Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Ryan
T he sunlight filtering through the thin curtains doesn’t help the pounding in my head. I’m not hungover—I didn’t drink enough for that—but my thoughts feel as jumbled as if I were. Last night was… unexpected, to say the least.
Seeing Candace again. Tasting her anger. Feeling her heat. It’s all too fresh, and I know I can’t let it cloud my judgment. I came home with a purpose, and the first order of business is the winery. Everything else—especially Candace—needs to take a backseat.
Thinking of the backseat of her limo the night before, I grin at my reflection on the mirror. Damn that had been hot… and right. Right after I finish this business with the vineyard, I’m going to put things right with Candace.
I dress quickly, grabbing my keys and heading out. Brennen’s still nowhere to be found. I asked him to come with me to the bank, told him we needed to present a united front, but Brennen flat-out refused. Stubborn idiot. At least Emma agreed to meet me there.
Vineyard first. Candace second. My butthead brother third.
The bank is a solid, gray stone building in the center of Pelican Point, the kind of place that hasn’t changed since my childhood. Its imposing, traditional facade matches the equally traditional mindset of the people who run it.
Emma’s already waiting inside when I walk through the heavy glass doors. She’s perched on one of the stiff chairs in the lobby, her polished demeanor screaming lawyer even if her casual clothes don’t. She looks up as I approach, giving me a small nod.
“Ready?” she asks, standing and smoothing her skirt. “You and Brennen?”
“That’s going to take a bit more work.”
“Ryan…”
I kiss her forehead. “I’ll fix it. I promise. Let’s get this done,” I say, keeping my voice low.
We’re ushered into the bank manager’s office a few minutes later. Mr. Davis—a thin, balding man with wire-rimmed glasses—rises to greet us, his handshake firm but impersonal.
“What can I do for you today?” he asks, motioning for us to sit.
I don’t bother with small talk. “I’m here to pay off the note on the Celtic Knot Vineyard.”
His eyes widen slightly, and I see a flicker of surprise before he schools his features into neutrality. “That’s… highly unusual,” he says, his tone cautious.
“Unusual isn’t a problem,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “The funds are ready. I want the note paid in full, today.”
Mr. Davis adjusts his glasses, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, Mr. Murphy, it’s not quite that simple. For a note of this size, the process requires approval from our board. Additionally, the funds will need to clear, and the note holder will have to be notified of the intent to pay it off.”
“How long are we talking?” Emma asks, her voice sharp.
“It could take a few days. Possibly a week,” he replies, looking between us.
“That’s unacceptable,” I say, my tone hardening. “We’re not asking for permission. We’re paying what’s owed. The rest is your job.”
Mr. Davis shifts in his seat, clearly not enjoying this conversation. “I understand your frustration, Mr. Murphy, but this is standard procedure for large transactions. I’ll do my best to expedite the process.”
Emma opens her mouth to argue, but before she can, the door to the office swings open.
Candace strides in like she owns the place, her heels clicking against the marble floor with precision. She’s wearing a sleek black dress today, the kind of outfit that screams power and control. Her eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I see the flash of anger she’s trying to conceal.
“What’s going on here?” she asks, her voice sharp but composed.
“Ms. Prescott,” Mr. Davis says nervously, standing. “We were just discussing the note on the Celtic Knot Vineyard.”
Her gaze snaps to him, then back to me. “I see. And I assume you’re here to try and pay it off?”
I lean back in my chair, studying her. “That’s exactly what I’m here to do, and there’s no trying about it.”
Her jaw tightens, just slightly, and I know that I’ve scored a hit. She recovers quickly, though, folding her arms and giving me a faint, mocking smile.
“Well, Ryan, it’s nice to see you finally taking an interest in your family’s legacy. Took you long enough.”
“And here I thought you’d be thrilled,” I reply, matching her tone. “After all, this means you won’t have to waste your time trying to turn our vineyard into a resort. You can move on to something more… achievable.”
Her smile falters, just for a second, but I catch it. She’s rattled, even if she doesn’t want to show it.
“The process isn’t as simple as you think,” she says coolly, turning to Mr. Davis. “I assume you’ve informed him of the necessary steps?”
“Of course, Ms. Prescott,” he says, nodding quickly.
God, what does she do to bank managers? Jace said the bank manager in Christmas Valley had been intimidated by her, as well.
“Good,” she replies, her gaze cutting back to me. “Because I don’t think you fully understand how this works. Paying off the note won’t happen overnight. It’s going to take time, and during that time…” She trails off, her smile sharpening. “Let’s just say I’ll be watching closely.”
Emma clears her throat, stepping in before I can respond. “The bank has no legal reason to delay this process,” she says, her voice icy. “There may be steps the bank has to take…” Emma stares directly at Candace. “But if I sense anyone is dragging their feet, the Murphy family and the Celtic Knot Vineyard will file suit to ensure the payment is processed in a timely and acceptable manner.”
The room goes silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. Mr. Davis looks like he wants to crawl under his desk, and Candace’s smile has turned brittle. I don’t know if it’s bureaucracy, incompetence, or just the stubborn resistance of fate, but every minute feels like a lifetime.
Finally, Mr. Davis clears his throat. “There’s no need for legal action, Ms. Murphy. I assure you; we’ll handle this as expeditiously as possible.”
Candace’s eyes narrow slightly, but she says nothing, her hands curling into fists at her sides. I don’t need to see her face to know she’s furious. She doesn’t like losing, and right now, she knows she’s losing.
“Good,” I say, standing. “Then we’ll leave you to it.”
Candace doesn’t wait for a polite farewell. She’s out the door, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. I watch her go, her back straight, her posture screaming defiance.
“I’ll handle this,” I mutter to Emma.
She raises an eyebrow. “You better before I do,” she says, leaning back with a faint, cheeky grin as I stride toward the door after Candace.
