Page 99 of Gin and Bear It

“That’s only because we’ve avoided talking about it. But be for real right now, Ash,” I say, keeping my distance. “We come home to each other every day, we hang out, we have sex, we confide in each other. We’re dating.”

“But we’re also married. Legally. And that complicates everything,” he says, leaning back into the couch cushions. “If I went to Brooklyn and ended up wanting to stay there full time, then what? What if we grew apart? What if you found someone else?”

“I won’t find someone else,” I say. “I don’t want to think about us breaking up.”

God, I sound pathetic. But it’s true.

I want more mornings like the ones we have—waking up with him wrapped around me, the cats walking all over us and meowing for breakfast. More evenings hanging out, just shooting the shit or being near each other, doing our own thing. I want to explore things with him without always having the fake way that this relationship started in the back of my mind.

“I know, but I have to think about it,” he says. “That kind of thing is always in the back of my mind, no matter how good things feel in the moment.”

“I understand.” I sink down onto an ottoman. More accurately, I have to understand. To me, what we have should dispel at least some of his anxiety about being rejected. But his scars are deep and a few months won’t fix everything. “Do you need some time to think about what we are?”

“Yeah. At least overnight,” he says, running his hands along his thighs.

“Okay.”

Tears burn my throat. I want his answer to just be Jada, I want to stay in Jepsen with you. In an actual relationship. But him thinking about it overnight is better than a hard no.

I just hope that the time doesn’t harden him against what we could be.

THIRTY-TWO

ASH

I should feel relaxed, at the least. This resort is fucking beautiful, all of our needs are tended to, and Waylon’s happiness is contagious.

But mostly I feel like curling up in the dark, letting my thoughts spiral out of control.

After our talk yesterday, Jada and I went to separate areas of the villa for the rest of the evening. I slept like shit on the couch. I missed her warmth, but I needed to think.

These songwriting opportunities sound like a dream where there’s a catch that jolts you awake. The opportunity where I could feasibly commute from Jepsen to Nashville would be perfect if it didn’t involve the crushing deadlines and outside creative control. Ruby’s songwriter incubator sounds even better because it would give me freedom, but…I want Jada. I can’t pretend I don’t. Still, the idea of making the wrong decision is paralyzing. These opportunities don’t come around every day.

Now I’m pacing myself with the drinks in this oceanfront cabana with Waylon, my brothers, and Jeremiah even though one of the attendants is trying his best to get us all wasted, it seems. Bianca will take all day to get ready, so Jada and their friends are with her. But Waylon is hanging out with all of us to kill time, basically.

“What was that throw?” Waylon calls out to Jeremiah, who just threw the football they’ve been tossing a little too wide. “You’re coaching the Jepsen Jaguars with that form? How are they going to make the playoffs?”

Jeremiah lets out a big belly laugh. “Man, we’re not making the playoffs in any alternate timeline.”

“Way to believe in your team,” Wes calls out.

“I believe in their GPAs, which are the highest they’ve been since Waylon and I played.” Jeremiah picks up the ball and throws it to Wes. “And their record is better than ours, so…”

“Wasn’t your record two and eight or something?” Wes asks.

“Yeah and we’re three and seven,” Jeremiah says.

They talk shit the way old friends and brothers do, and JD and I sit, watching. The silence doesn’t have the tension it used to. We’ve done a few dinners at Wes’s and Waylon’s since we talked at Dad’s birthday dinner. We aren’t joking around like Wes, Waylon, and Jeremiah, but we’ve been able to have a lot of quiet moments like this.

Eventually Wes, Jeremiah, and Waylon come back, and the attendant offers them drinks and a fresh fruit plate.

“Sunburn?” Waylon asks Wes. Wes shakes his head, but Waylon grabs his sunscreen to reapply anyway. “Bianca’s put me onto sunscreen. I don’t want to be burnt for the photos.”

“Is that why Rose has been on me about sunscreen? It’s kind of nice. Makes my skin soft and smooth,” Wes says.

They chat about sunscreen. My brothers, who used to run around outside all summer with Mom chasing us to put some kind of sun protection. The more we’ve started to get close again, the more I see how much their partners have made a positive impact on them. Especially JD. They aren’t completely different people, but they’re a little softer around the edges.

They talk about their partners with so much warmth. Do they not think of all the ways it could go sideways in the years to come? I want to ask, but I don’t want to set off any alarm bells.