8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Ryan
T he drive back to Bella’s home feels way longer than usual. Maybe it’s the weight of my thoughts that makes it seem that way. I spent the better part of this afternoon going over everything that happened at the event last night—the argument, the way Bella stormed off, the flicker of pain in her eyes when I raised my voice. It’s not just the feeling of intense guilt that’s plaguing me, although that’s a big part of it. It’s something deeper. I’m incredibly frustrated with myself.
How could I have been so blind? So cold? Bella has spent the last few years raising Luke on her own. My nephew. My flesh and blood. She’s done it in spite of the little support she’s gotten from family, without the kind of help she clearly needed. And here I am, waltzing back into her life as if I know what’s best for her. It hits me like a punch to the gut—how hard her life must have truly been, juggling the responsibilities of being a single mom and running a struggling café, all while enduring the judgmental gossip of this small town.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, my eyes focused squarely on the road. How many times have I driven past her café without stopping? How many times have I let Caleb’s shameful behavior create an invisible wall between us? Sure, I’ve tried several times to help in my way, but it wasn’t enough. I should’ve done more. I should’ve been there for her.
I sigh deeply while I think, What kind of man am I if I can’t even support the woman who’s been raising my deadbeat brother’s child?
My jaw clenches as I pull up outside her house. The porch light is on, a soft glow spilling onto the small front yard. Luke’s bike is propped against the side of the building, and for a moment, I just sit there and stare at it. The thought of Bella, exhausted from a long day of hard work, coming home and still finding the energy to be there for her son…it humbles me. And it makes me realize just how much I’ve underestimated her devotion and commitment to being there for her son and bearing the burden my brother put solely on her.
I step out of the car and make my way to the door. For once, I’m not overthinking what I’m going to say. I know I have to apologize. I have to let her know that I see her, that my eyes are truly open to her pain and struggles, and that I’m not going to let her face them alone anymore.
She opens the door after the second knock, her expression guarded. She’s wearing an oversized sweater and her hair is loosely tied back. There’s a hint of surprise in her eyes when she sees me, but it quickly fades, replaced by a familiar wariness.
“Ryan,” she says, crossing her arms. “What are you doing here?”
“I came here to apologize,” I mutter quietly. “Can I please come in?”
She hesitates for a moment before stepping aside and stretching out her hand, gesturing for me to enter. The living room is very cozy, with mismatched furniture and toys scattered across the floor. It feels warm lived-in, which is a stark contrast to the cold, impersonal spaces I’m used to.
Bella sits down on the couch and I take a seat across from her, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. For a moment, I jumble my words, finding it difficult to say the right things, but then they spill out.
“About last night…I was well and truly out of line,” I begin. “I raised my voice, and I didn’t listen to you. I projected a reality that was far from the truth. That wasn’t fair. And it definitely wasn’t fair of me to dismiss and belittle how you handle all the negativity and gossip, certainly not after everything you’ve been through.”
She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes soften slightly, encouraging me to continue.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about it. About you,” I admit. “And the truth is, I’ve been a jerk. I’ve spent so much time away from all of this, keeping my distance, telling myself it was easier that way. But easier for who? Certainly not you.”
Her lips part as if she wants to say something, but she stays quiet, letting me speak.
“I can’t even imagine how hard it’s been for you, Bella. Raising Luke, running the café, dealing with people in this town who don’t know one thing about your life or all you’ve been through but still think they have the right to judge you. And through all of it, you’ve just…held it together. You’ve stayed strong. For Luke, for yourself. That’s not just admirable—it’s extraordinary.”
She blinks, and for the first time, I notice the tears falling down her cheeks. She quickly looks away, but not before I catch the slight tremble in her lip.
“Ryan…” she begins, her voice faltering.
“No, let me finish,” I interrupt gently. “I came here tonight because I need you to know that I see you, Bella. I see everything you’ve done, everything you’ve sacrificed. And I’m sorry for not being here sooner, for not stepping up in the ways I should have. But I want to change that. I want to be here for you. For Luke.”
Her gaze snaps back to mine, searching my face for sincerity. “Why now?” she asks, her tone cautious. “Why do you suddenly care?”
I lean back, running a hand through my hair. It’s a fair question, one I’ve been asking myself all day. “Because I’ve been so blind,” I admit. “For so long, I’ve been wrapped up in my own life, my own problems, that I didn’t stop to think about yours. But spending time with you—seeing the way you handle everything with so much grace and strength—has opened my eyes. And it’s made me realize that you’re not just some obligation. You’re really, truly amazing, Bella.”
