Chapter 4

Jake

I pull up outside Tanner Construction and kill the engine. The building is modest, a simple structure with weathered wood siding. A dozen or so vehicles are scattered across the lot, each one belonging to an employee—my crew, my second family—who count on me for their livelihood.

I prefer to be the first one in and the last one out when I don’t have Adele, and at least on-time when I have her. But I don’t rush in, instead sitting behind the wheel a moment longer—another few minutes won’t make a difference when I’m already late—thinking about my life.

I’m glad Jenny and I split when we did. Our marriage was wrong from the start, one born from obligation due to a surprise pregnancy, and it was impossible to square no matter how much we tried to force it. I was never really in love with her.

Not when someone else had already found their place in my heart.

But all of that’s ancient history.

Kelly’s been gone from Harbor’s Edge for so long. None of our mutual friends even fill me in on what she’s up to, knowing it’s a sore spot. It’s probably better that way.

And even though Jenny and I got divorced, we’ve found our rhythm now, co-parenting like two pros. Jenny’s got someone new, someone good for her, and Adele’s half-brothers look up to her as though she was always meant to be their big sister. That part of life is working out, but even knowing all that, it’s hard to shake the feeling that I’ve gone wrong somewhere along the way.

I think about Adele, my bright, stubborn, quick-to-laugh daughter who I know is still in there, hidden behind her teenage bad mood. But as much as I love her, as much as being her dad is the best thing I’ve got going, there’s still a part of me that feels… empty.

I can try to fill it with all my obligations, with late nights and early mornings, but deep down, I know it’s not enough. There’s a part of me still searching, still aching for something more .

But I’m not going to find the answers today, staring out my windshield.

“Time to shift to work mode,” I say to myself, pushing the truck door open and finally stepping out onto the sidewalk. My boots hit the ground, and I stand there for a moment longer, looking at my company’s office. I built this from the ground up, and we’re doing well, but there’s still so much to do if we’re going to maintain our success. There’s no such thing as rest if you want to keep things in the black.

“Morning, boss!” someone calls out from the parking lot, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Morning,” I reply, heading inside to the sound of people on the phone and others chatting around tables spread with blueprints and plans.

“Jake!” Mark Green calls out from behind his desk. He’s built like a linebacker and barely shaves. “Got the new shipment in.”

“Good,” I reply, walking over to exchange firm handshakes.

I make my rounds, offering handshakes to the rest of the team. As I pass Sarah Brummitt, one of my project managers, she catches my eye. She’s sharp and efficient, with her dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and the kind of no-nonsense attitude that gets things done. But she’s also got a softness about her, the kind that comes from raising kids while juggling a demanding job—she knows we’re all just doing our best.

“Everything alright?” Her eyes narrow in on me. After working together for years, she reads me like a book.

I try to shrug it off. “Another morning with teenagers.”

“Solidarity.” Her expression is sympathetic—she’s got two teenage boys. “We’re living with mini tornadoes, all attitude and mess.”

“Exactly.”

“Hang in there,” she says, giving me a pat on the arm as we part ways.

I head into my office, where papers are scattered across my desk—bidding documents, a contract for review, invoices, and plans all demanding my attention. I sink into my chair, roll up my sleeves, and get to work. A couple of hours later, I stand and stretch, feeling the need for coffee.

On my way to the kitchenette, I spot Joan Donovan’s silver hair and familiar frame standing by the coffee machine. She’s our office manager, a no-nonsense woman who keeps the place running smoothly. Joan’s been with the company since it started, and nothing slips past her.

“Any news on the Founder’s Day bid?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe as she stirs her coffee.

“Nothing yet. Heard through the grapevine the mayor wants the new event planner settled first before they award the contract. They hired someone from out of town.”

“Makes sense.”

“Should be soon, though,” Joan adds.

“Hopefully. Let me know if you hear anything.”

She steps aside, and I make my cup of coffee, adding a splash of already heated milk before heading back to my office to call Adele. Settling in my chair, I grab my phone, dialing her cell number. After a couple of rings, she picks up.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, kiddo. Just wanted to check in. You doing okay? Did you want to talk about anything that’s going on?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. And no, there’s nothing to talk about. I just have a headache.” The words come out quick, clipped.

“There’s food in the fridge from last night,” I say, forcing myself to focus on the practical, on the things I can still control, not the widening gap between us. “And we’ll talk with Mom tonight when I get home. But you’re going to school tomorrow, right?”

“Sure,” she replies, her tone indifferent. I can picture her now, sitting on her bed with that same detached expression she’s been wearing for weeks.

“Alright.” The words feel so damn inadequate. “I just want to make sure you’re doing okay, you know?” My voice softens, and I hope she hears what I’m really saying. I miss you. I don’t know how to fix this. “I love you, Adele.” It’s a truth I feel in every fiber of my being, but it lands with a dull thud.

“Sure, thanks.” And then the call ends, leaving me sitting in silence, staring at the phone.

I sit there for a moment longer and run a hand through my hair, frustration and love tangled together in a knot I don’t know how to untie. I blow out a breath and check my watch: it’s time to get to the French Street worksite. I head out of my office and find Mark and Dan. “Let’s roll, fellas.”

We all climb into my truck and the engine hums to life, soon arriving at the building site where a bunch of my guys are already hard at work, the raw wooden skeleton of a home-to-be rising against the sky. I step out, boots crunching on gravel, and I’m met with the smell of cut timber.

As I walk across the site, the steady rhythm of hammers and saws fills the air, a familiar soundtrack that drowns out everything else. There’s something simple about this—straightforward.

Measure, cut, build. It’s the one place where things make sense, where if something breaks, you can fix it. No second-guessing, no worrying about saying the right thing.

Sometimes, no matter what’s going on in life—whether it’s a kid who’s shutting me out or the feeling of something missing in my life—I just have to get the job done. Keep moving. Keep working.

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