I SWING THE FRONT DOOR OPEN, QUELLING MY RISING IRRITATION over the fact that whoever is here is pulling me away from Gwen. They’re interrupting an important conversation, and I’m ready to tell them to fuck off.

    But shock renders me silent when Ie face-to-face with my son.

    “Tripp,” I say nkly, taking in his casual attire of jeans, a in gray hoodie, and a team cap.

    He shifts awkwardly, hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. “Hey. Sorry to just drop in on you. I just… Well, my schedule opened up, and I know you had the surgery, so I figured I’d whip out here and check on you.”

    I keep my face impassive, disguising my shock over his presence as I search for words that aren’t your timing is shit.

    “You know, like I said I would,” he adds for context.

    “Unannounced?” I ask and then add a wink, hoping to hide the thread of defensiveness in my tone. Because I’m instantly swallowed by guilt.

    He chuckles good-naturedly. “I don’t know, man. It felt more casual this way. No pressure or whatever. I’m trying, okay? Kept thinking that I’d be there for my parents so…” Tripp trails off, trying to cover his wince. “I know we don’t know each other all that well, but… It’s cool for me to check on you, right?”

    Parents. A term I’m not included in and one I’m not so sure I deserve after the way I’ve been behaving. “Yeah, totally cool.”

    Except I just told your ex toe watch me next time I jerk off, so anytime except right now?

    “Can Ie in? Or, like, take you for a coffee? I don’t know what you’re up for. But I got a room in town for a couple of nights. Figured you’re probably still recovering, so I wanted to make it as easy for you as possible.”

    Easy? There is nothing easy about having to exin to him that his ex is living at my house—has been for weeks—and I chose not to tell him when I had the chance. I think about Gwen, sipping coffee in the kitchen, and my chest tightens. One part of me is relieved he’s here, talking to me. The other part is dreading having to exin.

    His wide, earnest eyes get me right in the heart. He’s here, trying. And I’m fucking it all up. Again. I open the door wider and step aside, ready to give a vague and inurate exnation of what he’s walking into. “Listen, you should know that—”

    “Okay, you are taking way too long…” Gwen says as she rounds the corner into the foyer before freezing midstep when her eyesnd on Tripp.

    Fuck.

    Tripp goes rigid on the front doormat, arms limp at his sides as he eyes her. “Gwen?”

    She just stares at him like a deer in the headlights—round face pale, full lips slightly parted, even her eyes look colorless in this moment.

    “Tripp?”

    Tripp’s head tilts. “What are you doing here?”

    His gaze darts to me, more in confusion than usation.

    “That’s what I was about to exin to you,” I start in, wanting to exin this away as quickly as possible. “Gwen randomly ended up in town because she took over the yoga studio here while the owner was away. But then she met Clyde—the man I donated my kidney to—and started helping him out with tasks while he was sick. He moved in here after the surgery, for better proximity to the hospital, so she came with him. To take care of him.”

    I suck in a breath when I finish my long, overly wordy exnation. I worry it sounded awkward. Because it was.

    “Sorry.” Tripp’s eyes shift between us, finger flipping back and forth. “You guys are living together?”

    “Yeah.” Gwen waves a hand dismissively. “But barely. Ships in the night and all that. I just asked Bash to grab Clyde’s meds from my truck so I could organize them and wondered what was taking so long.”

    I know she’s lying. But she gives nothing away, other than possibly smiling just a little too brightly. Then she steps around us like we’re in her way and reaches for her key chain on the wall near the front closet. “I’ll just do it myself. You two have fun. Just pretend I’m not even here!”

    With that, she waves over her shoulder, slips a pair of slides on, and slinks out the front door.

    Leaving me to deal with Tripp.

    Tripp, whose bewildered eyes stay glued to Gwen as she hustles down the driveway.hr

    “I wasn’t expecting to see her, and now it’s like… Coming face-to-face with her makes me think I should try again. You know? I still feel like maybe there’s something there.”

