Everyone else is getting ready for the joint bachelor-and-bachelorette party Livia and Dane have planned. I should be doing the same. Instead, I keep circling the question I've avoided for months.
Don't look at it. Don't let it pull you under.
I tell myself the reason doesn't matter. Rhys and I ended. He has a life that makes him happy now. Tomorrow we'll get through the wedding, tell our friends the truth, and promise the breakup won't change what they have with each other.
But I haven't found peace by leaving it alone. This week may be my only chance to ask. Maybe I won't like the answer. I know I'll regret it if I never hear one.
I leave the bedroom and walk down the hall. Showers hiss behind closed doors; old pipes knock in the walls. Outside, the air cools my skin. Waves break below the bluff. I cross the patio and slip through the side gate Bianca left open earlier in the week, then follow the narrow path among the evergreens.
The sun is low, and the trees shade the footbridge. Small solar lamps mark the way to the guesthouse. Each step feels slow, as if the damp air has thickened around me. I round the building toward the cedar shower.
Rhys is there. I came looking for him, but the sight still catches me off guard. Only his head and shoulders rise above the cedar wall. Steam lifts from the shower and thins in the breeze. A sudden ache settles in my stomach.
I can't do this. I don't want the answer. I don't want to make things worse.
I turn away. My sleeve brushes a low branch, shaking its stored rain onto the path.
Rhys looks over, one eyebrow raised. “Can I help you?” He sounds pleased to see me. Somehow that hurts too.
“I doubt it.”
“Would you like me to help you?” he corrects himself.
“I wanted to talk.” I take a step back. “But it can wait until you're less—”
“Busy?”
“Naked.”
“Those can overlap.”
“For you, maybe.”
He frowns. “What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
He rests his arms on the cedar wall and waits. I could go closer. I could leave. Now that the chance is here, a painful answer seems worse than not knowing at all.
“Never mind,” I say. “Forget it.”
“I won't. But if you'd rather I pretend, I can try.” He wipes water from his eye.
I step back once more. His attention stays on me.
The words come out before I can stop them. “Not knowing is eating me alive.”
His expression changes; the teasing leaves his face.
“It's been months, and I'm still stuck,” I say. “Being here, acting like nothing changed between us—and sometimes forgetting to act. You ended it, Rhys. I got one short phone call, then my things showed up in a box. I never understood what I'd done. I told myself you didn't trust me after what happened with Martin.”
He flinches at Martin's name. I keep going.
“I tried to be angry with you for deciding I was that kind of person. But then I came here and you acted like you blamed me, or couldn't care less. Then you were warm with me again. You told me you never thought I'd cheated. You kissed me like you still loved me.”
“You kissed me too, Mara,” he says, voice tight.
“I know. I don't understand how I let that happen after everything. But it did, and I can't keep pretending this doesn't hurt. Every day feels like I'm missing a piece of myself, and I don't know when it happened.” I draw a breath that won't steady. “I don't know why you were so unhappy with me.”
His lips part. “Mara.”
Tears blur the trees. I cover my face, shoulders shaking as I finally start to cry.
The shower door opens. I hear him reach for a towel, then feel the warmth of his hands around my upper arms. I can't make myself look at him—not after saying all of it aloud.
“Hey,” he murmurs. His wet hands move gently up my arms. “Come here.”
He draws me against his chest. Water runs from his skin onto my sleeves. He presses his face into my hair. “It wasn't you. I need you to believe that. After my dad died, I was in a terrible place. I couldn't keep my head above it.”
“I wanted to help,” I say. My voice breaks. “I didn't know how. I don't know what to do with pain. I've always tried to get away from it.”
His hand cups the side of my head. “There wasn't something you could have fixed. I lost the best man I knew, and I didn't know how to live in a world without him. You had this new life you'd worked toward for years. You were making friends. I wanted more of your time, then hated myself for wanting it. I couldn't be happy for you. I kept thinking I wasn't smart enough or driven enough to belong beside you.”
“That's ridiculous.” I push at his chest, but he holds on.
“Please. Let me finish.”
I look up. In the half-light, his usual reserve is gone. He looks frightened and open.
