CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Ledger
“You did it, Ledge. The Retreat can officially open next month,” Callahan says. “I don’t know how you won that fucker Grossman over, but you did.”
“Congrats, man,” Ford says. “See? You were the right man for the job after all.”
“If you come home in a pair of cowboy boots or Wranglers, though, be prepared for me to never stop giving you shit.” Callahan’s laugh bellows through the speaker.
“Me? In cowboy boots?” I snort and then sigh. Hearing my brothers’ voices should make me happy rather than have emotion lodge in my throat. I clear my throat to try and get rid of it, but it remains.
“But why are you still there? Wasn’t your plan to get in, get it done, and get the hell out of there?” Ford asks. “We were both surprised you weren’t jonesing so bad to get back that you didn’t fly home to tell us the good news, face-to-face.”
“Nah. I’ve got some loose ends to tie up here.” Asher’s face flashes in my mind, followed by a pang in my chest. “Just a few things.”
“That’s code for one last hop in the sack with Asher,” Callahan says.
“Funny,” I mutter, the words affecting me more than they’ll ever know. “Look, I have to meet with Hillary on something.”
“Sure you do.” Ford laughs.
“I said I have to go,” I snap.
“Whoa. Down, boy,” Callahan says. “You sure everything is good, Ledge?”
“Fine. Fucking perfect.” And I end the call before they can say another word.
I lean back in my chair at my desk, close my eyes, and blow out a slow exhale.
She ran.
Isn’t that what’s eating at me? I offered to give us time when I fucking don’t need it. But I offered it because she looked like a scared fucking rabbit . . . and she ran.
And the only reason I know is that I stopped by The Fields today to see if we could talk. To see if I could fix whatever needs fixing.
Asher doesn’t need fixing, Ledger.
I replay the scene from earlier in my head.
The empty echo of the house as I knocked on the door.
The flutter of panic when it didn’t open. When no one answered.
“She’s not home.” George’s words behind me making me jump.
“Where is she?”
“She took off. Packed a bag, asked me to take care of the place, and left.”
“Did she say for how long?”
“Nope.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“Just that if this place can ever get up and running”—he points toward the barn area—“then she’d love to hire on my wife to help run some of the events.” I must give him an odd look because he continues without my prompting. “She’s afraid she’s going to lose her job because of The Retreat.”
“The Retreat? Why?”
He shrugs as he sizes me up, clearly still uncertain what to think of me. “It’s a big operation. The assumption is tourists will jump ship from her hotel to yours.”
“At the height of the tourist months, there will be plenty of business for both hotels.”
He gives a measured nod. “It’s the non-height months that put people out of jobs.”
I’m used to facing people, to dealing with the repercussions of the decisions I make. This one doesn’t sit well with me, and there is no quick fix. “Let’s see what happens. Asher always has my number if need be.”
“That’s generous of you, but we don’t expect any handouts or hand-ups.”
Our eyes meet, and pride wars against concern in his eyes. “Understood. The offer is there.”
“Noted.”
I look back to the house and the porch swing that looks so empty without her curled up on it. “You helped Asher out with the changes here. It looks incredible.”
“It does.”
He’s not going to give me a fucking inch, is he?
“I think it’s a smart business decision on her part. It’ll give an added income stream. Give this place a new life to people who would have never noticed it before.”
“Is there a reason you’re on her porch, talking about her business with me . . . sir?”
Definitely not an inch.
I clear my throat and level with him. “Why did she leave, George? Run? Why not stay and fight for this place?” For me?
“Who said she wasn’t fighting?”
“She’s not here, is she?” I ask.
“That girl has fought her whole life. The scorn and judgment she’s faced in this town is enough to break most people. It never broke her.”
“I know, but—”
“No, you don’t. With all due respect, you don’t know shit about what it was like for Asher year after year.
And yes, she’s worked tirelessly to not live under the shadow of her mother’s disgrace and abandonment.
” He looks out toward the fields as the lavender ripples like a wave.
“She’s building something here. With her grit and her tenacity and her courage.
Would it make Pop proud? Damn straight. But it also made her proud of herself for the first time in a long time .
. . and when something you’re hoping for falls through, sometimes it takes time to accept that blow. To figure out how to live without it.”
“So what are you saying? That she’s coming back?” I’m more desperate for that answer than anything—so it takes me a second to hear him. It’s not just the dream she’s created here she’s afraid of losing . . . it’s me too.
Jesus Christ.
She can’t be figuring out how to live without it.
Goddammit, Asher. I’m here. I’m waiting. Come back.
“Of course, she’s coming back.” He snorts in disdain at me. “Asher Wells isn’t a quitter. My guess is she’s looking for another way to make this happen. She’s taking time to accept the reality she was handed and move forward.”
Accept reality and move forward. Have I done that? Have I moved on from what my dad did?
And long after George has explained the reasoning to me and took off for home, I’m still sitting on the porch swing, listening to it creak. Trying to work through the question.
My father fabricated a lie that has affected me in some way or another for the past fifteen years.
My fear of letting him down. My fear of not living up to the potential he gave me by “saving me” that night with his lie.
I’ve moved goalpost after fucking goalpost to make him happy.
To make him proud of me. To live up to the Maxton Sharpe standard .
. . and for what? To put off my happiness in the hopes of achieving his approval?
To almost lose the woman I love for a second time?
Dad is gone, Ledger. Isn’t it time you abandon his goals and create ones that make you happy? Isn’t it time to no longer be in and under his shadow?
“My gran is here, Ledger. So is The Fields. It’s my family legacy much like S.I.N.
is yours. I can’t leave it behind just as I’d never ask you to leave yours behind.
This is how I make my mark. For me. You’re wealthy and revered in business, and no doubt believe you’re more important than I am because you basically own the world . . .”
How could I ever ask her to give up her goals? How do we make this work so we can both live out the dreams we have individually and the new ones we want to create together?
Fuck.
Just . . . fuck.
She doesn’t think it’s possible. That I’m capable of it.
I told her I loved her.
And she left anyway.