Page 32 of All Tied Down

Normally, I’d head into my studio and write a song—lose myself in the music—but I can’t.

Not yet.

Because if I go in there now, I’ll end up writing something for her and that goes against our agreement.

Her rules.

Not mine.

So instead, I pick up my phone and, hesitating for only a minute, type out a message that I hope I won’t regret.

GARRETT: I think I have a problem

ROAN: No.

ROAN: You don’t pay me enough to have another problem

ROAN: I’m still working on the six problems you dropped in my lap already

COLT: What he means is, what kind of problem do you have, Garrett? And how can we help?

ROAN: I absolutely did not mean that

GARRETT: I think I like my wife

ROAN: Colt, this is your problem

COLT: Why is that a problem? Your wife is awesome

ROAN: Temporary wife

COLT: She’s still legally his wife—he’s allowed to like her

ROAN: He means he ACTUALLY likes her

ROAN: Like more than friends

ROAN: I cannot fucking believe I just typed that

COLT: Me either but I took a screenshot so we can have this memorialized forever

ROAN: Go ahead—I have plenty on you

GARRETT: It would be easier if she wasn’t awesome

COLT: Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have married her in Vegas on a whim

GARRETT: It wasn’t on a whim

ROAN: It was a whim

ROAN: Because if it WASN’T you would have told your friends

ROAN: And your fucking attorney before you said I do instead of being half in the bag while making actual life-changing bets

COLT: Dude, when was the last time you got laid?

ROAN: Don’t fucking start with me