The words linger in the air, heavier than I expected. I glance at her, noticing how her lips part slightly, like she wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. For the first time, I realize how much I’ve underestimated her, not just as a person but as a force of nature. She’s not just Caleb’s ex or the mother of his child. She’s Bella Parker: independent, driven, unshakable. She’s taken the cards life dealt her and played them with more grace and courage than I’ve ever shown in my own life.
“You’ve been through so much, Bella,” I continue, my voice softer now. “You’ve carried burdens that no one should have to bear, and yet you’ve managed to create something beautiful. Luke is proof of that. That kid is brilliant, exuberant, and full of life.”
I continue, “And that’s because of you. Not Caleb, not anyone else. You . You’ve given him a world where he feels safe and loved, even when things aren’t perfect for you. Like I said before, that’s not just admirable, Bella—that’s extraordinary.”
I pause, letting the words sink in, hoping she can feel and acknowledge the sincerity in them. “And the café,” I add. “I know it’s been far from easy, but you’ve kept it going. You’ve built a place that people come to because it feels like home. A place where they can laugh and share their lives. That’s because of you, too, and your resilience and determination. You might not see it, but you’ve created something remarkable.”
Her gaze flicks to the floor, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “I don’t feel extraordinary,” she whispers. “Most days, I feel like I’m just barely holding it all together.”
I lean forward, closing the space between us. “But you truly are, Bella. And you don’t have to hold it all together alone anymore. I’ve spent so much time keeping my distance, telling myself it was easier to stay out of it, but I was wrong. I should’ve been here for you, for Luke, from the start. And I can’t change the past, but I can promise you this—I’m here now. For both of you. Whatever you need, all you have to do is ask.”
She looks up at me then, her eyes shining with a mix of emotions—surprise, gratitude, and maybe something else I can’t quite place. It makes my chest tighten, this overwhelming need to protect her, to be the person she can truly rely on. In this moment, it’s not about Caleb or Luke or any of the complications that have brought us to this point. It’s about her. Just her.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says finally, her voice trembling slightly. “You don’t owe me anything, Ryan.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t about owing you anything. This is about doing right by you and showing up for the people who matter. And you matter, Bella. More than I realized before. More than I ever expected.”
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of my own words. It’s the first time I’ve truly admitted to myself how much she means to me. And it’s not just admiration or guilt or a sense of responsibility —it’s something deeper. Something that scares me as much as it excites me.
“You’re amazing,” I say again, quieter this time. “And I don’t just mean what you’ve done or what you’ve been through. It’s the way you smile, even when things are hard.”
Her cheeks flush and she looks away, but not before I catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t have to say all this,” she murmurs.
“I know I don’t have to,” I say. “But you deserve to hear it anyway. You need to know how incredible you are. Because I see it, Bella. And I want to make sure you see it, too.”
Her shoulders relax slightly, the tension easing out of her posture. For the first time since I arrived, I feel like she’s letting down the walls she’s built around herself. And as I sit here, watching her process everything I’ve just said, one thing becomes abundantly clear: I’m not ready to walk away from her. Not now. Not ever. Her cheeks flush, and for a moment, she looks almost vulnerable, as if she doesn’t know how to process my words.
“And Luke,” I add, my voice softening. “He’s an incredible kid. That’s because of you. You’ve raised him to be kind, smart, and curious despite everything. And I’d be honored if my daughter had someone like him in her life.”
Bella’s expression shifts at the mention of my daughter, and I can see her walls starting to come down. She exhales slowly, shaking her head. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
“I’ve never been more serious,” I say firmly.
For a long moment, we sit there, the silence stretching between us. Then, to my surprise, she smiles. It’s small and tentative, but it’s there. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “For saying all that. And…for coming here.”
I feel a weight lift off my chest, replaced by a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time. At this moment, I realize just how much I want to be a part of her world. Not out of guilt or obligation, but because I genuinely want to be around her.
As the evening goes on, we talk, embroiled in deep conversations about Luke, about my daughter, about our lives and the ways they can fit together. And as I watch her laugh at something I say, her eyes lighting up with that rare spark of joy, I can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t as complicated as we’ve been making it.
Maybe we don’t need to have all the answers. Maybe all we need is this moment, this connection. And perhaps that’s enough for now.