Damn. Every look, every smile from when she was sixteen suddenly means something different. Maybe I am just another older bastard leaning on the imbalance. Same sin, different package.
Every instinct tells me to defend what Georgie and I have. But standing here, seeing the pain in his eyes, I can’t ignore the truth staring back at me.
I keep telling myself I care for her. But if I strip it bare, it wasn’t for her. I wanted her. I took her. I touched her because I couldn’t stop myself. Every line I drew, I crossed when it suited me. That isn’t care. That’s selfishness.
“Can you give her what she needs?” Jake glares at me. “Stability. Safety. A man who won’t drop her the second something shinier comes along. Because if you can’t promise that, then end it now before you destroy what’s left of her confidence.”
Stability? I disappear into the wilderness whenever I want.
Safety? I’ve already broadcast her to half the hotel.
A man who won’t leave? My longest relationship was in my twenties.
I’m thirty-five and still running from anything that looks like commitment. Still choosing ice walls over dinner tables.
The truth twists in my gut: I don’t have a plan. Never did. Just this relentless need for her that overrides every logical reason to stay away.
She needs someone who’ll be there for Sunday mornings and Wednesday dinners. Someone who answers his phone instead of being unreachable on a glacier. Someone whose five-year plan involves mortgages and school districts, not which mountain to summit next.
The last thing she needs is a workaholic who disappears into the Arctic Circle at a moment’s notice. Who can’t promise to be in the same country next winter.
Even without Jake here, we were always headed for this cliff. She’s twenty-five, just starting to figure out her life. I’m thirty-five with my life exactly how I want it: alone, unencumbered, free to leave whenever.
When I kissed her, none of that mattered. I lost myself in her. I let myself forget we’re at completely different stages of life. That she deserves someone who can give her everything instead of whatever scraps I’m willing to spare between expeditions.
The signs were there. Her asking where this was going. Testing waters I pretended not to see because it was easier to focus on the moment. To take what I wanted and worry about the aftermath later.
The truth is, even if Jake gave this his blessing, even if there were no professional complications, we’d still be incompatible. I’d still be the older guy who can’t commit, and she’d still be the young woman who deserves someone who can.
THIRTY-SIX
Button forever
Georgie
I can’t stay inthe hotel.
The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. Out in the ceilidh, the fiddles are going wild against the drums, people are laughing like it’s the best night ever, and the wild stomping that Scots call dancing is making the whole floor shake.
Everyone’s pissed and happy while I’m having a panic attack.
Heat rushes to my face, and the embarrassment cuts so deep it makes my eyes sting with tears. I can’t just sit here like a naughty kid waiting for two men to decide what happens next.
So, I slip outside.
I stumble across the gravel drive, my heels catching on stones. The hotel’s elaborate gardens stretch out to my left—neat box hedges forming geometric patterns that look impressive in daylight but now just look like dark walls.
I follow the gravel path that winds between the hedges, leading toward the old walled garden they use for wedding photos. That’s probably where Jake and Patrick would go for privacy.
Maybe I can catch them before things get completely out of hand. Maybe I can make Jake understand that it isn’t what he thinks.
Voices float through the darkness. Familiar ones that make my stomach drop.
As I creep closer along the gravel path, their voices get clearer. I stay low, heels sinking into the grass. Through a gap in the hedge, I see them.
I tense, ready to witness carnage.
But they’re not fighting.
