Page 48 of Wild Card

Perplexing—that’s what Sebastian Rousseau is. Inconsistent too. His moods shift like the tides.

“You’re confusing, you know that?” I toss my mat down, deciding to honor his wishes and stay outside. “And kind of exhausting,” I add as I take a seat and cross my legs.

“I know” is all he says back.

But he doesn’t leave.

I go inward anyway, not caring if he stays and watches. It might inspire him to do a little meditating of his own. God knows that nervous system of his could use it.

Doing my best to ignore his presence, I close my eyes, letting the sound of his breathing mingle with the echoes of the night.The hush of the lake, the call of a loon, the wind slipping between the needles of the pines that surround the private lot.

Unlike the main strip in Rose Hill, where I’ve been living, everything out here smells fresh and wild. Like amber and cedar and that bright mineral scent of rain on warm pavement.

My breath flows, and I let the tension of the day slip away into the mat beneath me. My shoulders drop and my hips soften. My neck unlocks and?—

Why is there a lock on the outside of that door?

Fuck my brain. It just won’t let me go these days. It’s like years of working on stilling my mind are shot because I have a crush I can’t shake. And I know myself well enough to realize the question will niggle at me. So instead of forcing myself through it, I quietly ask him, “Why is there a lock on the outside of that balcony door?”

Several beats of silence follow my very random question. I peek one eye over at him, wondering if he’s drifted off in the few minutes of silence.

Though that seems out of character for what I know of him. There’s something watchful about Bash. Guarded. And falling asleep beside someone who makes him as tense as I do would just be plain unnatural. Fight-or-flight—it seems like I usually make him want to fly away as fast as he can.

Unlike him, I don’t find it difficult to relax when he’s near at all, despite all the true crime podcasts I’ve consumed. In my stalwart dedication to not irritating him in his own home, I decide to let it go. Or at least try.

I close my eyes and rest the pad of my thumb against the tip of my middle finger. I breathe again, imagining fluidly wiping a mess of writing from a whiteboard and leaving behind a shiny, clear expanse. Letting all my jumbled thoughts and feelings be wiped away—if for only fifteen minutes. Because I know it will make me feel better.

“I thought I’d have kids.”

Bash’s gravelly words cut through the silence and stop me in my tracks. My head turns slowly in his direction. I keep the rest of my body still, like I’m approaching a wild animal. Worried I might spook him if I do too much too soon.

I say nothing. Instead, I just listen. Give him room to talk if he wants to.

And he does.

“When I built this place, I thought I’d have kids.”

I swallow and nod softly.

“The room you’re staying in was supposed to be the perfect kid’s room. The bench. The window. I figured by a certain age, they’d want to use the balcony too. But then I worried that when they were small, it might be a safety issue. So I put a dead bolt on the outside so my wife or I could?—”

He trips over his own words, stopping midsentence with an irritated twist of his lips before forging ahead. “Whatever. I just figured I could lock it from the outside, then head back into my room from the shared balcony and not have to worry about a curious toddler wandering out.”

Everything he’s saying makes so much sense. Except for thewifepart—my brain trips up on that word.

“I can take it off if it makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t even think.”

I glance over my shoulder at the pewter circle adhered to the door. For some reason, that one little touch feels monumental somehow. It’s endearing to think he planned that far ahead.

“No, that’s fine. You should keep it up for when you do have babies.”

He snorts at that.

“I think that ship has probably sailed.”

“Why?”

“I’m forty and a bachelor. And I’m not sure if you noticed, but I’m not exactly great company these days. The thought of wading back into the dating world is exhausting and daunting. The clock is ticking, and my options have dwindled.”