“I felt like a disappointment growing up,” he says. “I loved my parents, and I knew they loved me. But my sisters were extraordinary. Everyone could see they were headed somewhere. When we were kids, people were already predicting what my younger sister would accomplish. Nobody made those predictions about me.”
“Rhys, we've talked about this.”
“I know. I'm not saying anyone thought I was stupid. I just felt like I had nothing going for me except being nice.”
“Nice?” I let out a broken laugh. “You're generous. Thoughtful. Curious. Funny. You notice when people hurt.”
He gives a small, tired smile. “I wanted to be special. Since I didn't think I was, I tried to make everyone love me. I spent my life looking for proof that I mattered.”
The words find a tender place in me. His fingers move to the back of my neck, careful now.
“Then I met you,” he says. “Loving you felt like the one thing I was meant to do. I stopped caring what anyone else thought. I didn't need another plan if I had you.”
“So I took up all the space,” I say. “And you didn't tell me until you couldn't breathe. Until you stopped loving me and I couldn't do anything about it.”
“I didn't stop.” His answer is immediate. “I will always love you. That's the one thing I've never had to force. I loved you across the country. Even at my worst, I loved you more than anything.”
His voice falters. “But I wasn't happy after Dad died. I kept waiting to feel better, and I didn't. I was making you unhappy too.”
I start to answer. He smooths a hand over my hair.
“Don't pretend it wasn't happening. I was drowning, and you were trying to keep me afloat while you were going under too.”
My throat closes.
“When I went back to the coast, I felt closer to him,” Rhys says. “I felt stupid for spending so long trying not to be like him. He was the best man I knew.”
I touch his jaw. “You've always been like him where it counts.”
His mouth lifts, but his whole body is trembling, whether from the cold or everything he's saying.
“I thought I was failing him, Irene, and you. I wanted you to be happy. The thing with Martin gave me an excuse to believe you wanted someone else, even though I knew that wasn't fair. You kept postponing the wedding. You didn't want to talk about it. When I saw you with your new friends, I thought you'd be better off with someone who fit into the life you'd fought so hard to build.”
“That isn't fair,” I say, crying again.
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“What else was I supposed to think? When I had to cancel a visit, you said it was fine. When I missed a call, you said it was fine. You never got angry. You never asked me to do better. I thought you didn't miss me.”
I sob. I'd spent all that time trying not to add to his burden, trying to be fine through work and distance. I hadn't seen how my silence sounded to him.
“I knew you wouldn't leave me while I was such a mess,” he says. “I didn't want to hold you in a life you might not want. I didn't want you to wake up later and realize you'd given up everything for me.”
He swallows. “That's why I kept the call short. I was afraid I'd change my mind if we talked longer. I sent your things back because I couldn't stand to see reminders of you and still pretend I could let you go.”
He looks at me. “I still love you. More than anything, I want you to be happy. And I'm doing better now. Not every minute, but I'm with my family. I have work I care about. I'm taking medication.”
“Medication?”
“For depression. That's what changed things with work.”
I stare at him. “Was it all because of losing your dad?”
“I thought so at first. But once I started treatment, I realized the grief had made something that was already there much worse. I didn't know how hard everything was supposed to feel until it wasn't.” He rubs his temple. “A friend from my soccer team had asthma. After a game he couldn't breathe, and we all thought it was something worse. He'd been living with it for years without knowing. Starting medication was a little like that. I hadn't realized how much effort it took just to get through an ordinary day. Then things got quieter. Lighter. Possible.”
“I had no idea,” I whisper.
“I didn't either. I spent so much time acting like I was fine.” He takes a breath. “I thought if I came here and saw that you were happy, I'd know I'd done the right thing. Instead, you were angry with me.”
“I know you're angry too.”
He shakes his head. “I felt relieved. Your anger meant you still cared. I thought getting better would make me think about you less. It didn't. With the grief not taking up all the space, I have more room to miss you.”
His gaze drops. “But we can't go back, and I don't know what to do with that. I don't know if you still love me. Every few seconds I think I'm hurting you by being here, then I think you couldn't possibly still feel anything for me. Part of me wants to pretend we're together. Another part would do anything just to hear you say you love me once more.”
