Chapter 30
RYDER
The fence post goes in crooked. I yank it out, reset it, and drive it in again.
Still crooked. I wipe my palms on my jeans and start over.
My shoulders burn. My back aches. The sun beats down on my neck despite the Bobcats cap pulled low.
For the past four days, I’ve been fixing the storm damage like a madman.
Everything to keep my hands busy and my mind blank.
I’ve been up at dawn and working until my body gives out. All to avoid thinking about her.
Except I think about her. Constantly. Every time my phone buzzes. Every time I draw plans for the cottages’ repairs. Every time Rhys asks when Miss Rose is coming over again.
I slam the post into the hole with too much force. The impact jolts up my arms and rattles my teeth.
“Are you trying to murder that fence, or just maim it?”
Rebecca’s voice cuts through the afternoon heat.
“I’m working,” I grunt.
“Ryder, you’re pushing too hard.” Her boots crunch on the dried grass as she approaches.
I drive the post in again. Harder. “The fence won’t fix itself.”
“Neither will your life.”
I straighten, turning to face her. Rebecca stands with her arms crossed, wearing a flowery shirt and denim shorts, her chestnut hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
“My life is fine,” I say.
“Really.” She raises an eyebrow. “Because you look like hell, you’re working yourself into the ground, and you’ve been an absolute nightmare to be around.”
“Then leave me alone.”
“Not happening.” She moves closer. “Consider this an official family intervention; you’re coming out with me and Remy tonight.”
I curl my hands into fists. “I’m not.”
“How cute of you to think you have a choice.” Rebecca comes to my side and takes the tools from me. “We’re celebrating the loan extension, and that’s not up for debate.”
I’m still dazed by how that turned out. When I went to the bank on Wednesday and ran into Liam Rockwood walking out of the director’s office, I was sure the game was up.
Especially when he waved at me with a smug grin like he already owned my land.
I figured I’d walk in, get the bad news, and walk out with nothing left but a pile of debts.
Instead, they gave us an extension. No fuss, no fight. And when I asked about Liam, the director told me he was there to contribute to the tornado relief fund on behalf of the Rockwoods and had asked the bank to prioritize extensions for families hit by the storm.
I half expected the next thing out of his mouth to be that the horses would soon be mucking their own stalls.
Despite the huge weight being lifted off my shoulders, I’m in no mood to celebrate.
“I said no.”
Remy appears from behind the barn. “Is he being difficult?”
“Yes!”
“No!”
Rebecca and I talk over each other.
“You’re coming with us.” She grabs my left arm while Remy takes my right.
I yank against their grip. “The hell I am.”
They don’t release me and drag me backward, away from the fence post I’ve been murdering for the past ten minutes. My boots dig furrows in the dirt.
“The fuck,” I growl. “Let me go.”
“Nope.” Rebecca’s grip tightens. “You need a night out, whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Noted.” Remy clicks his tongue as if he were spurring a stubborn mule forward. “Getting drunk anyway.”
I could break free. I’m bigger than Rebecca and stronger than Remy. But they’re tag-teaming me, and honestly, I’m too damn tired to fight them off. I’ve barely slept this week, fighting to outrun the thoughts that chase me. Her face. Her voice. Her lies.
My jaw clenches.
They shove me toward my truck. Rebecca opens the driver’s door and points.
“Go home, take a shower. Put on some decent clothes. We’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“And if I don’t answer the door?”
Remy snorts. “We’ll kick it down. Your choice.”
They’re serious. Both of them wearing identical stubborn expressions.
“Fine.” I get behind the wheel. “What about Rhys?”
Rebecca has an answer for everything. “He’s at Mom’s, already set with an overnight bag.”
I scowl. “How long have you been planning this?”
She doesn’t reply, just grins and slams my door shut, mouthing, “One hour.”
I stand under the hot spray in the shower until my skin goes numb, watching dirt and grime circle the drain. Wishing I could wash away the past two months just as easily.
I turn off the water and yank a towel from the rack, praying for a way to stop thinking about her.
I dry off, throw on jeans and a clean T-shirt, and flatten my hair under my good cap. I still look like hell, to quote my sister. Hollowed, with shadowed eyes and three days’ worth of stubble I don’t bother to shave.
My phone sits on the bathroom counter. I pick it up out of habit, and my thumb hovers over the messaging app.
No need to open it to be haunted by the last message she sent on Monday.
Faye
Ryder, please
I stared at those two words for ten minutes when they came through. Read them over and over, itching to respond. Wanting to tell her—
What? That I forgive her? That it’s okay she lied to me for months? That I don’t care she’s been living a double life while I poured my heart out to her like a fool?
I lock the screen and shove the phone in my pocket. She hasn’t written in four days; she’s probably moved on already and is deciding where to flee next.
A horn honks outside.
I grab my wallet and keys and head out. Remy’s truck idles in the driveway, and Rebecca is buzzing in the back seat. She waves when she sees me, gesturing for me to hurry.
I climb shotgun, and Remy doesn’t wait for me to buckle before he throws the car into reverse.
“Ready to have fun?” Rebecca asks from behind me.
“No.”
“Perfect. That’s the spirit.”
Remy snorts and pulls onto the road. Rebecca tries to make conversation a few times—asking about the herd, mentioning her progress at the flower farm—but I only grunt in response, and eventually, she gives up.
I stare out the window at the passing fields. The sun hangs low on the horizon, painting everything gold and orange. It’s beautiful.
