10. Defense Mechanisms
Chapter 10
Defense Mechanisms
T he inn's floral wallpaper was starting to mock me. Three hours of pacing had probably worn a path in the antique carpet, but sleep felt like a distant concept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jimmy at that piano, his hands moving across the keys like he'd never forgotten, playing our piece like it was still fresh in his muscle memory even if his mind couldn't recall it.
My phone buzzed for the twentieth time.
Mia
Your father scheduled for meetings in Manhattan next week.He's asking questions about small-town investment strategies. Should I start looking for good defense lawyers?
The last one almost made me smile. Almost. Through my window, The Watering Hole's lights still glowed, a beacon in the quiet town. I could see Jimmy and Nina closing up, their movements comfortable and familiar. Every time Jimmy passed the piano, his hand would brush the keys absently, like he couldn't quite help himself. Each touch made my chest tighten with memories he couldn't share.
My perfectly ordered world had developed a distinctly Jimmy-shaped crack, and no amount of corporate strategy could patch it. The schedule on my laptop mocked me with its efficiency – board meetings, acquisition reviews, the carefully structured life I'd built now feeling like a prison of my own making.
I grabbed my keys. The car’s leather seats felt too pristine for my current state of mind, but at least driving meant doing something besides wearing out Mrs. Henderson's carpet while contemplating how quickly eight years of careful distance had crumbled.
Oakwood Grove at night was painfully charming, like something from a movie about small-town life. I passed Sarah's Diner, dark now but still somehow radiating that warmth that drew Jimmy every morning for coffee and conversation. The park where he walked Melody stretched out under streetlights, the bench where he usually stopped to share his apparently addictive pickle-flavored chips with local kids looking abandoned and accusatory.
My car's navigation system kept trying to redirect me to New York, the blue line on the screen a constant reminder of the empire I was supposed to be running. Three hours away, my father was probably already planning his “surprise” visit, ready to remind me of everything I'd walked away from at Rosewood. Everything I'd tried to protect Jimmy from.
Instead of the highway, I turned toward Rolling Hill Ranch. My phone rang – Dane, my oldest friend and the only person besides Mia who knew the whole story.
“Please tell me you're not actually hiding in a small town having some sort of billionaire crisis,” he said by way of greeting.
“I'm not hiding.” The lie felt weak even to me. “I'm exploring regional investment opportunities.”
“Right. And those opportunities have nothing to do with a certain musician who just happened to lose his memory?”
I watched the sunrise start to paint the stables gold, thinking about Jimmy's hands on piano keys, playing our unfinished piece like his heart remembered even if his mind didn't.
“He played tonight,” I said finally. “Our showcase piece.”
Dane’s silence held years of understanding. He'd been there at Rosewood, had watched the whole story unfold. “How bad?”
“Perfect. Like he never forgot.” I ran a hand through my hair, not caring about the products I was ruining. “He doesn't remember writing it with me, but his hands remember every note.”
“And you're sitting in your car watching sunrise at his workplace because...”
“How did you–“
“Because I know you, you idiot. You've probably spent the night driving past every place he frequents, torturing yourself with what-ifs while pretending it's all part of some strategic business plan.”
Sometimes having friends who knew you too well was incredibly inconvenient.
“Dane, my father's coming.”
“Ah.” The single syllable held volumes. “And you're worried about history repeating itself?”
“He never recovered from what I did last time. What my father's threats made me do.” The words felt raw in the pre-dawn air. “And now he doesn't even remember why I left. How am I supposed to protect him from something he can't remember to be afraid of?”
“Has it occurred to you,” Dane said carefully, “that maybe this time you could try something different? Like, oh, I don't know, actually talking to him?”
“It's not that simple.”
“It never is with you.” His sigh crackled through the speaker. “Look, eight years ago, you chose running away to protect him. How'd that work out?”
The question hit like a board meeting ambush. Through my windshield, I could see Melody in her paddock, probably waiting for Jimmy's morning visit. Everything about this town seemed designed to remind me of him – of who he was now, of who we'd been then, of all the ways I'd tried to keep him safe by staying away.
