Chapter 9
When the Flames Flicker
Ryan
The first days after Ember moved in were perfect.
Better than perfect. We fell into an easy rhythm—coffee in the mornings, her working at my kitchen island while I handled station business, stolen kisses when I came home from shift.
The night after her Atlanta trip, she curled up against me on the couch while we watched a documentary about ancient architecture, her random facts about Roman aqueducts making me laugh.
That was four days ago.
Now, standing in the station bay watching her through the conference room window, I can see the cracks forming.
She’s on her phone again—the fourth time in twenty minutes. Each time it buzzes, her shoulders tense, her jaw tightens, and something that looks like fear flashes across her face before she schools her expression back to neutral.
“You’re doing it again,” Blake says, appearing at my elbow.
“Doing what?”
“Staring at her like you’re trying to solve a puzzle.” He follows my gaze. “What’s going on with you two?”
I don’t know how to answer that. On the surface, everything’s fine. She’s still at my place. We still sleep in the same bed—my bed. Last night after a marathon of sex, she fell asleep with her head on my chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin.
But something’s changed. Something I can’t quite name.
“She’s pulling away,” I say.
“She’s literally living with you.”
“I know. But emotionally, she’s... somewhere else.” I watch her pocket her phone with more force than necessary, then plaster on a smile as she rejoins the fundraiser meeting. “Ever since Atlanta, she’s been different.”
“Different how?”
“Her phone’s always blowing up. She won’t tell me who’s messaging her, but I can guess.” My jaw clenches. “And she’s not sleeping well. I wake up and she’s downstairs at 3 AM working on vendor contracts that don’t need to be done until next week.”
Blake’s quiet for a moment. “You think it’s the ex-business partner?”
“I know it is. I’ve seen glimpses of the messages when she forgets to turn off her phone. He’s relentless. And she’s trying to handle it alone.”
“Did you talk to her about it?” Blake asks.
“Tried. She says it’s under control, that Patricia, her lawyer, is handling it.” I run a hand through my hair. “But if it’s under control, why does she flinch every time her phone buzzes? Why is she barely eating?”
“Maybe because she’s stressed about a massive fundraiser?” Blake suggests.
He’s probably right. But my gut says otherwise.
Through the window, Ember’s phone lights up again. She glances at it, and I see her face go pale before she turns the screen off and continues talking to Uncle Jimmy like nothing happened.
That’s the fifth time this meeting alone.
“I need to get back to work,” I mutter, turning away before I do something stupid like march in there and demand to know what’s going on.
Blake catches my arm. “Ry. Don’t push too hard. If she needs space to work through this—”
“She’s living in my house. She sleeps in my bed. How am I supposed to give her space?”
“Emotional space,” he clarifies.
I know he’s right. But knowing it and accepting it are two very different things.
That evening, I come home to find Ember in the kitchen, laptop open, phone buzzing beside her. She’s ignoring it, her fingers flying across the keyboard with manic energy.
“Hey,” I say softly, not wanting to startle her.
She jumps anyway, hand flying to her chest. “God, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” I set my keys down. “Long day?”
“You could say that.” She doesn’t look up from her screen. “Catering company wants to renegotiate their fee. The tent rental is worried about the weather forecast. And the sound system vendor just informed me they double-booked and might not be available.”
“Can they do that?”
“Apparently.” Her laugh is hollow. “But I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
Her phone buzzes again. And again. Three messages in rapid succession.
She stares at the screen, her face draining of color.
“Em—”
“I need to make a call.” She’s already standing, grabbing her phone and heading toward the deck. “Vendor emergency.”
The door slides shut behind her, and through the window I watch her pace, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand gesturing as she talks.
This isn’t a vendor call. I can tell by her body language—the way her shoulders square and her rigid back, the way she keeps glancing back at the house like she’s afraid I’m watching.
Which I am.
She’s outside for twenty minutes. When she comes back in, her eyes are red-rimmed, her hands trembling.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Fine.” She won’t meet my eyes. “I’m going to take a shower.”
She disappears upstairs, and I hear the bathroom door lock. The shower runs for a long time. And when she emerges, her eyes are puffy, she’s been crying.
“Hey,” I catch her hand as she tries to slip past me into the bedroom. “Please, talk to me.”
She gives me a watery smile. “It’s been a long day.”
“Em—”
“Can we not do this right now?” Her voice cracks. “Please?”
