THE JOB DOESN’T TAKE AS LONG AS I EXPECT IT TO. WE HIT the fire hard that night, then run the perimeters in the morning, and by midday, things are mostly under control.

    I don’t get a wink of sleep. Instead, I spend the time overthinking, figuring out a way forward, and writing a mean text to Cecilia that I continue to delete and retype. I’m given the option of another night in the hotel before catching an early flight home, but my desire to get back to Gwen overrides my desire for extra hours of sleep. My brain is full, my conscience is riddled with guilt, and I can barely keep my eyes open, but in a twist, I still don’t leave this fire feeling that same sense of helplessness as I didst time.

    Distraught as I am over what’s gone on with Tripp, the anticipation I feel at going home to Gwen lightens my mood. For all the years I’ve spent wishing that someone might be there when Ie back, I’m finally about to experience that.

    I don’t even care what we do tonight. We don’t even need to talk. I would settle for lounging on the couch, rubbing her feet. Or sitting outside and feeding a roon.

    It’s with that in mind that I drive toward home from the airstrip. I decide to stop off in town to grab some beer. I even luck out and find the perfect angled parking stall on the street, when getting a spot close to one of the stores is usually an impossible task.

    It feels like a positive omen. A sign that despite being deliriously tired, things might actually be going my way. That is until I cut the engine and let my eyes fall just slightly down the block to where some of the bistro tables sit out front of Tabitha’s restaurant, the Bighorn Bistro.

    Gwen and Tripp are seated at the small metal table and they’re embracing. His arms are wrapped around her, his face is buried against her neck. And she’s holding him back.

    I want to believe that there’s a good exnation, that this is a positive thing. But I’m overtired and seeing them out together has every dark, ugly insecurity that I carry with me rearing its ugly head.

    I’ve never been overly concerned about mine and Gwen’s age difference, but suddenly I’m wondering: Is it too much? Am I too old? Am I tying her down by asking her to stay? Is she just going to leave? Maybe she’d be happier somewhere else? Or with someone else? Someone like Tripp?

    Maybe, like always, I’ll be the second choice.

    I usually try not to give these thoughts too much credence. I know that they’re pitiful and insecure. They make me seem like a more self-loathing sort of person than I want to be. But every now and then, when I’m tired and stressed, they crop up.

    I watch them for a beat. The hug isn’t a quick side squeeze; it’s definitely got more meaning than that. When they pull back, Gwen’s hands rest on his shoulders as she gives him a firm and affectionate push.

    He smiles.

    Their lips are moving, but I don’t know what they’re saying. And I don’t think that I want to. Suddenly, all I want to do is be home, and it doesn’t matter who’s there because I think what I need is to be alone.

    When I get back to the house and check the calendar, I realize Clyde is at one of his upational therapy appointments, which is probably what brought Gwen into town. Distractedly, I put myundry on, tidy up around my room, and just generally try to keep myself busy so that my thoughts don’t spiral too far into a pit of irrational despair. I know sleep would probably give me a good dose of perspective, but I don’t let myself rx.

    I’m better than this. I know I am. But after being kicked while I’m down so many times, it’s just a little too easy to believe I might not be better than this after all.

    When Gwen and Clyde do finallye through the front door, I’m an agitated mess. They’re chatting away happily, and I feel like I’m storming around with a dark cloud looming over me. I make my way downstairs to see them, and they both brighten at my presence.

    It should make me happy, but my head reys the way Tripp smiled at Gwen, and all I can muster is a frown in their direction.

    Gwen must pick up on my bodynguage or, knowing her, just my energy. That smile drops off her face, and her head tilts. But she says nothing other than, “I’m so d you’re back. I had no idea you wereing so soon. Why didn’t you tell me?”

    I straighten my shoulders, feeling them tense as I do. Anxietynces through me. She had no idea I wasing back so soon, which is why she was out with Tripp.

    Get your shit together, Rousseau.