I don’t give a damn.
My mind drifts despite my best efforts to keep it blank, slipping straight to the articles I found online when I dug into Faye’s past. Reports about Ember, the indie gaming studio she started with two other men out of a garage.
Business profiles that describe her as a wunderkind, a creative genius, the heart of the company.
And headlines about a corporate scandal, each painting her in a different light: victim, villain, cautionary tale.
The last mention was a small blurb about a quiet settlement reached out of court. No admission of wrongdoing. No details.
After that, she disappeared from the news and ended up in Blue Crescent Harbor, teaching first grade under a new name, renting my cottage, and lying to me about everything.
Better I found out now. Before anything real happened between us.
A woman like that—successful, connected, running a gaming company worth millions—she’s not settling in Blue Crescent Harbor.
She’s playing dress-up as an elementary school teacher, slumming it in my cottage, pretending small-town life is enough for her.
But how long before she gets bored? A year, two, for the novelty to wear off before she realizes she’s wasting her time teaching ABCs when she could be jet-setting to conferences, making deals, living a bigger life?
The thought that she might actually own a private jet makes me chuckle, the sound bitter.
“Something funny?” Remy glances at me, one eyebrow raised.
“No.”
He doesn’t push me and keeps his focus on the road.
Rebecca leans forward between the seats. “You’re being a real ray of sunshine tonight.”
I grunt.
“Seriously, Ryder. When’s the last time you smiled?”
Feels like never. Definitely before Sunday. Before the tornado. Before everything went to hell, and I discovered that the woman I love doesn’t exist.
Rebecca sighs and sits back.
No one else talks until Remy pulls up at the Moonshine, the music inside pounding hard enough to spill through the closed doors.
I don’t want to be here.
Remy kills the engine and climbs out. I step into the warm evening air, and Rebecca links her arm through mine as we walk toward the entrance. “One drink. That’s all I’m asking. If you’re still miserable after, we’ll take you home.”
I ignore the band, the crowd, and head straight for the bar. Dale spots me and starts pouring before I even ask, sliding a cold beer across the wood.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
He nods and moves on to the next customer.
I take a long drink, but the bitter liquid does nothing to ease the knot in my chest.
Rebecca appears at my elbow. “You planning on drinking that in the corner like a sad cowboy in a country song?”
“That was the idea.”
“New plan.” She grabs my arm and drags me toward the edge of the dance floor, beyond the first line of top tables.
“Becky, I don’t want—”
The band ends the song. The lead singer, a woman, leans into the microphone, grinning.
“Alright, folks, we’ve got a special request for the next song.” Her voice carries over the noise. “And there’s gonna be a little show to go with it. So if y’all could clear some space in the center of the dance floor, we’d appreciate it.”
I take another drink, not caring about whatever performance is about to take place until the crowd shifts, opening a wide circle, and I almost choke on my beer as Faye walks straight into the center.
Her hair is down; she’s wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt—the same clothes from the night we danced.
Our eyes lock.
My heart bleeds like someone wrapped barbed wire around it and cranked it tight with a wrench.
I want to look away, I need to, but I can’t.
The beer in my hand suddenly weighs ten pounds, and I’m aware of every inch of space between us.
My heart breaks free of the wire and slams against my ribs.
I don’t know how to feel. Elated that she’s here. Broken. Angry. Relieved. Terrified.
I could go to her. Cross the floor and pull her into my arms and kiss her until neither of us can breathe. Or I could turn around and run out. Forget I ever met her.
Before I decide, the opening notes of “Somebody Like You” by Keith Urban fill the bar.
And Faye starts to line dance.
She’s terrible at it.
She’s doing basic combos that she keeps messing up, turning in the wrong direction, stumbling every other step. A few people in the crowd boo while others cheer her on, clapping to encourage her. Her feet tangle and she pitches sideways, arms windmilling, almost going down flat on her ass.
I step forward without realizing I’m doing it until Rebecca’s hand shoots out and grabs my arm, holding me back.
Faye catches herself, straightens up, shakes her hair out of her face, and keeps going. The blush spreading across her cheeks is pure mortification, red and bright and obvious.
She botches another turn. Shuffles in the wrong direction. She throws in a heel tap that’s out of sync with the music. And she doesn’t quit.
Faye soldiers through one disastrous combo after another while someone whistles mockingly.
I want to find him and punch him. I don’t know who’s suffering more through this routine, me or her.
When the final notes fade out, Faye stops, breathing hard, standing in the middle of the floor, and looking straight at me.
She walks across the dance floor toward me, weaving through the people who are filling the space back in. Her face is still flushed, and when she gets close enough that the unshed tears in her eyes catch the light, I have to grip my beer tighter to keep from reaching for her.
“Will you dance with me?” she asks.
A simple question, with so much weight behind it.
I should say no. Tell her I can’t do this, that what she did can’t be undone with a bad line dance and a pretty apology. But she made a fool of herself in front of everyone, for me. And I can’t stand the hope and especially the fear warring in those honey-colored eyes.
“Yeah,” I hear myself say. “I’ll dance with you.”
I just told her yes, but she still looks about to break into tears.
I drop my beer and take Faye’s hand. Her fingers curl around mine, and the contact sends electricity straight to my chest, where the anger has been festering, splintering it apart.
And I know I’m doomed.
No matter what she’s done or lied about, I can’t let her go.