“I can't lose him again,” I admitted quietly.
“Then maybe try not running this time.” Dane’s voice softened. “You're not that scared kid anymore, Ethan. You've built an empire. Maybe it's time to use that power to protect what matters instead of hiding from it.”
The sun was fully up now, turning the ranch into something from a tourism brochure. Soon Jimmy would arrive for his morning routine – checking on Melody, probably bringing those ridiculous chips he still loved, making this place feel more like home than any of my penthouse offices ever had.
“When did you get so wise?” I asked Dane.
“Someone has to balance out your dramatic tendencies.” I could hear his smile. “Though I have to say, hiding in a small town while your father plots your corporate downfall is very on-brand for you.”
“I'm not hiding.”
“Sure, Mr. Regional Investment Opportunities. Keep telling yourself that.” He paused. “Just... don't run this time, okay? Some things are worth fighting for.”
After we hung up, I sat watching the ranch wake up. My phone kept buzzing with crisis updates from Mia, each one a reminder of the world I was supposed to be managing. The empire I'd built, the legacy I'd protected, the careful walls I'd constructed between past and present.
But Dane was right. Running hadn't worked last time. Maybe it was time to try something different.
Movement caught my eye – Jimmy's truck pulling into the ranch, right on schedule. Even from here, I could see him pause by the piano room's window, his hand reaching out like he was remembering last night's performance. The gesture made something in my chest crack open, eight years of careful distance crumbling in the morning light.
My father was coming, the corporate world was probably imploding, and the man I'd left to protect couldn't remember why I'd left in the first place. But maybe that was the point. Maybe this time, we could write a different ending.
A knock on my window nearly made me drop my phone. Caleb stood there, holding what appeared to be real coffee in an actual ceramic mug, because apparently my caffeine dependency was now part of the town's collective knowledge base.
“You know,” he said as I rolled down the window, “most people who want to watch the sunrise do it from somewhere with actual seating.”
“I was just–“
“Strategically surveying potential investment opportunities?” His raised eyebrow could have rivaled Mia's. He handed me the coffee – in what I recognized as one of Nina's personal mugs – and leaned against my car with the casual disregard for expensive paint jobs that seemed to characterize everyone in this town.
“Something like that.”
“Right.” He settled against the fence, clearly preparing for a conversation I wasn't sure I was ready to have. “Interesting choice of location. When Jimmy first came to Oakwood Grove, he used to park in this exact spot.”
The parallel hit like a hostile takeover bid. “He did?”
“Mmm. Said something about being close enough to run but far enough to remember why he shouldn't.”
I stared into Nina's coffee mug, wondering how many of my carefully constructed walls this town had already seen through. “Did he tell you why he stayed in Oakwood Grove?”
“He came to help Liam with a performance initially,” Caleb said, a fond smile crossing his face. “But you know those two became inseparable. Liam, he gave Jimmy a reason to stop running. They're thick as thieves.” He paused, watching my reaction. “Though he'd still sit here for hours sometimes, playing that piece you two performed last night on his phone. Over and over. Some things stick with us, even when we think we've left them behind.”
My phone buzzed again - Mia, with another update about my father preparing to leave New York. Caleb caught my flinch.
"You know," he said carefully, "your father's company just bought three properties in town. Nina mentioned the realtor called this morning."
Ice settled in my stomach. "Which properties?"
"The performance venue where Liam has his regular gigs. The recording studio space he uses. And..." He hesitated. "The warehouse district where we're planning to build the new music center – the one Jimmy's been working on for local youth programs."
"Of course he did." The words came out sharper than I intended. Harrison Cole never did anything without a reason.
"Town's talking," Caleb continued. "About development plans. Corporate expansion. The kind of changes that tend to erase places like The Watering Hole."
I stared at my phone, my father's messages suddenly feeling heavier.
"Maybe you should ask him," Caleb suggested quietly. "About why he's really buying these properties. Because right now, everyone's assuming the worst."
The implication hung in the air between us. My father might have his reasons, but without explanation, the town was preparing for war.
"I will," I said, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. "I need to know what he's planning."
