Chapter 21
DEX
Icouldn’t stop looking at her.
Leigh was curled up on my couch, bare feet tucked under her, wearing one of my t-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts. Her hair was down, still damp from the shower we’d taken together an hour ago. She had her phone in her hands, scrolling through something, occasionally smiling at the screen.
And I was completely gone for her.
“You’re staring again,” she said without looking up.
“Can’t help it.”
“You’ve been staring for twenty minutes. I’m not that interesting to look at.”
“Wrong.” I shifted on the couch, pulling her legs across my lap. My hands settled on her calves, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. “You’re the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen.”
She finally looked up, eyebrow raised. “That’s a pretty low bar. You spend most of your time looking at engines.”
“Exactly. And you’re infinitely more fascinating than a V8.”
She laughed, that sound I’d come to crave, and set her phone aside. “Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to lose out to car parts.”
“Never.”
We fell into comfortable silence, and I marveled at how natural this felt. How right. Leigh in my space, in my clothes, in my life. Like she’d always been here and always would be.
Except she wouldn’t.
The thought hit me like it always did now, sharp and unwelcome. Four weeks. We had four weeks left before reality came crashing back in. Before she went back to her life in Blue Point Bay and I stayed here in Willowbrook and we both tried to move on.
As if that were possible now.
As if I could ever move on from her.
“You’re thinking about it,” Leigh said softly.
I looked at her. “What?”
“The ending. I can see it on your face.” She pulled her legs up, shifting to face me fully. “You get this look. Like you’re bracing for impact.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I do it too.” She picked at the hem of my shirt. “Every time something feels perfect, I remember that I’m leaving. That this ends.”
We fell into comfortable silence, and I marveled at how natural this felt. How right. Leigh in my space, in my clothes, in my life. Like she’d always been here and always would be.
Except she wouldn’t.
The thought hit me like it always did now, sharp and unwelcome. Four weeks. We had four weeks left before reality came crashing back in. Before she went back to her life in Blue Point Bay and I stayed here in Willowbrook and we both tried to move on.
As if that were possible now.
As if I could ever move on from her.
“You’re thinking about it,” Leigh said softly.
I looked at her. “What?”
“The ending. I can see it on your face.” She pulled her legs up, shifting to face me fully. “You get this look. Like you’re bracing for impact.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I do it too.” She picked at the hem of my shirt. “Every time something feels perfect, I remember that I have to leave. That this ends.”
“What if it didn’t have to?”
The words were out before I could stop them. Leigh’s head snapped up, eyes wide.
“What?”
I sat up straighter, suddenly desperate to solve this. To find a way. Any way. “What if we tried to make it work? Long distance. We could figure it out.”
“Dex...”
“No, listen.” I turned to face her fully, taking both her hands in mine. “Blue Point Bay is what, three and a half hours from here? Four? That’s not impossible. We could take turns. Alternate weekends. You come here one weekend, I come there the next.”
I could see the hope flickering in her eyes, warring with practicality. “And what about during the week?”
“We FaceTime. We text. We call each other every night.” I was gaining momentum now, the idea taking shape. “It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. It’s better than just... ending.”
“Weekends,” she repeated slowly, like she was testing the word. “Every weekend?”
“Yeah. Or... well.” I paused, reality starting to creep in.
“I mean, the garage is busiest on weekends. People need their cars for the work week, so they bring them in on Saturday mornings. And I usually have to be there for at least part of Saturday to handle the complex jobs, the ones I can’t delegate to the other guys.
I shifted jobs around for the run up to the wedding but I can probably, I don’t know, maybe see about working evenings through the week. ”
Her expression shifted slightly. “Right. And I have exhibits and shoots at the weekend. That’s when people are free. When shows are generally scheduled for.”
“But maybe...” I was scrambling now, trying to hold onto the solution even as it started to slip away. “Maybe I could hire another mechanic. Someone to cover weekend shifts. It would cut into profits, but if it meant I could see you...”
“And I could try to maybe slow down on the amount of exhibits I do,” Leigh added, but her voice lacked conviction. “Or maybe try and get a couple scheduled on the same weekend to free up other time?”
We both fell silent, the logistics piling up between us like bricks in a wall.
“Every other weekend, then,” I said finally. “That would give us both time to handle our work obligations. One weekend a month you come here, one weekend I come there.”
“So twice a month.” Leigh’s voice was small. “We’d see each other twice a month.”
“It’s not…” I stopped. Because it wasn’t enough. We both knew it wasn’t enough.
“And holidays,” I added, desperate. “And we could take vacation time. Week-long trips. Make up for the weekends we miss.”
“When was the last time you took a vacation?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Because the truth was, I couldn’t remember. Five years? Six? I hadn’t left Willowbrook for more than a day since I’d taken over the garage.
