Chapter 40
Forty
Kingston
It’s been a week since I’ve seen Elise. Nights have stretched into endless loops of memories.
I close my eyes, and she’s there—hair spilling across my pillow, laughter echoing in Paris, the way she said my name like it belonged to her.
I open them, and I’m alone, the ceiling a blank witness to what I’ve destroyed.
I don’t sleep more than an hour or two at a time.
My body crashes, but my brain jolts awake.
Coffee covers the cracks, but nothing quiets the restlessness.
Even now, as I step into the barn, I catch my reflection in the mirror above the handwashing sink—eyes empty, jaw shadowed with days-old stubble, a man unraveling thread by thread.
My hands tremble faintly when I shove them into my pockets, the residue of too much caffeine and too little rest.
Kevin flew me to Vancouver for our Monday morning meetings at Renew, and I left after lunch and had him stop here at the vineyard. I wanted to see how things were coming along.
They’ve clearly made progress, but the vineyard still bears last week’s scars.
Gaps break the rows where posts wait to be reset, and raw wood delivered this morning stands pale against the older vines.
Wire spools glint in the sun, half-strung trellises cutting across the block.
We’ve been hand watering, waiting for the drip system to arrive.
The air smells green and sharp—crushed leaves, split fruit, and heat.
Forklifts beep in reverse. Men shout over the grind of augers. Boots thud through dust. The bite of cedar and metallic tang of wire hang in the air.
Elise stands in the center of it all, hair tied back, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on the trellis she’s rethreading.
Tarryn crouches beside her, braid brushing the dirt as she braces the new post. They don’t see me.
Together they move with the focus of surgeons in an open chest, refusing to lose the fight.
I stay in the shade of the shed, hands deep in my pockets. I’m supposed to be the one who saves things. Here, I can’t. It’s my fault she’s hurt. If I reach out to her, I’ll likely make things worse. Just as these rows aren’t mine to mend, and she isn’t mine to reach for. Not anymore.
The wire pulls tight, and then holds. After wire breaks—or in our case was cut—getting it tight enough to hold the weight of a dozen vines without breaking again is hard work. Tarryn exhales. Elise presses her palms to her thighs and lets herself sag for a breath, then straightens again.
That’s when she sees me.
Her eyes hold for a moment, and what I get isn’t anger. It isn’t even disappointment. It’s worse. Polite. Distant. Professional, like a nod you give a stranger in passing. And then, sharper, she turns away mid-glance, directing her voice toward one of the workers, clipped and efficient.
I’ve known Elise’s fire, her breath against my skin, her warmth pressed close enough to make me believe I could be whole again. Now, she’s all distance. Only coolness in her eyes.
The words rise anyway. I want to tell her I’m sorry, that the silence and secrecy wasn’t her fault.
That I’ve been broken since Cara and my best friend blew my life apart, and I never learned how to talk about it, never learned to manage all the feelings it left behind.
But saying it here feels useless. It may be too late.
The work lights flicker. Someone yells for more wire. A tractor kicks over nearby, the noise swallowing whatever might’ve come next. Elise turns back to Tarryn, already gone from me all over again.
The sun’s beginning to fall off as I step off the block. July light hits hard and gold, throwing long shadows between the rows. The crew keeps working—tightening wire, setting posts—but I can’t stand there another minute.
Greyson once told me I was always welcome to stop by when my head got too loud. I never took him up on that, but I can’t live like this anymore. I’m going to find him at the hospital.
The keys bite into my palm as I grip them.
I push off the railing, the decision lodged hard in my chest. I need to talk to someone.
Greyson and Trinity went through something like this.
He even interviewed for a job in Vancouver.
Thankfully, Elise is here. Right now, I need him to help me see the forest instead of just the trees.
I can’t sit in this limbo any longer. But I also can’t see the way forward.
The drive over the bridge into downtown Paradise and to the hospital is smooth and easy.
But inside, Paradise General bustles, even in the evening.
The ER never sleeps. The smell hits me first, not antiseptic exactly, but sharp and clean, undercut by the sterile chill of air conditioning that never shuts off.
Greyson is at a computer terminal when I find him, perched on a rolling stool, his gaze fixed on the glow of the monitor. He looks up, eyebrows raised when he sees me. “King.” He swivels around. “What are you doing here? You look like hell.”
I drag a hand down my face. “Thanks.”
He studies me for a beat, then jerks his head toward the hallway. “Come on. I can take a minute. Let’s get to the cafeteria before it closes.”
I follow him down the hall, grateful he’s taken charge.
The cafeteria is nearly empty as we enter, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
A few nurses linger over paper cups of hot caffeine, but otherwise it’s just us.
We get our cups and Greyson sits across from me, coffee between his hands, waiting.
“I saw Elise this afternoon,” I start, my voice rough. “She was with Tarryn, working the damaged blocks. She didn’t even… She looked right through me.” I stare at my hands, knuckles pale.
Greyson leans forward, forearms on the table. “Whatever you’re carrying—it’s bigger than Elise giving you the cold shoulder. It may be why she’s doing that, but there’s more here.”
I laugh without humor, a rough bark. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Then tell me.” His voice is steady. Not a demand, not a plea. An invitation.
My throat tightens. I grip the edge of the table until my fingers hurt. “I’m sure a therapist would tell me it’s Cara and Tim, but it’s not just that.”
Greyson’s expression sharpens, but he doesn’t cut in.
“What nobody knows,” I go on, my voice low, “is that I spent years twisting myself into knots, trying to make Cara happy. We went to therapy. Then I went alone when she wouldn’t go anymore.
I fix people for a living, and I couldn’t fix us.
I tried. I picked up every extra shift, built Renew Motion from the ground up, told myself if I worked harder, if I gave her more, she’d feel it. That she’d feel…loved enough to stay.”