“Everything has changed, and nothing has,” he says. “I tried so hard to let you go. Now you're here, and I still feel like we belong to each other. I sent every reminder away, but I keep seeing the spaces where you should be.”
He searches my face. “Please say something.”
I hide my eyes behind my hands. “I thought you didn't want me, so I tried to move on. I kissed someone else. I slept with someone else. I couldn't stop feeling like I was yours.” I look at him through tears. “Like you're mine.”
“Mara.” He lifts my chin. “Look at me.”
It takes a moment. Drops of water cling to his brows and run along his jaw. His thumb brushes my cheek.
“I am,” he says. “I'm still yours.”
The words reach the place in me that has been braced against them all week. His fingertips touch my lower lip. I want him close enough to believe him. I also know that loving each other doesn't make our lives fit together. I'm in Seattle for years of residency. He has work on the coast, and Irene needs him. We can't simply wish those facts away.
My hands find his wet hair. He holds me too, as if neither of us wants to be the first to let go.
“What is this?” he asks.
I want it to mean I'm sorry. I forgive you. Don't leave again. I want it to carry every promise we can't make.
Rhys is happy now. He has people who need him and work he's proud of. I have years of training ahead of me, and I'm too far into it to walk away. Maybe another life would have made room for us. In this one, I can only name what this moment is.
“One last I love you,” I say.
His arms tighten around me. He draws a breath, then kisses me.
I meet him in the kiss, and the months of wanting him rush back at once. His hand slides beneath my shirt; I arch toward him, trying to close every inch between us. He lifts me against the cedar wall, and I lock my legs around his waist. The shower sprays over his shoulders. His hands find the ties of my swimsuit, and he eases the fabric away while I catch my breath.
“Is this real?” I ask.
“What else would it be?”
“A dream.”
He draws me against him. “In my dreams, you're usually on top.”
I laugh, then lose the sound when his thumb traces my skin. He kisses along my jaw and throat, touching me slowly enough that the rush gives way to something I can choose. When he asks if I'm sure, I answer by pulling him close and kissing him again. I taste the beer and lime from his mouth.
His body is tense against mine. We move together, searching for more contact, but he stops to remind me we don't have a condom.
“I still want you,” I tell him.
“I know.” He rests his forehead against mine. “But we shouldn't go further without one. And you were crying a minute ago.”
The restraint makes me want him more, not less. I press my mouth to his, my hands moving over his back. He holds my hips, then draws away just enough to look at me.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I already did.”
He searches my face once more, then turns me gently to face the cedar wall. His hands travel down my arms and sides; one settles at my hip as he kisses the place where my neck meets my shoulder. My breath catches. I lean back into him, wanting more.
“Was this your plan for the week?” I ask.
“To make it to the end as a perfect gentleman.”
“An occasional failure is healthy.”
“Is it?” His voice is low against my skin. “Healthy for you?”
I press back against him. “Please.”
He turns me toward him again and lowers himself, kissing my thigh before giving me the pleasure I asked for. I grip the cedar edge as the warmth of his mouth makes it hard to think. When I say his name, he looks up, checking my face. I nod, and he continues until the tension in me breaks. For several seconds, the forest and the shower disappear; there is only the sensation of him and the sound I can't hold back.
Afterward, my knees feel unsteady. Rhys rises and gathers me against him. The water runs over our shoulders while he kisses my throat.
“Thank you,” I say, still catching my breath.
His smile brushes my neck. “So polite.” He sways us beneath the spray. “The others are waiting.”
“I'm not feeling polite anymore. They can wait.”
“The air horn will be going any minute.”
“Waiting never killed anyone.”
“I've felt pretty close to death this week.”
“Fair point. Maybe we shouldn't risk it.”
He laughs, then groans softly. “Later. Let me take you to dinner first.”
“I'm a modern woman, Rhys. I'll buy dinner. Assuming your new success hasn't made you too expensive.”
“Get me a gas-station hot dog, Mara, and I'll give you the best night of your life.”
I close my eyes, trying to hold on to the warmth of his arms and the sound of his voice. The moment is already slipping away.