    I sit across from my estranged son, sipping a soda water I don’t even want just so that I have something to do with my hands. And my face. Because I can barely look at the kid.

    He spent the day around the house, and I showed him my property. Hell, I even took him out to the airstrip, pulled out my old ne, and went for a rip.

    I didn’t know what else to do with him, but after the odd phone conversation about my job as an aerial firefighter, I do know boys like nes. And the ride was a hit. The picturesque valley-and-mountains view stretched below us, and he seemed genuinely impressed. Maybe even a little in awe over what I do.

    But now we’re at the Reach, having a drink and a bite to eat, and he’s unloading on me like I’m a trusted confidant.

    About Gwen.

    Guess I did a little too well at the dad thing today because, after months of bare-bonesmunication, he seems eager to tell me all kinds of stuff.

    For example, his unresolved feelings for the woman living under my roof. The one who watched me beat off while thinking about her less than twenty-four hours ago. His ex-girlfriend. The one I told to ask next time she wants to watch—mere seconds before he knocked on the door.

    Talk about awkward.

    But worse, talk about feeling like shit.

    Yes, I, Sebastian Rousseau, feel like a giant pile of steaming dog shit for even thinking about crossing that line with Gwen.

    It would be like any random dude dating an ex of mine. Unless I was hung up on her.

    Those were Rhys’s words. And I’ve thought about them a lot. Those words started my brain down the path of thinking things might be okay between Gwen and me.

    But the “hung up on her” part has really fucked me over.

    “But today at your house, she didn’t evene around.” He looks like a sad puppy dog, head hung over a pint of gold beer.

    “Have you spoken since it ended?”

    The question sounds supportive, but I’m really only asking out of my own morbid curiosity. It’s felt inappropriate to ask Gwen about the demise of their rtionship, but somehow squeezing the details out of Tripp seems easier, if slightly more distasteful.

    His hand ps the table as he straightens and looks across at me. “That’s the other thing. She dumped me. I’ve never been dumped before, let alone by someone like her.”

    My hackles rise. “Someone like her?”

    His hands grip the brim of his hat, folding it into a curve. “You know, like, older. More established. If some young puck bunny dumped me, I wouldn’t care. But Gwen knows what she wants, you know? And it’s obviously not me. She was so decisive about it. Kinda embarrassing. Which is why I haven’t really talked about it.”

    No one has ever spoken a truer sentence. Gwen certainly does know what she wants. And I can see how that rejection might have stung—especially for someone with a sense of pride like Tripp.

    “Rejection is tough, man. I know that feeling well,” I say, being supportive, even though a part of me wants to tell him to grow up.

    “It’s like… She hasn’t even called me. And they always call.”

    I let out a beleaguered sigh and try to remember that, at twenty-four, I was pretty stupid too.

    “Have you called her?”

    He scoffs now, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Nah. I can’t just roll around groveling for a second chance. I’m not that guy.”

    My eyes hurt from the effort of keeping them from rolling. It strikes me that maybe I’m not cut out for parenting after all because talking to Tripp about this makes me want to grab the fork beside me and stab myself in the face—anything to end this conversation.

    With every word he says, my agitation builds. Partly because I’m realizing that my son might be a bit of a douchebag. And partly because, even if he is a douchebag I sure as hell can’t pursue Gwen after hearing all this.

    I shrug, feeling defeated. “Sometimes that’s what it takes when we mess up. And maybe Gwen isn’t the right one if you’re not willing to grovel. You’ll know when it’s right because you’ll be willing to do absolutely anything to get her back.”

    “Yeah, but I didn’t mess up.” He takes a swig of his drink and shakes his head. “She has no idea what she’s missing, how good we could be together.”

    I marvel at hisck of self-reflection, wondering what it must feel like to move through life without questioning every choice and misstep. Meanwhile, I’m dissecting all the ces I’ve gone wrong, all the turns I’ve taken to get me where I am today.

