We're both lying.
Someone clears their throat behind us—another guest waiting for coffee. We step aside automatically, the spell breaking.
Jane clutches her cup like a lifeline. "I should get back. The girls are waiting."
"Jane." She stops. Looks back. I should say something reassuring. Something professional. What comes out is: "Be careful shopping. Stay with the group."
Her brow furrows. "It's a jewelry store, not a combat zone."
"I know. Just..." I run a hand through my hair. "Stay with the group."
For a second, I think she's going to argue. Instead, she nods slowly. "Okay."
"Okay."
"West?"
"Yeah?"
"Last night..." She trails off, biting her lip. "It's my fir... never mind. I'll stay with the group."
She walks away before I can respond. I stand there holding a creamer I don't need.
It’s my fir…
Son of a—
I've been so deep in my own head that I forgot… forgot what last night actually wasfor her.
The creamer slips from my fingers. I catch it before it hits the counter.
I force myself to move. Return to my table. Eat food I don't taste.
Across the pavilion, Jane laughs at something Sloane says. The sound carries over the ambient noise, bright and genuine.
I want to keep that sound.
I want to be the reason for it.
I want a lot of things I have no right to want.
The wedding is in five days. Whatever happens between now and then—the proof, the plan, the fifty thousand, all of it—ends with it. She goes back to Boston. I go back to NewYork.
But now, I’m just thinking about the massage in four hours.
I'm going to lie on a massage table next to her and pretend my hands don't ache to touch her.
I'm going to fail spectacularly. But I'll be there. Because walking away isn't an option. Even if staying destroys me.
Iarrive at the spa pavilion at 1:55 PM with a plan.
Relaxation. That's the assignment. One hour, side by side, hands off, mouths shut. We let the therapists do their work, we don't do anything stupid, and we walk out looking like a normal couple enjoying a normal couples' activity at a normal destination wedding.
I've done harder things than this. I've played through broken fingers. I've taken hits that split my eyebrow open and kept skating. I can handle lying on a table for sixty minutes.
Game day energy. That's the frame. I used to do this before every playoff run—compartmentalize, lock the noise out, focus on what's in front of me. The massage is the play. Jane is the play. We execute and we move on.
The space is all white stone and flowing water. Soft music plays from hidden speakers. The air smells like eucalyptus and expensive relaxation.