The words take part of me with them as they leave me.
“But every time I came home, she looked at me like I was already failing her,” I confess.
“And the more I tried, the worse it got. I thought if I just kept pushing, if I fixed myself, I could fix us.” My voice breaks.
“And then one day she was gone. Not just gone, but with the person I trusted most.”
I shove the heel of my hands into my eyes, pressing hard. “Everyone thinks the marriage fell apart because I was too busy building Renew Motion. I let them think that, because it’s easier. It’s cleaner. But the truth? I did everything I knew how to do, and it still wasn’t enough.”
My breath stills in my throat. I’ve never said that aloud. Not once.
When I finally lower my hands, Greyson’s jaw is set. His eyes burn with fury that isn’t aimed at me. “Jesus, Kingston.”
My stomach twists. “Now, you know. I shut it all off. I don’t talk about her.
I don’t let people in. I kept things surface-level—like with Hope—because it was easier when they walked away.
I worried she had developed real feelings, but I wasn’t going there.
We were never a good match, but it didn’t matter because I wasn’t about to give everything again only to find out it still wasn’t enough.
And now…” I trail off, my limbo moving into sharper focus for the first time.
“I think that’s what’s got me trapped with Elise.
I’ve made mistakes, but I’m afraid to try to fix them.
” Alarm races through me. What a goddamn mess.
Greyson’s voice is quiet, but sharp. “You’ve carried that alone all this time?”
I nod, throat raw.
“No wonder you’re cracked wide open. That’s not a wound, that’s a cage.”
My heart aches as those words sink in, but there’s something else too, like the lock just clicked open, like air is moving in a place that’s been closed for years.
I rub my temples. “I thought if I buried it, it would stay gone. But it just—” I break off, shaking my head. “I didn’t have to work hard at all to make Elise happy. She just fit. But I never let her see all of me, and then I fucked it all up.”
Greyson exhales slow and steady. “You’re wrong.”
My gaze jerks up.
“That’s not what I see at all. You’ve made mistakes, yes, but you just have to give yourself a chance to move forward. Have you ever talked about this with Elise?
I shake my head.
“If Elise doesn’t know the truth, she’s got no foundation to understand why you did things the way you did. You can’t expect her to trust you when you won’t trust her with all of yourself.”
I swallow hard. The truth is ugly. But Greyson’s words cut through. He’s right. She deserves all of me, not just the parts I think she can handle, not just the parts I think I can handle sharing.
The cafeteria is quiet, and the coffee between us is bitter and burned. But I find myself feeling a fraction lighter.
Greyson’s expression softens, just a little. “You’ve carried this long enough. It’s time you set it down—with her.”
I close my eyes and breathe deep. I sink into the chair, exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with physical effort, yet it feels like I just ran miles I never trained for. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“Things are kind of a mess right now,” Greyson agrees. “But if you make an honest effort, perhaps she’ll be willing to listen.”
I hope that’s true, and I can see now that I have to try.
“Some things break because the other person wants out,” Greyson notes after a moment. “Not because you failed.”
I look up at him. “Cara still feels like a failure.”
He nods once. “Perhaps it will feel differently if you stop carrying it alone.”
I press my palms to my thighs. He’s not looking at me like I’m broken. He looks like he understands.
Greyson leans forward, elbows on the table. “Elise isn’t Cara.”
“I know.” The words are quiet.
“Then treat her accordingly. Stop hiding from her because of what one woman did years ago.” His tone sharpens, unyielding. “If you want her, you have to give her the whole truth. All of it. The good, the bad, the scars.”
My throat works. “And if she walks away?”
“Then at least you’ll know it was honest. Better to lose her because she knows you than because you never gave her the chance.”
I close my eyes a moment. I know he’s right. I’ve been hiding behind silence, convincing myself I was protecting her when really I was protecting myself.
Greyson stands, moves to the window. “You’ve always carried the family’s weight, Kingston.
The expectations, the perfection. Maybe it’s time to accept that you don’t have to be flawless for someone to stay.
And think about it. The sabotage at the vineyard only thrived in the shadows.
Silence made it dangerous. Secrets always do. ”
I drag a hand through my hair and lean back, still wrestling with this.
“You really think she deserves all of it?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
Greyson turns. “Not just deserves. Needs. You don’t build a life on half-truths.”
I nod. “Then I’ll tell her. Everything.”
Greyson’s mouth tips into the faintest smile. “That’s the brother I know.”
The evening air follows me out of the hospital, cooler now against my face, carrying a faint trace of rain on the wind. I slide behind the wheel of my car and sit in the lot for a moment, keys heavy in my hand, Greyson’s words still echoing.
“Stop hiding from her.”
I start the engine and pull onto the road. Out here the world opens—mountains in the distance, stars beginning to appear overhead.
I feel lighter. Not fixed. Not whole. But lighter. Saying the truth out loud didn’t break me the way I thought it would. My heart still aches, but it’s not that locked, suffocating pain anymore. It’s something closer to hope.
The road curves through the valley, vineyards dark against the hills. But I can smell them—fruit, crushed leaves, the faint sweetness that lingers after years of harvests. Elise won’t let it fail. She never does.
She deserves the truth and, more than that, proof of the way I feel. Not flowers, not easy words. Something real. Something that shows her I choose her. Not by accident. Not because it’s easy. Because she’s the one.
I press the gas, and my headlights slice through the dark, pulling me back toward the vineyard. My pulse steadies, strong and sure.
I’ll tell her everything. I’ll lay it all out, no shields, no silence. And then I’ll give her something undeniable. Something that proves she isn’t just part of my life. She is my life. My chest tightens, not with dread but with determination. I need to make a plan, get myself ready.
This time, I won’t fail her.