    I’m paralyzed by it. And he’s just… coasting.

    I can’t fathom what it’s like to possess his level of confidence and nonchnce.

    He goes on to tell me about his team. His summer training ns. The Lamborghini he ns to buy.

    I try to enjoy it and soak up hispany. After all, I’m the one who wanted a ce in his life. And now he’s here, practically handing it to me on a silver tter.

    But I feel sick and miserable the entire time. He was a fool to let her get away in the first ce and his sentiment about how good they could be together eats at me.

    The more he talks, the more agitated I be.

    All I can think about is…how good they’d be together.

    Not as good as she and I would be.hr

    Tripp and I part ways. He mopes back to his hotel room with Gwen on his mind while I opt to grind my teeth the entire drive back to my ce—with Gwen on mine too.

    I’m about to enter the house when I hear a clicking noise filtering around the side of the property. I’m immediately alert. My property isn’t in town, but it’s not quite rural like Ford’s or West’s. I have neighbors dotted along thekeside.

    It could be an animal, or it could be someone trying to steal my boat. So I alter my route and take the stepping-stone pathway around the side of the house that leads onto the back deck.

    I find no thief. Only Gwen, sitting on the steps of the back deck, arm outstretched, clucking at a roon with a piece of bread in her hand.

    Having her under my roof has been a mindfuck. But tonight, after enduring Tripp’s reflections on their rtionship, is a special brand of torture.

    I’ve spent weeks slowly convincing myself that it would be okay for me to pursue her. I was seconds away from taking that leap. I felt confident that it wouldn’t matter if I did.

    And then, in one fell swoop, Tripp waltzed in and fucked it all up.

    So now, while hiding in the shadows, I soak her in. She’s beautiful. More than that, the way she sees the world is beautiful. She’s good for me. Hell, she makes meugh. Living in my head feels like a constant battle sometimes, but standing next to Gwen with my feet in the sand makes everything feel a little bit better.

    Tonight, she’s peaceful, wrapped in a long, coarsely knit sweater, her tinum locks in a loose mess around her face. The twinkle of the midnight-blue water behind her makes her glow even brighter.

    It makes me want… it makes me want.

    But I can’t. Frustration builds as I admire her. And jealousy too.

    He had his chance, and he squandered it. Tripp doesn’t realize how fucking lucky he is that a girl like her gave him the time of day.

    With that frustration bubbling inside of me, Ish out.

    “The fuck are you doing?” I ask, startling them both and ruining the moment exactly like I secretly intended to. It will be easier this way. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

    The roon turns his beady eyes on me, then bolts into the darkness.

    Gwen, however, does not share that instinct. Her gaze snaps to mine, incensed. “What the hell! I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes, convincing him toe that close.”

    I should apologize, but I say, “Roons are vermin. They carry diseases.”

    She tilts her head at me.

    “What? Are you going to tell me there is a roon chakra I don’t know about that you’re tapping into? They’re pests. If they starting around because you feed them, they’ll—”

    “They’ll what? Lay siege to your castle and take over the entire property like small, furry Vikings?”

    I tip my chin up. When she puts it like that, I sound ridiculous. “They can carry rabies.”

    “That roon wasn’t rabid.”

    I sigh. I can’t believe I’ve cornered myself into arguing about rabid roons just to get her attention. Apparently, any sort of attention will do where Gwen is concerned.

    “Okay.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “You know what? It’s fine. Feed all the roons you want if it makes your energy flow or whatever, but if theye around and make a mess, you’ll clean it up.”

    “Oh, cute. Mocking my beliefs and career. Very original. No one has ever made that joke before,” she volleys back before turning and tossing the piece of bread into the trees. “There you go, Larry! Let the carbohydrate energy flow through your roon chakras to achieve full enlightenment!”

    Then she spins on me, eyes narrowed. “Thanks, Daddy Buzzkill. You just chased him off for no good reason.”

