Chapter 41
41
PORTIA
T he steering wheel burned under my white-knuckled grip as I drove through town, my vision blurring with fresh tears. There was only one person I could talk to. One person I trusted to give me advice that wasn’t biased or what I wanted to hear but what I needed to hear. My car turned down familiar streets on autopilot, carrying me toward the only person who could possibly understand.
The screen door creaked when I pushed it open. The thing always creaked. No matter how much WD40 was sprayed on the hinges, it was determined to act like a security alarm. No one was getting in or out of the house without anyone knowing.
The house smelled like lemon, telling me Mom had recently dusted. From the TV room, the familiar dun-dun of Law and Order echoed. The sound alone took me back fifteen years to me coming home from school or soccer practice. I knew exactly what I would see when I walked into the room.
Dad muted the TV the moment he saw me. “Sweetheart?”
That was all it took. The dam broke.
He was across the room before the first sob fully escaped, gathering me into arms that had steadied me through every skinned knee and broken heart. His flannel shirt scratched my cheek as I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of Old Spice.
“Come on,” he murmured, guiding me to the kitchen. “Let’s get some tea in you.”
Mom appeared at the top of the stairs, her worried gaze flickering between us. Dad gave her a small shake of his head as if to say he had the situation handled. With the quiet understanding of thirty years of marriage, she retreated. “Call if you need me,” she said softly before disappearing.
The kettle whistled as I slumped into a chair at the worn oak table—the same one where I’d done homework, celebrated birthdays, planned my escape to New York. It was grounding to be here. I felt like I was spinning, but the moment I sat down at the table, I had something tangible to hold on to.
A few minutes later, Dad set a steaming mug in front of me, the chamomile scent curling into the air between us. It was hotter than hell outside, but tea was necessary.
“Alright, what’s going on?”
I stared down at the tea, watching the steam rise. My hands trembled as I wrapped them around the warm mug.
“I got a job offer,” I said finally, my voice hoarse. “San Francisco. Six figures. Partnership track. Everything I thought I wanted.”
Dad nodded slowly, his hands folded on the table between us. He didn’t speak, just waited for me to continue. That was Dad—never pushing, always patient.
“I told Dean about it.” My voice caught. “And he… he just shut down. Completely.”
“Shut down how?” Dad asked quietly.
I laughed, the sound hollow and bitter. “He basically told me to take the job and that what we had was just ‘fun.’ Like the past few weeks meant nothing.” I blinked back fresh tears. “He acted like he couldn’t care less if I left.”
Dad sighed, his eyes soft with understanding. “That boy.”
“I know he cares, Dad. I know he does. I’ve seen it in the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. In the way he shows up for me without being asked.” I took a shaky breath. “But the moment I mentioned San Francisco, it was like some switch flipped. He completely shut me out.”
“Dean Jackson has spent his entire life believing he’s not worth sticking around for,” Dad said quietly.
I looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”
Dad leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant. “His dad was a mean drunk. His mom took off when the boys were young. Seth was always in trouble, and Dean was always left picking up the pieces.” He shook his head. “That kind of life teaches you that people leave. Always.”
“But I wasn’t—I didn’t say I was leaving,” I protested. “I just wanted to talk about it. Figure things out together.”
“And that scared him more than anything,” Dad said. “Because if you stayed for him and regretted it later?”
“He’d blame himself,” I finished softly.
Dad nodded. “He’d rather push you away than risk you resenting him down the road.”
I wiped at my eyes with the heel of my hand. “So what do I do? I can’t force him to fight for us if he won’t.”
“The question isn’t what Dean wants,” Dad said, reaching across the table to cover my hand with his. “It’s what you want. If that job in San Francisco disappeared tomorrow, what would you choose? Think long and hard about that.”
I did. All the thoughts had been bouncing around since I got the call yesterday. “It’s everything I thought I wanted.”
“But?”
“But nothing!” I threw up my hands. “That’s the problem! This should be an easy decision. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. So why does it feel like I’m being torn in half?”
Dad leaned back. “Because you’re not as powerless as you feel, Portia.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“The universe isn’t fair,” he continued. “Never has been, never will be. But your choices? Those belong to you. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Time to use it.”
I stared into my tea. “I don’t know what to choose.”
“Why?”
“Because I just started the brokerage here,” I said. “Doesn’t that make me flighty? I flit from one place to the other.”
“You’re not flighty, Portia,” Dad said firmly, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “You’re ambitious. There’s a difference.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Ambition means you’re chasing something. Flighty means you’re running away from something. You’re not running, are you?”
I shook my head slowly. “No. I’m not running.”
