Chapter 4 #2
Instead, he exhaled through his nose, a harsh sound. “This isn’t over, Becca. You’ll come around. You always do. You know it.”
“No,” I said, stepping up beside Levi so my shoulder brushed his arm.
I looked at Travis directly, the way I should have done a long time ago, and kept my voice steady and clear.
“I won’t. I want you to hear me this time, Travis, because I mean every word of it.
We’re done. We’ve been done. I don’t want your calls, I don’t want your texts, I don’t want you showing up at my door or anywhere else I happen to be.
That’s not negotiation, that’s just how it is.
” I paused. “And if you keep pushing it, I will go to the police. I mean that. I’ll call Matt.
I will file a report, and I will follow through. ”
The silence that followed had weight to it.
Travis’s jaw tightened. His eyes cut sideways to Levi, doing the math, not liking the answer.
For a moment, I thought he was going to push back anyway, because that was what Travis did, that was always what he did.
But something shifted in his face—not remorse, nothing so clean as that—just the cold calculation of a man who had run out of room to maneuver.
“You’ll come around,” he said again, but it was quieter this time. Hollow. The last word of a man who no longer believed it himself.
“Goodbye, Travis,” I said.
Travis stared at me like he was trying to find the version of me that used to back down. When he didn’t, something ugly twisted his mouth. “Fine.” He spat the word. “Enjoy your little charity drop-off. But don’t think this ends here.”
He left the way he came, and I stood there watching until he was gone. Something nagged at me—the way his boots were wet past the ankle, the mud he’d left on my porch. What had he been doing?
The silence that followed felt deafening. I let out a shaky breath. My hands were trembling.
“He’s gone.”
I nodded, even though my knees felt like they weren’t entirely interested in holding me up anymore. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”
Levi gave a small shake of his head. “You didn’t need me. You were holding your own.”
“Still.” I let out a breath that almost passed for a laugh. “If you hadn’t been here, I might’ve finally followed through on my plan to kick his ass. And then I’d be explaining myself to my brother at the station.”
That got a short huff of a laugh out of him, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.
I turned away on instinct, needing something to do with my hands before they gave me away. Straightening things. Wiping something that didn’t need wiping. Anything that looked like control.
Except my fingers were shaking.
Subtle at first. Then not.
“Becca.”
His voice was quieter this time.
I ignored it, reaching for a mug that was already clean.
“Becca.”
A hand closed gently over mine before I could move again.
Not stopping me like I was doing something wrong, just… anchoring me.
My breath caught.
When I looked up, he was closer than he had been a second ago, like he’d simply decided distance wasn’t helping. His grip was steady, warm, deliberate in a way that made everything else feel louder.
“It’s okay,” he said, low. “You’re okay.”
Something in my chest loosened without permission.
For a second, I just let him hold my hands there, like I didn’t have to fix anything, like I didn’t have to prove I was fine.
Then a car door slammed outside.
Both of us turned at the same time.
Harper burst through the door a moment later, cheeks pink from the damp air, eyes wide. “I saw Travis tearing out of here like his ass was on fire. Now take a guess—on a scale of one to ten—how close was I to committing vehicular manslaughter?”
“About an eight,” I guessed. “But Levi already handled the standoff portion.”
Harper’s gaze flicked between us, softening as it landed on Levi. “Good. Then my services as backup are no longer required.” She tipped her head toward the door. “You ready for knitting? Auntie Eileen’s texted me four times now. Someone brought the really good cheese.”
Levi cleared his throat. “I should head out.”
“Thanks for the food,” I said. “And, um, for everything.”
He met my eyes for a beat longer than necessary. “Anytime. Seriously. If he comes back—”
“I’ll call.”
He nodded once, then stepped out and headed to his truck. The trailer felt smaller the second he was gone. I put the bag of food in the fridge and smiled weakly at Harper.
She looped her arm through mine. “Come on. Snacks. Yarn. And you’re telling me every detail of whatever you’re currently pretending didn’t just happen.”
Aunt Aggie’s Airstream was warm and loud and smelled faintly like lavender, wool, and something buttery.
Folding chairs circled the tiny table, every surface already claimed by yarn baskets, knitting needles, half-finished scarves, and an impressive spread of snacks.
Gerald, occupying the best chair, the one nearest the space heater, with the authority of someone whose name was on the lease. He was not knitting. He was judging.
Someone handed me a paper plate loaded with cheese cubes, crackers, and brownie bites.
“Eat,” Aunt Aggie ordered. “You’re too thin.”
“I’m not—”
“Eat,” she repeated, sharper this time.
I ate.
The conversation flowed freely, as it always did.
“So,” Myrtle said, peering at Aggie over her glasses before peeking at me from the corner of her eye, “was that Levi Barrett I saw here earlier?”