    I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to use her of those things, so I give them a very dry “Surprise!”

    “Oh boy,” Clyde grumbles. “Trouble in paradise. I’m getting the fuck out of here.” He moves past me with a p on the shoulder and then disappears down the hallway.

    Gwen watches with a pensive expression on her face. “Everything okay?” She doesn’te nearer, clearly sensing that something is off.

    I shrug, moving into the kitchen to busy myself because I’m not really sure how to broach this conversation with her. It makes me realize how fucking terrible I am at talking about my feelings.

    But then I realize that with her, it hasn’t ever been a problem. I told her about how I was feeling after thest fire. We’ve talked about Tripp, and we’ve talked about Clyde. Hell, one of those first nights on the patio, I told her about how badly I wanted to be a dad and the real reason that I built this house—which I’ve never told anyone before.

    The fact I don’t want to talk to her about my feelings right now is only further proof that my head isn’t right. That I’mshing out because I’m tired and overwhelmed. That’s why I’m trying to walk away from this conversation.

    She follows me into the kitchen, calling me on avoiding her immediately. “Bash, I know this is new and very, very tenuous. I get it, I do. But if you’re going to turn into a boulder every time that something is a little bit wrong, it’s going to make things really difficult. I know we left on awkward,plicated terms and that you’ve been busy at work, and I totally respect that. But you gotta talk to me.”

    I walk farther into the kitchen before turning and propping my hands on the ind counter across from her. I respect her request for me to tell her what’s wrong, so with a heavy sigh, I lift my gaze to meet hers. “I saw you and Tripp out together today.”

    She sucks in a deep breath through her nose, nodding her head as she releases it. We square off across the top of the ind. “Yes, I was out with Tripp today. I would never hide that from you.”

    She doesn’t deny it, and based on the way she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin, she doesn’t feel the least bit guilty about it either.

    “Why?” I ask. “Because I can’t think of a single good reason why you’d need to spend time with him, especially after the way he spoke to you. I’m still fucking furious with him for that. What his mom did is awful, but the way he spoke to you is borderline unforgivable and if I never—”

    “If you never what? If you never speak to him again, you’ll be fine with that?”

    I blink once, shocked by the sternness in her voice.

    “You’ll just not talk to him anymore? Just pretend he doesn’t exist? You and I are just gonna skip off into the sunset like none of this shit ever happened? I was talking to him. Trying to exin things in a respectful way. Jesus Christ, Bash. Put yourself in his shoes for a minute.”

    I swallow. It’s like she’s read my mind, my internal acknowledgment that I really don’t like talking about these things. Avoiding them is so much easier.

    “Bash, you and me”—she points between us—“we’re not going to work if you can’t make amends with Tripp.”

    I rear back at that, the finality of it hitting me hard across the face. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

    She sighs heavily and carries on with an edge of exasperation to her tone. “That means that our foundation will always be off-kilter if you can’t at least try to work this thing out. You both need to untangle this massive knot. If you don’t, it means we could spend the rest of our lives together, but I will always be the person who ruined this for you. I’ll be the thing that came between you and the possibility of what could have been. It means that you can’t just run and not talk to him. You can’t shut down when shit like this happens.”

    “I highly doubt he wants to talk to me.”

    “No. Because we hurt him! But he’s your son, so you try anyway! And you never, never give up on him!” she exims, her own pain ring in her eyes. I swallow roughly, dropping her gaze because I know this rtionship is a tender spot for her. “Man, sometimes you have the emotional intelligence of a gnat, and quite frankly, so does he. Must be hereditary.”

    My mrs grind. “Why is he even still in town? If he’s so furious with me and hates me so much, then why is he still here? The amount of time he spends contributing to the economy by staying in that hotel is fucking absurd unless he’s still after you.”