“Then stop treating yourself like you are.” His voice softened. “You came back here to regroup, not to hide. And look at what you’ve already built—a new business, new connections, a life here again. That’s not nothing.”
“But what if San Francisco is the next step? What if I’m supposed to take it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What if it isn’t?” Dad countered gently. “What if the next step is right here? Or somewhere else entirely? The point is, you don’t have to decide today. Or tomorrow. Or even next week. Take your time. Figure out what you want, not what you think you should want.”
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “Dean made it sound so final, though. Like there was no point in even talking about it.”
Dad tilted his head, studying me. “Dean Jackson is a good man, but he’s got walls thicker than the ones on this house. He doesn’t know how to let people in, and when they get too close, he panics. That’s his problem, not yours.”
“But I don’t want to walk away from him,” I admitted, my chest tightening at the thought.
“Then don’t,” Dad said simply. “But don’t let him make the decision for you either. You two need to talk—really talk—about what you both want. And if he can’t do that?” He shrugged. “Then maybe he’s not the one.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. Not because they were harsh, but because they were true. “I feel like…”
“What?” Dad asked.
“I think I hurt him,” I whispered. “Not intentionally, but he thinks I’ve already decided to go. He told me he doesn’t want me to wake up one day and regret staying to be with him. But I wouldn’t regret it. Not if it meant being with him.”
Dad nodded slowly. “Sometimes, people who’ve been hurt too many times can’t see the truth right in front of them. They get so used to expecting the worst that they can’t recognize when something good is staring them in the face.”
I chewed on my lip, my mind racing. “So what do I do? How do I make him see that I’m not going anywhere?”
“You don’t make him see anything. You show him. Not with words, but with actions. Dean’s a man who understands what it means to build something from the ground up. He knows how to fix things, how to make them work. But this?” He gestured vaguely toward me. “This is different. It’s not about fixing—it’s about trusting. And trust takes time. Like you said, you’ve only been together a few weeks. That’s not enough time to really know anyone. I don’t think you can say you know him either. He might be right.”
I sighed, frustration bubbling up. “I don’t know him, but I feel like I know him well enough. At least I did, but then he goes and does this. What if he pushes me away again?”
“Then you have to decide if he’s worth waiting for,” Dad said bluntly. “But don’t wait forever. You deserve someone who’s willing to fight for you as hard as you’re willing to fight for them.”
I groaned. “I should be celebrating. I should be packing my suitcase and looking for a rental in San Francisco.”
“Then why aren’t you?”
“I don’t know,” I moaned and dropped my head. “I don’t feel like I’m me.”
“Not you?”
“I’m not the person I was two months ago. I’ve stepped into new shoes. I don’t know who I am. I know I should be thrilled at this job opportunity. But there’s hesitation and I thought it was because of Dean, but like you said, our relationship is so new. That can’t be it. Unless I turned into one of those women that falls head over heels in love in five minutes and gives up everything.”
“I don’t know if you can say you’re giving up everything. I mean, you do have a family and business here.”
“I know, but you don’t get it.” I sighed.
“Then let me ask you this—what scares you more? Staying or going?”
My breath hitched. New York had nearly broken me. The long hours, the ruthless competition, the way I’d lost myself in that glittering skyline. Coming home had felt like surrender. Starting over here had been safety.
Dad saw the realization dawn in my eyes. “San Francisco’s shiny and new,” he said gently. “No one knows your past there. You could reinvent yourself.”
“Yes!” The word burst out of me. “That’s exactly?—”
“But guess what else goes with you?” He tapped my temple. “You. Same brilliant, stubborn girl who built a business from scratch in less than a month.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
“New York wasn’t a failure, sweetheart. It was a reroute.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Now here’s another fork in the road. Another opportunity presenting itself because you earned it. Because someone else sees your potential and your value. What do you want to do about it?”
I chewed my lip, the answer hovering just out of reach.
Dad leaned forward, his voice dropping. “Let me pitch it one more way. Imagine Dean could go with you. No limitations. Where would you choose to be?”
I closed my eyes. Five years from now. The life I wanted.
The images came.
Early mornings in my office overlooking Main Street, sunlight streaming through the windows as I pored over listings.
Dean’s laughter rumbling against my back as we drifted on the lake at sunset.
The bakery next door knowing my coffee order by heart.
Clients becoming friends, friends becoming family.
And then I saw San Francisco.
The bustling streets, the towering buildings, the endless opportunities. Dean beside me, walking through the city, his motorcycle parked outside some trendy café. Living in an old townhouse with a view of the bridge.
The trolleys.
Museums.
The anguish faded.
When I opened my eyes, Dad was smiling.
“Well?”
I reached for my phone with shaking hands. “I think I need to make a call.”