The storm outside hits me the second I step into the parking lot, the wind whipping against my face and the heavy scent of rain filling the air. Thunder rumbles low in the distance, the sky dark and churning. It feels fitting, somehow—a physical manifestation of the storm that’s been brewing between me and Candace since the moment I got back.
“Candace!” I call, jogging toward her as she reaches the limo.
She stops but doesn’t turn, her shoulders stiff. The driver is already reaching for the door handle, but I wave him off. “Give us a minute,” I say firmly.
The driver hesitates, then steps back, clearly unwilling to get in the middle of whatever’s about to happen.
“What do you want, Ryan?” Candace snaps, finally turning to face me. The wind pulls at her hair, sending golden strands flying around her face, but she doesn’t brush them away. Her eyes are bright, burning with fury, and her lips are set in a thin line.
“We need to talk,” I say, trying to keep my tone calm.
“We’ve talked enough,” she spits back. “I don’t owe you anything, least of all my time.”
“Why are you so damn angry?” I demand, stepping closer. “You’ve made it your mission to destroy me, my family, and anyone close to me. Why? To prove a point? To get back at me for something I don’t even know I did?”
Her laugh is bitter, cutting through the sound of the wind. “You don’t understand? Really, Ryan? You walked away from me. You left me with nothing—no explanation, no closure, nothing. You left your father to do your dirty work for you. And now you want to stand here and play the victim?”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut, and I take a step back, stunned. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I left after the coroner’s inquest because I think my father killed my mother. I knew I’d kill him if I stayed. I had to get a handle on my rage. I didn’t know you even saw my father…”
“You didn’t know what?” she interrupts, her voice rising. “That I was pregnant? That I lost the baby? That I’ll never be able to have children? That I almost died that night? Of course you didn’t know, because you didn’t care enough to stay and find out!”
I can’t breathe. The weight of her words crashes down on me, splintering through every carefully constructed defense I’ve built over the years. My chest tightens, my ribs locking up like a vice around my lungs. A sharp, stinging pressure builds behind my eyes, but I blink hard, refusing to let it take me under.
She lost our child. Our child . And I never knew.
My pulse pounds, roaring in my ears as I try to make sense of it, but there’s no making sense of something like this. The realization burrows deep, clawing its way through my gut, leaving nothing but raw, open wounds in its wake. I should have been there. I should have known. I should have… God .
My hands tremble at my sides, fingers curling into fists as if that might somehow keep me from breaking apart. But the guilt—it’s suffocating, drowning me in everything I failed to do, everything I didn’t even realize I had already lost.
I force myself to look at her. Candace. The woman I walked away from. The woman I thought I was protecting. And now, she’s sitting in front of me, telling me the one truth that rips the ground out from under me.
“How?” The word barely makes it past my lips, hoarse and broken. “When?”
Her expression flickers, something guarded flashing through her eyes before she exhales slowly, like she’s bracing herself. And I hate that. I hate that she still feels like she has to steel herself against me, against this .
Because this—it isn’t something I can just shove down and ignore like I have with everything else.
I drag a hand over my face, my throat so damn tight it feels like I might choke on the regret lodged there. "Jesus, Candace," I whisper, voice shaking. "I didn't know." As if that makes a difference. As if my ignorance somehow absolves me of the pain she carried alone.
It doesn’t.
Nothing ever will.
“Candace,” I say softly, stepping closer. She flinches but doesn’t move away. “I didn’t know. If I’d known...”
“It’s too late, Ryan,” she cuts me off, her voice trembling. “It’s always too late with you.”
Her anger is a shield, but I see the pain underneath it, the hurt she’s been carrying alone for years. My hand moves without thinking, gripping her arm gently but firmly, pulling her closer. She struggles for a moment, but I press her back against the side of the limo, my free hand cupping her jaw.
“Let me fix this,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Let me fix us.”
Before she can answer, I lean in, my lips finding hers in a desperate kiss. For a moment, she freezes, her body rigid against mine. Then her hands come up—not to pull me closer, but to push me away.
Her teeth sink into my bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood again, and before I can react, her knee connects with my groin. Pain explodes through me, sharp and unforgiving, and I stumble back, gasping.
“Don’t you dare,” she hisses, her voice low and venomous. “Don’t you dare think you can kiss me and make it all better. You don’t get to do that, Ryan. Not anymore.”
She yanks the limo door open and climbs inside, slamming it shut behind her. The driver doesn’t wait for my permission this time; he jumps in, and the car pulls away before I can recover, leaving me doubled over in the parking lot, clutching my aching groin.
“Well,” a familiar voice drawls behind me. “That was… different.”
I look up to see Emma walking toward me, her arms crossed and a wicked grin on her face.
“Is that how you fix things?” Emma asks as she stares at the retreating limo. “Because that looked painful. I knew there was something I liked about her.” Her voice drips with amusement.
My little sister can be annoying, especially when she’s got a point.
“Not funny,” I manage to grit out, rubbing at the blood on my lip and trying to straighten up despite the pain.
Emma just laughs, clapping a hand on my shoulder as I glare at her. “Come on, you big scary Navy SEAL. Let’s get you in my SUV and see if we can’t find some kind of frozen vegetables to put on your… injury. I don’t think riding your motorcycle would do you a lot of good. Let’s get going before someone calls the cops on you for loitering. We can send someone for your motorcycle and have it brought back to the house.”
I shake her off and limp toward her SUV, my thoughts spinning as I climb into the passenger seat.
Seeing Candace again has stirred up feelings I thought I’d buried. Anger. Guilt. Desire. And beneath it all, a flicker of hope I can’t quite extinguish.
Maybe it’s not too late. Not for the vineyard. Not for me. And maybe… not for her.