Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Sage

Molly and I have spent most of the day painting. Viv helped at first, but she had a birthday party to attend, so I've spent the last hour or so spilling my guts about home.

"I've been texting with Flossie," I say. "She keeps telling me that Bash and I are super compatible astrologically, but it's like she doesn't get how time and space work."

"Okay, but you know that those things can be overcome. I mean, airplanes exist." Molly waves her paint roller as if to encompass the full scope of the possibilities.

"And they cost money. Like everything else." I sigh while pouring out more paint into the tray. "Look, I'm not saying that I should go back and get with Trevor—"

"Trevor?" Molly asks. "Is this the shitty ex you mentioned before?"

The man's annoying visage flashes through my mind, and I shiver. "The one who was cheating on me with my lifelong nemesis? Yup."

Molly does her best impression of a Mr. Yuck face. "Why would you even consider it?"

I debate how much to tell her. I trust her, but it's also a huge weight to carry, and at the end of the day, she's Bash's friend. She might feel more beholden to him.

"He's been messaging me," I admit.

"Well, tell him to get lost!" Molly whirls toward me. "Hold on, are you messaging your ex while sleeping with Bash? That's low."

"No! I haven't messaged him back. And it's not… we were never… I never slept with him… like I told you, I didn't love him." I sit back on my heels. "And he knew that. It was a business thing."

"You were going to marry him for business?" Molly's eyes disappear behind her bangs.

"Yeah, pretty much. The ranch I grew up on… it's not doing so well. Trevor was going to help me out. He was my lifeline. Until I caught him balls-deep in another woman. On camera." I slam the lid back on the paint bucket.

Molly gasps. "Balls and everything?"

"I mean, I didn't livestream my ex's literal testicles, no." I smother a laugh. "But I've got problems back home, Molly. And the longer I stay here, the longer it feels like I'm putting off going back to the real world. Like I'm deliberately and selfishly putting my own needs above my family's."

"What's in Montana other than Dingleberry Trevor?" Molly asks.

I close my eyes and let myself remember what the world looks like from Sky's back, with the land rolling out beneath us and the sky immeasurably vast overhead. The smells of hay, spring rain, and snowmelt. The view from the window of my cabin that I built one summer with my own two hands. The weight of my dad's hand on my shoulder. His constant presence, even now that he's gone.

"Home," I say aloud. "Roots. Family." Our ride the other day reminded me of all the things I'm missing while I'm in Vegas. I'm pretty sure the goal was to convince me to stay, but if anything, riding someone else's horse on someone else's land reminded me of where my heart truly resides.

This thing with Bash, it feels good. Maybe the best I've ever felt. But I'm not willing to give my past and future away so that I can slip seamlessly into someone else's life just because he's more successful and makes more money. That doesn't mean his dreams are more important.

When I open my eyes, Molly's staring at me, her paint roller clutched in both hands.

I stand up and survey the book nook. "Come on. One last coat of paint, and then all it has to do is dry. Next time I'm here, we'll fill the shelves, and that'll be one less project on your honey-do list."

The milestone marks the end of an era. It's official: my time in Vegas is coming to an end.

Go home, Sage.

It's a whisper on the breeze, but it bangs in my head like a firecracker.

* * *

Bash is supposed to leave on a multi-day road trip tomorrow, so I expected him to be busy packing when I got back from Molly's. I didn't expect to find my van parked in the driveway.

"My baby!" I fling myself forward, arms outstretched, and hug the van. It looks so perfect, I could cry.

This feels like a sign that my earlier conviction was right. I need to start thinking about getting home.

When I step inside, I can hear voices from the backyard. Annie is grumbling to herself in the back room behind a door I'm pretty sure I left open. Bash hasn't said anything about me letting Annie roam the house of her own volition, so this is unusual. Bash must have something planned.

It's not a difficult mystery to solve, given that people are working out back when I arrive. The sliding door is unlocked to allow them access, which explains why Annie is contained. Bash is watching the work unfold and answering questions when any of the three guys in the yard approach him.

A new portable cabana stands out back by the pool, and two of the guys climb a ladder with something long and thin balanced between them.

"What is this?" I ask Bash as he watches them level the object.

"An outdoor screen. For movies!" He rubs his hands together.

"Can't watch anything too racy, given that the whole neighborhood can see."

Bash chokes on a laugh. "That wasn't the plan! Actually, I was thinking that we could have neighborhood movie nights out here sometime. Let the kids pick the movies."

"They'll love that." I kiss his cheek. It's a fun idea. Too bad I won't be here to see it.

"Want to take it for a test drive with me tonight?" Bash's hopeful smile melts my resolve. There's no harm in that. We can talk after the movie.

"Remember how I told you I learned my first English from movies? I'd like to watch something important to you. A movie you love."

I'm a film buff, but I know exactly which movie I want to watch with him. " Shane ," I blurt. "It's an old one, but it's… it's one of my favorites." Actually, it was one of Dad's favorites. I love it because he did, although I haven't watched it since he died. Even thinking about it brings on a wave of nostalgia that makes me feel closer to him. Despite the wave of pain that comes over me, I want to share this moment with Bash.

"I will find it," Bash promises, already tapping away on his phone.

When the screen is unrolled, it's almost ten feet tall. The guys who installed everything show Bash how to roll and unroll it without pulling it off the wall and walk him through how to use the projector. I listen with half an ear, still lost in my own thoughts. How much longer should I stay? Maybe to the end of the hockey season? It's not much longer, and I'd like to see Bash win that ultimate prize that seems so important to him.