“I could start,” I said weakly.
“And I have networking events that I need to attend to make gallery connections.” She was crying now, quiet tears that she didn’t bother wiping away.
“The reality is, we’d both be choosing between our careers and each other.
Every single weekend. Every holiday. Every chance we had to see each other would mean sacrificing something else. ”
“But we’d be together. Sometimes. That’s better than never.”
“Is it?” She looked at me with those beautiful, heartbroken eyes. “Is seeing each other twice a month enough? Is it enough to sustain a relationship? To build a life together?”
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to believe it could be.
But sitting there, looking at her, thinking about all the nights I’d come home to an empty house. All the weekends I’d wake up alone. All the moments I’d want to share with her and wouldn’t be able to because we were three and a half hours apart.
It wouldn’t be enough.
And worse than that—it would be the beginning of the end.
We’d try. We’d both try so hard. But eventually, the distance would wear on us. The missed weekends would pile up. The resentment would build—not at each other, but at the situation. At the impossible choice we’d made.
One of us would have to cancel. Work emergencies. Client needs. Life getting in the way.
And then another cancellation. And another.
Until we were seeing each other once a month. Then once every two months.
Until the relationship became more obligation than joy. More work than pleasure.
Until we both started wondering if it was worth it.
Until the love we had, this bright, beautiful thing, would slowly fade under the weight of logistics and compromise and never being quite enough for each other.
“It would fall apart,” I said quietly. The realization settling over me like a heavy blanket. “Maybe not right away. Maybe not even in the first few months. But eventually, it would fall apart.”
Leigh sobbed, pressing her hand to her mouth. “I know.”
“Because we’d both be half-living. Half here, half there.
Never fully committed to either place because we’d always be trying to get to the other one.
” I pulled her into my arms, holding her while we both faced the truth we’d been avoiding.
“And we’d both end up resenting it. Maybe even resenting each other. ”
“So what do we do?” she whispered against my chest. “I can’t leave Blue Point Bay. Wren needs me. I’d move my studio here in a heartbeat, but I can’t leave Wren.”
That was the question, wasn’t it? What did we do?
Because now that I’d walked through the logistics, now that I’d seen how impossible long distance would be, I couldn’t just accept that we had to end things. Couldn’t just let her go without a fight.
There had to be another way.
One of us would have to move. That was the only real solution. But asking her to give up her studio, to walk away from her family who needed her—that wasn’t love. That was selfishness.
And me leaving Willowbrook... could I do that? Could I leave the garage? The house? The brothers who’d become my family?
The thought sent panic shooting through me. This was my home. My whole life. Everything my grandparents built. How could I just abandon it?
But then I looked down at Leigh, curled against me, trusting me to hold her while she cried.
And I thought about what Xander had said earlier this summer, about me always sacrificing what I wanted for everyone else.
I thought about spending the rest of my life in this house, running this garage, being part of this family and doing it all alone.
Never waking up next to Leigh again.
Never hearing her laugh at my terrible jokes.
Never watching her work, seeing the world through her eyes.
Never building a life with her. Never getting to love her the way she deserved to be loved.
The garage was my grandfather’s legacy. His dream. And when he passed it seemed like keeping it going was the obvious choice.
But maybe it was time I figured out what my dream was.
“We need to tell them,” I said finally, my voice rough. “Booker, Xander and Gage. We need to tell them we’re together.”
Leigh pulled back to look at me. “And tell them we’re breaking up?”
“And ask them to help us figure this out.” I cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheek. “Because maybe they’ll see something we don’t. Maybe there’s a solution we’re not seeing because we’re too close to it.”
“Or maybe there isn’t.” Her voice was small, defeated.
“Maybe not. But I need to try, Leigh. I need to know we did everything we could before we give up.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay. We tell them. This week?”
“Next family dinner. We’ll tell them everything. That we’re together. That we love each other. And that we don’t know how to make this work.”
“Okay.”
We held each other for a long time after that, neither of us speaking. Both of us thinking about logistics and distance and impossible choices.
But I was also thinking about something else.
About what I’d be willing to sacrifice for her.
About what home really meant.
About whether the life I’d built here was the life I actually wanted, or just the life I’d fallen into because I thought I didn’t have a choice.
The thoughts terrified me. But they also gave me something I hadn’t had before.
Hope.
Maybe there was a way. Maybe it would require sacrifice. Maybe it would mean letting go of things I thought I could never let go of.
But loving Leigh was worth it.
I just had to be brave enough to figure out how.
Later, lying in bed with her, listening to her breathe as she finally fell asleep, I stared at the ceiling and let myself imagine it.
Walking away from the garage.
Selling the house.
Leaving Willowbrook.
Starting over somewhere new.
With her.
The idea should have felt like dying.
Instead, for the first time in years, it felt like living.