I looked toward the stables where Jimmy was now visible, going through his morning routine with Melody. Even from here, I could see the easy confidence in his movements, the way he'd found pieces of himself in this place.
Clara's Place wasn't exactly designed for running a multi-billion dollar defense strategy. The antique desk barely fit my laptop, and the WiFi kept dropping every time Mrs. Henderson's bridge club met next door (apparently, their collective signal consumption was enough to crash small networks). But right now, it was command central for Operation Stop Harrison Cole From Destroying Everything. Again.
Mia's updates kept coming, each one more concerning than the last.
Mia
Your father had lunch with three local business owners yesterday.
He's asking questions about the music center project.
His assistant booked meetings with every bank in a 50-mile radius.
Also, Some Mrs. Henderson called our corporate office to invite you to bingo night. How did she get this number?
I was mid-reply when a knock interrupted my crisis management. Riley stood in my doorway, his ever-present notebook already in hand, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Before you say no,” he started, running a hand through his perpetually disheveled hair, “I'm not here about Jimmy.”
“That would be a first.”
“I'm hurt by your lack of faith in my journalistic range.” He settled into the room's only other chair with the casual ease of someone used to making himself at home during interviews. “I'm here about the town. Specifically, its interesting pattern of recent property acquisitions.”
I studied him over my laptop screen. “And this has nothing to do with Jimmy?”
“Oh, it probably does. Everything here does, eventually.” His grin was knowing. “But right now, I'm more interested in why Harrison Cole is suddenly investing in small-town real estate. Particularly properties vital to local arts programs.”
Sometimes I forgot that under Riley's friendly exterior was a genuinely skilled investigative reporter.
“It's an interesting pattern,” I admitted carefully.
“Isn't it? Almost like someone's trying to gain control of the town's cultural infrastructure.” He flipped through his notes. “The performance venue, the recording studio, the proposed youth center site. All key pieces in maintaining Oakwood Grove's independence from urban development.”
“You've done your research.”
“It's my job.” He met my eyes. “Just like it's your job to protect your company's interests. But we both know this isn't about business strategy, is it?”
Before I could respond, piano music drifted through my window. The church across the street had started their festival preparations early - specifically, Jimmy was there, helping Mrs. Henderson with what sounded like beginner choir pieces. Each note was played with growing confidence, like he was rediscovering his relationship with music one simple melody at a time.
Riley caught my distraction. “He's good, isn't he? Even with the memory loss, even with just basic pieces. It's like the music remembers him, even if he doesn't remember it.”
“He always was,” I said softly, then caught myself. “I mean-“
“Save it.” He waved off my attempt at deflection, his reporter's instincts clearly catching more than I meant to reveal.
A shadow fell across my desk - Officer Dawn, materializing with the town's usual disregard for normal entrance protocols. I'd given up being startled by how people here seemed to appear exactly when conversations got interesting.
“Your father's thorough, I'll give him that,” Dawn said, settling against the windowsill. “But he missed something in his research.”
“Oh?” I kept my tone neutral, though my heart rate picked up.
“Before Ramirez's attack, Jimmy was planning something. Had meetings in New York almost every week.” Her pointed look suggested she knew exactly what those meetings were about. “Interesting timing, don't you think?”
“He was meeting with music industry contacts,” I said, the pieces clicking into place. “Looking to expand the youth program nationally.”
Dawn's smile was knowing. “The kind of expansion that might have caught certain corporate eyes. Especially if it involved partnership with, say, a major tech company's charitable foundation?”
My legal team's faces on the video call looked increasingly concerned as I ignored them to process this revelation. Jimmy had been building something bigger than just local programs. Something that could have put him back in my father's crosshairs even without my return to town.
“Does he remember any of this?” I asked Dawn.
“No. But all the paperwork's still there. Nina found it when she was organizing his office.” She straightened, heading for the door. “Might be worth looking into. Especially since your father seems so interested in our little town's musical future.”
After she left, Riley closed his notebook. “Well, this just got more interesting.”
“Riley-“
“Don't worry. None of this goes to print. Yet.” He stood, gathering his things. “But when it does? Make sure you're on the right side of the story this time.”