No photos. No noise. No life.
No love.
I should’ve seen it sooner. Should’ve realized I’d pushed too far before it came to this.
She kicked me out. Started sketching shared custody schedules like she was already rehearsing life without me.
By then, it felt like it was over—like no matter what happened with the firm, I’d already missed my window.
Coming to the wedding, being here now, it gives me access again. But as good as it feels just to be with her, to be able to touch her, even if she thinks it’s pretend, I know deep down that it isn’t gonna be enough.
The only thing that will win Ashley back is the truth.
And I can’t give her that until this is finished—until I’m either free… or sitting in a cell somewhere.
But I’ve got one last ace in my pocket.
I’ve been saving it, though, because once I play it, there’s no undoing the fallout.
I turn off the water, grab a towel, and stare at my reflection in the fogged mirror.
I look tired. Older. Like a man running out of time.
Which I am. And that’s how I make my decision. I don’t have my laptop anymore, but that’s fine. I can do what I need to do from the ship’s business center.
But not tonight.
Tonight is about Ashley.
Whatever she needs. Whatever she wants.
Because that’s how it should have been all along.
She might think I’m just going through the motions—but she’s wrong. This isn’t pretend.
Ashley—my beautiful Ashley—and the boys are my whole world.
And when this is over, when I finally come clean, I’m not losing sight of that ever again.
A TRUCE
ASHLEY
By the time Beckett finally emerges from the bathroom, I’ve rolled the room service cart onto our balcony, and I’m halfway through my second glass of wine.
The blaze of the sunset has long since given way to the blue light of the moon. Not too far away, a hundred tiny lights flicker along the coast like fallen stars. Laughter and music drift across the water, echoing from the shore, a reminder that somewhere out there, the party continues on.
Honestly, just thinking about it is exhausting.
I’m much happier right here tonight, having enjoyed a slice of pizza, three bites of hamburger, half a side of fries, and two pieces of sushi.
Beckett apparently ordered one of everything that I’ve ever mentioned liking. Appetizers, entrees, and desserts. Along with two bottles of wine. One white, one red.
And I wholeheartedly approve.
I was now making my way through an indecently large dish of chocolate mousse, and did I mention this was my third glass of wine?
Honestly, who gives a damn?