    She scoffs at that. “Get real. He basically called me sloppy seconds. I promise you, he is not after me. But he is upset. Tripp isn’t just young; he’s immature and insecure. He has no idea what he wants. All he knows is that he grew up feeling unwanted—a feeling I know well—and in turn he likes having things that other people want. That’s his only interest in me, and we both know it. I reached out to him for you. Because I want this rtionship for you—and deep down, he wants a rtionship with you too. That’s why he hangs around. But like you, he doesn’t know how to say it.”

    I swallow. She thinks he still wants a rtionship with me?

    “I wanted to help smooth this over for you. I think Tripp deserved to know how we met and what happened and what a good person you are. And so I did my part to help exin it all to him. For you.”

    The weight of that statement is almost more than I can bear. I’ve always thought I wanted fatherhood. I’ve wanted to be better than the one I had.

    But now with the reality of it staring me in the face, I’m…terrified.

    “Gwen, be real. You two have history. He’s here for you. He doesn’t care about me.”

    “See that?” She points at me. “That right there is a problem.”

    I cross my arms, my brows dropping low on my forehead. “What’s a problem?”

    “That attitude, Bash. It’s all bluster. You’re full of shit.” She sighs, and I can hear the frustration in it. “I really like you. I like you more than I’ve ever liked a man before. I think you’re it for me, but I’m not spending a lifetime with you tiptoeing around these subjects. We need toy it out on the table, and if you really are carrying any deep-seated resentment against me for having dated Tripp, then you need to work through it. Because I can’t change it and I won’t be made to feel guilty for it for the rest of my life. I have apologized. I have shown up. I have chosen you at every turn and you throwing that history in my face just to avoid facing your own feelings isn’t going to cut it. I won’t tolerate it.”

    A feeling of cold dread crawls down my spine, and her words pummel me as I retreat further back into the old version of myself—the one who believes the universe takes everything away from him.

    “And what the hell is that supposed to mean, Gwen?” I say, tightness in my chest making it almost hard to breathe. Every joint feels rigid and my brain spirals, diving down, as I feel her retreating.

    I realize that this could be the beginning of the end. Over before we ever really started. I’m smart enough to put together the ultimatum in her words, but I need to hear it loud and clear to know where I stand.

    “What are you going to do? Take that job and skip town?” I ask, already dreading her answer.

    Her lips press together tightly, eyes dancing over my face. “I’m going to go out and I’m going to leave you to think about this.”

    “Leave me to think about this?” I repeat. “So is this the end? You just run along to the next stop? Guess you did warn me you don’t stay in one ce for long.”

    She rears back like I’ve pped her, and I instantly regret my words. I’d like to reach across the kitchen and pluck them right out of the air. Tell her she misheard me.

    But she didn’t. I can tell by the way she steels herself.

    “The end of what, Bash? We’re just getting started. You can’t get rid of me that easily. The problem is we can’t start off properly without you addressing these issues. You can’t just sulk and y the victim every time the going gets tough. You need to own your shit. We both know what we have is real. This is it for me and nothing is going to change that. But you still need to reach out to your son and make amends with him. We hurt him, and yes, it needed to be done, but that was a god-awful way to find out. So rather than acting like he wronged you, put your heart in your hand and go talk to him.”

    She’s right.

    I hate that she’s right.

    “And while you’re at it, you need to do a little soul-searching to figure out if you can let go of the way we started so we can focus on what we are and what we’re going to be. Because I can’t handle feeling guilty for something that I would never have done on purpose. I won’t sign up for walking around on eggshells in my own home, trying to figure out what’s wrong or if I’ve offended you. It’s stressful and unhealthy, and I’ve lived that story already. I’m not doing it again. I deserve more than that. But most of all, Bash, you deserve more than that.”

    Her words cut deep. They leave me speechless, which is probably just as well because it seems like anything I say just digs a deeper hole.

    She looks at me, waiting for me to respond, but I don’t.

    I can’t.

    She shakes her head with a disappointed sigh and then turns, leaving the room. “Excuse me while I run along to the next stop.”

    All I do is watch as the most precious person in the world to me walks away.

    And I don’t even me her.