    The way she spits the word daddy makes me realize she’s just as irritated by Tripp’s unannounced arrival as I am.

    I step out of the darkness and into the flood of light that illuminates the backyard. “No good reason?”

    She pushes to stand, giving a defiant nod as she wipes her hands against her flowy cotton pants. “Yes. Just to be a dick, no doubt.”

    I rear back ever so slightly. I hadn’t expected her to bite back to this degree. “Just to be a dick?” My tongue pops into my cheek. “Is this the famed gentle approach you take with everyone who practices yoga with you?”

    I catch myself drifting toward her, drawn in her direction. Forcing myself to stop, I prop a hip against the railing at the top of the steps, crossing my arms like a barricade against the urge to move any closer.

    A dry, unamusedugh lurches from her throat as she pads up the steps toward me like she’s ready to square off. Shees right to my level. Face-to-face. “Bash, whatever we’re doing, it’s not yoga. I don’t owe you anything. And if you thought being in touch with my mind and body means I have to be a soft-spoken pushover just to amodate your shit moods, then you thought wrong.”

    I blink, watching the gears turn in her head.

    She reaches forward, pressing her pointer finger into the center of my chest above my crossed arms. “I’ve done nothing but respect your wishes and your home. I have stayed as far out of your way as possible. Minded my own business. Done only what I was asked here to do. So it’s really very simple. If you have a problem with me, then don’t seek me out. Because from where I’m sitting, I was minding my own business, and you popped up out of nowhere to scold me.”

    She sucks in a breath, like her rant is over. But then she hits me with a killing blow. “I’ve already lived in the type of household where it was preferable for me to be seen but not heard, and I’m not signing up for that again. So get your shit together and let me have a moment to myself. Maybe you should go take one for yourself too. The sand is that way.” She points down at the water. “Go get grounded.”

    I should back down, but I don’t. She’s right. I’m being a raging dick, and she’s seeing past it all.

    “Nothing about my chakras now? Which one is it again? My crown chakra?”

    Gwen scoffs. “I mean, to be frank, all your chakras are fucked.”

    “Oh yeah?”

    “You’re repressed andshing out.”

    My mrs mp as I gaze down on her.

    “And bitter. And so tense that I don’t think your body would let you take a proper deep breath even if you tried.”

    “Wow. Encouraging. Please enlighten me. Tell me more about the ways that I’m fucked.”

    She tilts her head and purses her lips, assessing me. Her eyes trail over my body in a way that makes my skin hum. “Your throat chakra is fucked because you can’t, for the life of you, say out loud what’s in your head. Never mind your heart chakra—you definitely won’t acknowledge anything going on in there. But based on your current behavior, I’m going to go say that one is positively brimming with jealousy.”

    I roll my eyes, a feeble cover. “Is that so, Gwen? And what would I be jealous of?”

    She smirks now, crossing her arms to mimic my motion. “I don’t know, Bash. What would you be jealous of?” Her toe nudges the tip of my boot. “Could it be Tripp? You mad he had what you want?”

    My lungs seize. I didn’t expect her to spell it out quite like that.

    “I think I’ve made myself pretty clear. I told you what I’d have chosen, and you told me to back off.” She bumps my toe again, leans in close, and whispers, “So now you’ll just mope around feeling sorry for yourself because the timing is all fucked up and you feel like you owe him something you don’t.”

    I incline my head toward her, close enough to feel her breath fanning across my jaw. “Careful, Gwen.”

    She chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. And she doesn’t back down. Instead, her lips move closer to the shell of my ear. “Or what? You might man up and take something for yourself for once?”

    I snap.

    I take something for myself for once.

    My hands dart out and grip Gwen’s waist.

    “You know what?” I snarl, yanking her toward me, staring at her plush mouth as her lips softly part—no doubt to say something infuriating. But I don’t let her get a word in edgewise.

    “Fuck it,” I mutter.

    Then I kiss her.