilts my way. “Now you go. Close your eyes and quit staring at me like you’re going to beat someone up to defend my honor.”

    I roll my eyes and then close them, letting the peaceful sounds of night settle in around me and that spark of anxiety ignite.

    “Where are your thoughts turning?” Gwen asks.

    “What if I die tomorrow?”

    She’s silent for several beats. I get the sense that’s not what she expected me to say. Still, I hold my position. Feet in the sand, thumbs against my middle fingers, trying to feel whatever this is supposed to make me feel.

    I start slightly when her cool fingers slip over mine, dusting over my skin until she’s holding my hand. Just like we did that night in the airport. My palm hums with the contact, and my entire arm feels warm. I should shake her off, but it’s a friendly gesture. A gesture of support.

    And truthfully, I’m feeling a little too yed to not take it.

    “Okay,” her smooth voice starts. “We can acknowledge that’s a possibility. In all reality, any of us could die at any moment. Nothing is ever promised.”

    I nod at that. It’s true. I’ve seen the fury of a wildfire turn people’s lives upside down, destroy towns, decimate nature. And no one could have seen iting.

    “But, Bash, what if you live?”

    Her question echoes in my head as her warm palm molds to mine. I feel her pulse. It thrums through my body. Hell, maybe I even feel the earth beneath my feet a little differently.

    All I know is that the first thing thates to mind is, If I live, I’ming after you.

    But I bury it as quickly as it pops up. Because I know I won’t let myself cross that line. So I release her hand with one grateful squeeze and try to force myself to think about all the things I’m actually going to do once I recover.

    Things that aren’t just a fantasy.