I freeze.
It’s what my Maddy, my wife, used to say. Every time we were out on the boat, just the two of us. I’d want to stay out there alldamn day, chasing one more cast, waiting for one more fish. And when she was ready to head back—without fail—she’d glance at me, a smile in her voice, and say,You think you ’bout done?
Her way of telling me I had about fifteen minutes before her patience wore thin.
No one else knew that. No one.
For a beat, I can’t move, can’t breathe. The weight of it slams straight into my chest, knocking the air right out of me.
Eslin’s watching me. I can feel her gaze on me—steady, curious, concerned.
She knowssomethingshifted. But she doesn’t press, doesn’t speak. Just sits there, tense and quiet, reading me. Or at least trying to.
Before I can even gather myself, Linda’s head tilts again. That eerie calm settling over her features as she turns toward Eslin. Her voice drops again. This time, it’s as if she’s connecting with something deep inside of Eslin.
“Some people,” Linda starts, her voice almost as if she’s getting emotional. “Some people stay, my child.”
Eslin stiffens beside me. I feel it, sharp as a blade. Her hand tenses slightly against her thigh. The lightness from moments ago? Gone.
Neither of us laughs now.
We just sit there, caught in a stretch of silence that feels heavier than the walls around us. Both of us processing what the hell just happened—what was said, what it meant.
I don’t know what those words meant to her. And she sure as hell doesn’t know what they meant to me.
But somehow, without saying a word, we both know—Linda hit something. Something personal. Something meant for each of us, and only us.
And that unspoken truth hums in the air between us, thick and impossible to ignore.
When we finally step out of that van, the air outside hits like a slap—breeze sharp, the lights too bright, too loud. But none of it cuts through the weight hanging between us.
We walk a block in silence, our steps falling in sync, like it’s been decided without a word.
Then, finally, Eslin exhales, her voice soft. “That was…interesting.”
I snap my gaze to her. “I know, right?”
A slow smile ghosts across her lips. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…” she says, playful, like we’re two kids hiding under the bleachers.
I stop abruptly. A couple behind us stumbles, forced to break apart and shuffle around. I don’t move. Just turn and look her straight in the eyes.
“You’re asking me to share what those words meant?”
She lifts a shoulder, casual, but her gaze is anything but. “The way I see it, we’ll probably never see each other again. Two strangers who shared one crazy, wild night. Who got to know something real about one another. Something deep. No strings.”
I swallow. “And we’re just supposed to...what...walk away? After a night like this? After sharing something so…intimate?”
She tilts her head, her smile softening. “What happens in Vegas…” She leaves it hanging in the air. No need to finish. We both know.
What happens tonight—whatever we decide to do—stays here.
And the player in me, the man who’s built a lifetime on these kind ofone perfect nightmoments, should be all in. No consequences. No morning-after regrets. Just one night with this incredible woman, and then done.
Usually, I wouldn’t think twice.
But looking at her now... I don’t want it cheap. She’s not cheap. You can tell from a mile away.
So if this is all we get—one night—I’ll give her the truth. Me. Every raw, unpolished part of it. And then I’ll walk away.