I want to push. Want to demand answers. Want to know what’s making her cry in my shower when she thinks I can’t hear.
But the exhaustion in her eyes stops me.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “But you know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “I need to get through the fundraiser. Then everything will calm down.”
It’s a lie. We both know it’s a lie. But I let her have it because I don’t know what else to do.
That night, she curls up against me in bed like usual. But there’s a tension in her body that wasn’t there before.
“Ryan?” Her voice is small in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For being you.”
My chest tightens. “Always, Firecracker.”
She’s asleep within minutes, her breathing evening out, tension rolling away from her body. But I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the distance growing between us even as she sleeps in my arms.
The breaking point comes two days later.
I’m at the station when Blake appears in my office doorway, his expression grim. “We need to talk. About Marcus Gimbleton.”
My jaw clenches. “What about him?”
“I did some digging.” He closes the door behind him. “Guy’s got a history, Ry. Three former employees filed restraining orders over the years. All dropped eventually, but the pattern’s there—harassment, intimidation, threats to destroy their careers if they didn’t comply with his demands.”
My blood runs cold. “Active restraining orders?”
“All expired, except the one Ember has against him.”
I didn’t know she filed a restraining order against him. Why does it hurt hearing this from Blake?
He leans against my desk. “One of those employees? His name was Johnny Chen. He blacklisted him with every major business in Atlanta. He had to move to Charlotte to find work.”
“Jesus.”
“There’s more. He’s been posting on LinkedIn—vague stuff about ‘former associates who think they can steal clients’ and ‘the importance of loyalty.’ Not naming names, but—”
“But anyone in the industry would know this is about Ember.” My hands curl into fists.
“Yeah.” Blake’s watching me. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I scrub both hands over my face. “She made it clear she doesn’t want my help.”
“And if he’s dangerous?”
“Then I...” I trail off, because I don’t have a good answer. “I don’t know, Blake.”
My phone buzzes. A text from
Ember: Running late to the planning meeting. Vendor crisis. Start without me.
“She’s drowning, and she won’t let me throw her a line.”
“So, throw it anyway.”
“She’ll hate me for it.”
“Maybe.” Blake straightens. “But at least she’ll be safe.”
When Ember arrives at the station an hour later, she looks exhausted. There are dark circles under her eyes that makeup can’t quite hide, and her jeans hanging looser than they did a few days ago.
Uncle Jimmy goes through the final fundraiser details while Ember takes notes, her phone buzzing beside her. Each notification makes her flinch, but she keeps her professional smile firmly in place.
It’s only when Romeo asks about the timeline for the setup that I see her hands shake.
“Setup starts at 6 AM Saturday,” she says, her voice steady despite the tremor in her fingers. “Volunteers arrive at 7. We’ll need all hands-on deck to—”
Her phone buzzes again. This time, the message preview is long enough that I catch a glimpse from across the table:
You think you can take half? I’ll make sure you never work in this industry again. You’re nothing but a—
The message cuts off, but I’ve seen enough.
Ember flips the phone over, but not before I see her hands are shaking.
“Ember,” I say. “Can we talk? Privately?”
“I’m in the middle of a meeting—”
“Now. Please.”
Uncle Jimmy reads the room. “Let’s take a ten-minute break. Get some coffee, stretch our legs.”
The others file out, leaving us alone in the conference room. Ember starts gathering her papers, avoiding my eyes.
“What did that message say?” I ask.
“It’s nothing—”
“I saw it. That wasn’t nothing.”
“It’s Marcus being dramatic.” Her laugh is brittle. “Patricia’s handling it.”
“By letting him harass you?” I move closer, and she steps back. “How many messages have you gotten from him today? Ten? Twenty?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been counting.”
“I have. Thirty-seven. Thirty-seven times your phone has buzzed since this morning.” My voice is rising despite my effort to stay calm. “That’s not ‘handling it,’ Ember. That’s clearly harassment.”
“I know what it is!” She snaps. “And I’m dealing with it.”
“How? By jumping every time your phone makes a sound? By not sleeping? By losing weight because you’re too stressed to eat?” I can’t keep the frustration out of my voice. “This isn’t dealing with it. This is suffering through it.”
“What do you want me to do, Ryan?” Tears shine in her eyes now. “Block him and let him think he’s won? Report him and make everything worse? He has lawyers, connections, money—”
“And you have me.” The words burst out. “You have someone who cares about you, who wants to help, but you won’t let me.”