On the other hand, home is calling to me, and the van is waiting in the driveway. How many more excuses can I make before I shoulder my responsibilities again? It's not fair to leave my mom alone to deal with things. And I still don't have a plan for how to move forward without Trevor's help, but that ship has sailed.

I jump when Bash touches my arm. I didn't even notice when the crew left, but we're alone on the porch. "Want to come help me pick out some snacks?"

"Sure thing." I force a smile and follow him out front to his car.

"You saw the van, eh?" Bash waves to it as we pass. "Emil called earlier, and I asked him to drop it off. He said you should take it on a short drive and make sure everything's working the way you want it to. It's road ready, but since you did all that custom work, he wants to make sure that it's as good as new before you… before you go anywhere he can't make adjustments." He fiddles with his keys.

"I'll drive it tomorrow," I say. "Tonight, I want to be with you."

Bash immediately perks up. "I want that, too. And I'm looking forward to learning more about what you like. Sage, making you happy makes me happy."

With my heart throbbing, I manage to stay present while we drive to the store and scour it for the best snacks. When I learn that Bash has never had a s'more, I pretend to swoon into his arms.

"I don't have a fire pit," he points out.

"I guess you don't need one out here." I'm thinking of summers on the ranch, spent under the stars, watching my dad roast his marshmallows to golden-brown perfection while I scorched mine and called it a day.

"You can show me another time," Bash says, passing the rack of roasting sticks.

I linger. "Yeah. Maybe." But I know that everything we skip now is something we'll lose forever. On impulse, I grab marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars. They're not as good from the microwave, but we'll make it work.

Nostalgia and homesickness build in my gut like a physical ache. I listen to Bash's chatter about movies on the drive home and muster a halfhearted tale about my grandparents' love of Clint Eastwood.

It's a relief to settle down at Bash's side for the movie, with my head resting on his shoulder and one side of our bodies pressed together, despite the fact that it's still too warm to cuddle comfortably.

"This is exciting!" Bash sets a bowl of popcorn in his lap for easy access and rests his cheek on the top of my head. We fit together so perfectly, and yet… how can we be so well-matched, even knowing that this won't work? Why is fate so cruel?

I suppose it could work if we forced it, if I let go of everything else, but I know that the guilt of failure would eat me alive. Love is not just about finding the right person; it's about finding yourself. And I don't think you can do one without the other.

During a particularly tense scene where Shane and Marian exchange lingering glances, I feel Bash shift against me.

"Is that what cowboys are supposed to dress like?" he asks.

"Mm-hmm. I wonder how many times they washed those outfits before wearing them."

"Marian seems to like what she sees." Bash's voice lowers, the way it always does during sex, and my body reacts even if my mind is a thousand miles north of here, wandering through sagebrush and bitterroot.

I know he's taken in by the romantic tension. Meanwhile, I'm thinking about how Alan Ladd, who played Shane, died so young. How he reminds me so much of my dad, not so much in appearance, but in the way he moves through the world.

Suddenly, I don't want to watch the end of this movie, with Shane riding off into the sunset, leaving Joey behind. I don't know which hurts me more: feeling like I've been left behind by the man who raised me, or knowing that when I go, Bash will call out for me to stay. I can't bear it.

I reach for the remote and power down the projector.

"What…?" Bash asks, but his protests die when I hoist myself into his lap, sending popcorn flying in every direction. Neither of us reach to grab the bowl; we're too busy tugging at each other's clothes, kissing with our mouths open, the taste of sweetness and salt mingling between us. I want this desperately. I deserve this. We both do. We'll let our bodies speak the things that words can't say.

A little sweetness before the bitter kicks in. A memory that belongs to no one else that we can turn back to when we've parted ways.

I wish I could tell him how I've fallen in love with him and maybe have him tell me the same thing. And then I wish I wasn't yearning for any of that because it's not what either of us signed on for. But I want more. I want all of this man. All his desperate kisses and steely muscles and gritty French words. For a moment, I want him to be that guy, the one who makes me forget my obligations ever existed.

In the scramble to peel off our clothes, Bash ends up on top of me, with my paint-stained shorts pulled low on my thighs. His hands slip beneath my shirt, squeezing me through my bra, and I love this. I love how urgently we need each other, that we're too impatient to undress. I love that I can need someone so badly that his kisses can set me on fire, that I'm already wet and aching for want of him.

There's no time to waste. We need each other now because now is all we have.

I cry out when he thrusts into me and pull one of his hands to my lips. I suck the salt from his fingers, smothering my cries with the taste of him. Bash groans against my ear as he comes, then pulls out of me, rubbing his spit-slicked fingers against my clit until I shudder and bite my palm to stifle my cries.

"No racy films," Bash laughs against my neck. "This is a family-friendly establishment." Even as he speaks, his fingers slip into me, where I'm slick with his release and mine.

I thought I was done, that after how hard I just came, I'd have to tap out for a while, but he proves me wrong when he slithers down the mesh of the Adirondack to lick me. I've never had a guy go down on me after he came inside me, never had a guy focus on making me come after he was spent. The knowledge that this is, quite likely, the best sex I will ever have again makes tears form in my eyes even as I run my fingers through his hair and pull him closer, losing myself in an experience that is simultaneously our first, and our last.