Page 121 of Wild Card
He scoffs in disbelief, head shaking as he takes a step back and lifts both hands in surrender. “Wow. This is really something else. Un-fucking-believable if I think about it. It’s one thing to be betrayed by some girl I dated for a blink of an eye. It’s entirely another to be betrayed by you.”
He launches his missile, and it hits its intended target. Me, right in the fucking chest. Because this is a betrayal.
I won’t take that away from him.
“Tripp. Maybe we can all go somewhere and talk this out,” Gwen says, her voice calm and even. She’s being supportive, but the damage has already been done.
He laughs, harsh and bitter. It’s a laugh that hurts.
I feel fucking sick, and that feeling doesn’t abate when he turns away. I reach for him, but he jerks his arm away from me.
“Don’t touch me,” he bites out, marching away. “And don’t follow me. I can’t even look at you.” As he shoves the door open roughly, he calls back, “I hope you two are fucking happy together. Have a nice life.”
The bell above the door jingles, sounding too light for the weight of that conversation. And when he’s gone, I’m torn between wanting to run after him to explain and being too stunned to move.
We stand staring at the door. Through the window, I see his rental car pull away, and I can’t help but hope that he drives safely even though he’s rightfully distraught.
I turn to Gwen, who looks shaken and a little bit nervous. “Come here,” I say, and she does, instantly stepping into my arms. I wrap them around her and drop a kiss on the top of her head. “We’re going to work this out.”
“Bash,” she breathes, “I’m so sorry. This is?—”
“No. Stop apologizing when you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s more complicated than either of us knew.” I sigh roughly, holding her tighter and breathing in her scent as I confess my feelings. “Deep down, I was prepared for this. For telling him. Maybe not like this—god, never like this—but I’ve known it was coming and that it wouldn’t be pretty. There was just no way around hurting him.”
I pull away, cradling her face gently in my hands as I crouch slightly to look her in the eye. “Because what I keep coming back to is this: I can’t live without you.”
She peeks up at me and swallows, eyes glistening as she gives me a quick nod.
“I hate having to leave you like this, but I have to go.” A quick glance at my watch tells me I’m cutting it close.
“I know,” she whispers. “We can talk when you get back.”
“When I get back.” I look her over carefully, searching for any signs of that part of her that wants to keep moving. The part that’s scared of settling down, the one I worry might pick up and leave at any moment. Everything here is messy. Costa Rica is on the horizon. Why would she stay? “Don’t go, okay? I know everything here is complicated and terrifying. But don’t run this time. Please stay. We will work it all out.” I give her shoulders a squeeze, getting lost in her pale purple irises, swimming with emotion right now. “For me, just…stay.”
With that, I plant one long kiss on her perfectly plush lips. I should try to postpone my departure, but all I want is to flee. I want to work so I can be distracted. I want to process the weight of what Tripp just unloaded on me. And it all feels like too much to unpack. My hope is that, with a few days of distance, it might look more manageable.
I pour as much of myself as I can into this one kiss, begging her to stay, begging her to wait, begging her to make it through this thing with me. Because I have a sinking suspicion that what’s on the other side of this struggle might be…everything.
I just have to figure out how to keep it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
BASH
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 did last 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 I come 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 raccoon.
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 evenluck 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 explanation, 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.