“He was checking on me,” Aunt Aggie said primly. “Like a gentleman, he brought me some of his mama’s lasagna and let me know that Rosemary couldn’t make it tonight.”
“Mmm,” Doris hummed. “Tall drink of water, that one.”
Harper grinned. “That’s an understatement.”
“He’s always been a good boy,” Aunt Aggie said. “Strong. Reliable. Looks like he could carry a refrigerator and still open doors politely.”
“I’d let him carry me,” Myrtle muttered. “Forget the refrigerator.”
“Some days I’m tempted to set something on fire. Those boys down at the station are something else,” Doris added.
Laughter erupted around the circle.
I focused very hard on my knitting, which currently resembled something between the potholder Harper’s Auntie Eileen started for me and a cry for help.
“And speaking of strange things,” Doris continued, popping a grape into her mouth, “you’ll never guess what happened to Eileen yesterday.”
“Someone offered to buy my trailer,” Eileen announced, and the room went quiet. She was the only one who directly owned any land in the lot; everybody else rented from Aunt Aggie. It was on the far edge by the entrance.
“…What?” Aunt Aggie finally said.
“Cash,” Eileen added. “Didn’t even blink when he quoted me the offer.”
Myrtle frowned. “Who wants to buy an old trailer?”
“That’s what I said!” Eileen threw her hands up, yarn trailing behind her. “It’s tiny and old, and the stove only works if you threaten it.”
Aunt Aggie’s eyes narrowed. “Did he say why he wanted it?”
“Nope. Just said they were ‘interested in the property.’” She made air quotes. “Which is ridiculous. It’s not like I have some glamorous lot with oceanfront views.”
“But you do own that strip of land,” Doris said slowly.
Eileen sighed. “Yes. How silly of me. He wanted my land, huh.”
A murmur rippled through the circle.
“Oh,” Myrtle said. “Well. That explains it.”
“That explains it too well,” Aggie snapped.
Harper leaned closer to me. “Something is going on, isn’t it?”
My stomach tightened. I thought of my own trailer, how close it sat to the riverbank, and how temporary everything suddenly felt.
Aggie clapped her hands sharply. “Well. Nobody’s selling anything. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. This campground is our home.”
“And if someone thinks they can buy us out,” Myrtle added cheerfully, lifting a knitting needle. “They’re welcome to try.”
Riverside Pines belonged to Aggie. She and Harold bought the land decades ago, when living this close to the river year-round was considered impractical at best and reckless at worst. After Harold died, she couldn’t bring herself to leave it empty, so she moved into this Airstream and began renting spaces to a handful of friends who needed somewhere safe and affordable.
Over time, “a handful” became most of us.
Technically, we leased our spots long-term, paying monthly and pretending that made things permanent.
Aggie collected rent, fixed what she could, and fought for us when she had to, but the truth was, none of us owned the ground beneath our wheels.
It was her land. Her risk. Her responsibility.
The only exception was Eileen. Which meant if someone wanted a foothold down here, they wouldn’t go through a committee or a holding company.
They’d go through Aggie. And that didn’t sit right with me.
“Has anyone contacted you with an offer?” I asked her.
“No. But I’ve got my eyes and ears open, honey.”
“Okay.”
She watched me a second longer than necessary, her expression softening around the edges. “You think this is about the land.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know what I think.”
The river moved steadily behind us, that low rush constant and indifferent. A breeze kicked up and rattled the metal awning over her porch, the sound sharper than it needed to be.
Aggie shifted in her chair. “People have been circling this place for years,” she said. “Developers. Investors. Men in pressed shirts who think they can charm an old widow into signing something she doesn’t read.”
“And?”
“And I tell them the same thing every time.” Her mouth curved slightly. “Harold didn’t buy this land so somebody else could turn it into riverfront condos.”
That eased something in my chest. A little.
“But,” she added, “that doesn’t mean folks won’t try something different.”
“You tell me if anyone does reach out,” I said quietly.
She leaned forward and patted my knee. “You tell me if you stop pretending Travis isn’t still bothering you.”
I looked away first. Because she wasn’t wrong. I’d always worry about her. And she’d do the same for me.
As the conversation shifted to lighter topics—whose grandson was getting married, which yarn store had the best sales—a nagging thought settled in the back of my mind.
Travis worked for the mayor’s office. He’d been Whitaker’s right-hand man for years, handling “community outreach” and whatever polished term they used for pushing the town’s agenda. Revitalization. Development.
Travis showing up more aggressively now, right as whispers of land offers started circulating.
Was he even coming around here for me? Was he scouting for Whitaker?
Or was he attempting to get to me so he could leverage my relationship against Aggie?
Or was this just his petty way of clinging to control, tangled up in something bigger?
The tie felt too neat, too convenient. And maybe even dangerous.
If Travis was involved in the push for Riverside Pines, then my ex wasn’t just a personal problem anymore.
He may be a threat to the only home I have left.