“Because this isn’t your fight!”
“It is when it’s hurting someone I love!”
The words hang in the air between us.
Her face goes pale. “What?”
Fuck. I didn’t mean to say it like that. Didn’t mean to say it at all, not now, not like this. But it’s out there, and I won’t take it back.
“I love you,” I say again. “And watching you go through this alone is killing me.”
She’s crying now, silent tears streaming down her face. “Ryan, you can’t—we’ve only known each other two weeks—”
“I don’t care, I know what I feel.” I step closer, and this time she doesn’t back away. “I love you, Ember. And I need you to let me help.”
“I can’t.” Her voice breaks. “I can’t be another woman who needs saving. I need to prove—to myself, to everyone—that I can handle this. I have a plan with Patricia, this is all being logged.” She picks up her phone.
“Even if it destroys you in the process?”
“It won’t.” She swipes at her tears. “Because if I can’t do this, if I can’t stand up to Marcus on my own, then what was the point of any of it? The business, starting over—all of it was supposed to prove I’m strong enough to make it without relying on someone else.”
“Being strong doesn’t mean doing everything alone.”
“For me it does.” Her phone buzzes again, and we both flinch. “I need space, Ryan. Not me handling things my way under your roof. In your bed. I need actual distance.”
The words hit like a physical blow. “Ember, you don’t have to leave—”
“Yes, I do.” She’s already gathering her things. “The repairs are done at the Inn. I should have moved back days ago. I—” Her voice catches, “I got too comfortable. Started to depend on you. And that’s exactly what I can’t do.”
“So, you’re leaving? Just like that?”
She won’t look at me. “I’ll see you at the fundraiser. Everything’s on track. The event will be perfect.”
“I don’t give a damn about the fundraiser!” My voice echoes in the empty conference room. “I care about you.”
“I know.” Fresh tears spill over. “And that terrifies me. Because every time I start to depend on someone, they either use me or leave me or prove I was right not to trust them in the first place. And I can’t—with you.”
“I would never—”
“You already are.” She meets my eyes. “You’re trying to rescue me again. And maybe I do need rescuing, but I can’t let you be the one to do it. Because if you save me now, I’ll never know if I could have saved myself.”
“That’s the most stubborn, frustrating logic I’ve ever heard.”
“I know.” A sad smile crosses her face. “But it’s mine. And I need you to respect it.”
What can I say to that? She’s asking me to watch her struggle and do nothing. To stand back while the woman I love faces down someone who might be dangerous.
Every instinct I have screams to fight this. To argue. To make her see reason.
But the determination in her eyes tells me I’ve already lost.
“Okay,” I breathe. “If that’s what you need.”
“It is.” She’s already moving toward the door. “I’ll pack my things this afternoon.”
“Em—”
Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Let me do this my way. Even if you think it’s wrong.”
Then she’s gone, leaving me standing alone in the conference room with the echo of her words and the weight of my own helplessness.
Blake finds me there ten minutes later.
“She left,” I say before he can ask.
“Left the meeting or left left?”
“Both. She’s moving back to the Inn.” I sink into a chair. “Says she needs space to prove she can handle Marcus on her own.”
Blake lets out a low whistle. “That’s... stubborn.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “She’d rather drown than accept a life preserver.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
I think about the restraining orders. The harassment pattern. The thirty-seven messages today alone.
“I’m going to respect her wishes,” I say slowly. “And hate every second of it.”
“That’s it?”
“No.” I look at my brother. “I’m also going to make sure she’s safe. Even if she never knows I’m doing it.”
“Ry—”
“I know. It’s what she doesn’t want. But Blake—” My voice cracks. “If something happens to her because I stood back and did nothing, I’ll never forgive myself.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “What do you need?”
“Keep going on what you can find about Marcus Gimbleton. Give Officer Tiddle a heads-up on this guy and the situation. And I want to know if he’s in Peachwood Grove.”
“You think he’d come here?”
“I think a guy who sends thirty-seven harassing messages in one day is capable of anything.”
Blake nods.
After he leaves, I sit in the empty conference room, my phone in my hand, Ember’s last text still on the screen: I’ll see you at the fundraiser.
The fundraiser is in three days.
And the woman I love just walked out of my life because I tried to protect her.
My house is going to feel empty tonight.
But at least she’ll be safe.
Even if she hates me for it.