Chapter 9
NINE
F ord
There she is, like a punch to the gut I didn’t see coming.
Landyn steps through the entrance to the gala and the entire room narrows down to her.
The noise, the chatter, the cameras all fade away next to the sharp ache of seeing her.
She’s wearing a long black dress, her hair swept off her face, highlighting her deep, coffee-colored eyes and light olive skin.
She’s so fucking pretty, but Landyn is so much more.
Our eyes lock the second she walks in. One breath, then another, and the utter sense of control I had when I got here unravels.
God, she is beautiful. Same fire in her eyes.
Same quiet defiance in her posture. She freezes when she sees me…
like maybe she feels it too. The weight of everything we’d been. Every word we left unsaid.
My chest constricts and the grip on the glass in my hand tightens until my knuckles turn white. I can’t look away. Neither can she.
Then Jesse appears at her side with that damn effortless charm and easy grin, sliding an arm around her shoulder like they are already old friends. She blinks, finally breaking our stare as Jesse leans in and says something that makes her laugh.
And just like that she’s gone.
Still here in the room with me.
But not mine.
Not anymore.
I watch them for a moment longer than I should, stomach twisting, heart hammering inside my chest. Then I turn and walk away.
I move towards the bar, nodding at a few familiar faces along the way, cutting a slow path through the sea of handshakes and compliments.
When I finally make it to the bar, I find Noah is already there, which doesn’t surprise me.
He’s leaned back like he doesn’t have a care in the world, glass of Scotch in hand, watching the room unfold in front of him with that trademark stillness of his.
Always the observer. Always 10 steps ahead of everyone.
He doesn’t look over, just pushes a second glass toward me. “Figured you might show up here when you saw her. How are you doing?”
I take the glass without thanking him and drink. “Doesn’t matter,” I say when the glass is empty, setting it on the bar in front of me.
“Clearly, it does.”
I exhale hard through my nose. “She left, Noah. No explanation. No goodbye. Just gone.”
“And you never moved on,” he says.
“You don’t know that,” I reply sharply.
“I know you,” he says. “I know the way you haven’t let anyone in since her. Not really. ”
There’s an ache forming behind my eyes. I hate how right he is.
I’ve dated, sure. Nothing worth remembering.
Just enough to remind myself that I was still wanted.
But none of them lasted more than a few months.
I was too tired, too busy, too focused on building Cove.
At least that’s what I told myself. The truth is much simpler: none of them were her.
“You gonna talk to her?” he asks.
“I already did,” I mutter. “Told her she works under Jesse. There’s nothing more to say.”
He raises a brow. “You think keeping your distance is going to help?”
“I think it’s the only way I survive this without losing my mind.”
He’s quiet again. Then, “You ever think maybe this is your shot to finally get answers?”
My chest goes tight. “Not sure I want them anymore.”
Noah leans his elbows on the bar. “Liar.”
I don’t argue. Just look out at the crowd, scanning for a glimpse of her like some damn addict. “It still hurts,” I admit.
“Then it’s not over.”
After Landyn left, when it became clear to me the she wasn’t coming back, I refused to allow myself the luxury of wandering down memory lane.
I forced myself to close the door on that chapter of my life, to close the door on her the same way she slammed it shut on me.
But there’s one night I’ve never been able to stop thinking about, no matter how many years stack on top of the memories.
A storm had rolled in knocking out power and Landyn and I were curled up on the couch in my apartment waiting for the worst to pass.
I lit every candle I could find just so I could keep looking at her.
Her head was propped in her hand as she watched the lightning flash across the sky, and I remember thinking…
this is it . This is what everything’s supposed to feel like.
“You know we’re going to be one of those annoying couples, right?
” I said. “The ones everyone hates because they’re too happy. ”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “You’re already annoying, so we’re halfway there.”
I kissed her just to shut her up. Slow, Certain. Like I knew exactly what I had in my hands.
And I did. I knew it then. I just didn’t know how fast I could lose it.
I clap Noah on the shoulder and leave the bar, joining the crowd of Deep Cove’s most notable faces. I can’t hide out forever, as much as I might want to.
The ballroom is glowing, with strings of lights draped across exposed beams and clusters of candles on the tabletops. This gala is supposed to be the crown jewel of Cove’s year. A celebration of the community and the values our company is rooted in.
It’s a big night for us, and I should be proud. Instead, all I can think about is the way she looks in that dress. How she doesn’t belong here and yet somehow fits in effortlessly.
After dinner, I don’t let myself search the room for her again. I’ve done that too many times tonight already.
“Still brooding?” The voice comes from beside me, low and dry.
I turn to find my brother, Wes, standing beside me, drink in hand, expression unreadable.
Typical. Always quiet until the moment he chooses not to be.
Wes was the golden boy once—valedictorian, star athlete, the one everyone thought would leave, blow the dust off this town and never look back.
He did end up leaving, just not the way anyone expected.
After the scandal, the moment his life changed forever, he took off to go to flight school and resurfaced a few years later.
He flew commercial for a while but walked away from that too.
Now he takes on charter jobs when he’s not off the grid and when he’s in town, he does some consulting work for Cove.
“Not brooding,” I mutter. “Observing.”
He huffs a short laugh. “You only call it that when you’re trying not to punch a hole through a wall.”
I give him a look. “Do you need something?”
He shrugs. “Just making sure you haven’t combusted. You look like you’re one forced smile away from setting the place on fire.”
I don’t answer. My silence is answer enough. Wes doesn’t press. He never does. But he steps closer, his voice dropping slightly. “So. She’s back. And she’s at Cove.”
I don’t look at him. “You heard.”
“You know Jesse, he couldn’t keep it to himself if he tried.”
I tip my head in a nod, gaze drifting back toward the center of the room where Jesse is now talking animatedly to the mayor. No Landyn in sight.
“She working out so far?” Wes asks.
“She’s smart. She knows the brand.” I pause, wondering where Landyn is. “She’s good. She should be able to help get us out of the mess we’re in.”
“But?”
“But nothing.”
Wes arches a brow. “Ford.”
I exhale. “I don’t know what the hell she’s doing here. Or why now. But I can’t let her distract me from everything we’ve built.”
Wes is quiet a long beat. Then he says, “You ever think maybe this—her being here—is part of what we built?”
That lands like a punch I’m not ready for.
“She’s not part of Cove,” I answer tightly.
“No, not now. But she once was and she might still be part of you.”
The words hang there, between us, until someone calls Wes’s name from across the room.
He gives me one last look. “Try not to ruin the night. Or light Jesse on fire.” Then he walks away, disappearing into the crowd, leaving me standing here with nothing but old memories and a heartbeat that still hasn’t settled.
I need air.
Too many faces. Too much noise.
I slip away from it all, through a quiet, dimly lit hallway, and for a minute, I let myself breathe until I see her.
Landyn stands near the window, silhouetted by silver moonlight, her arms wrapped around her waist like a shield.
She doesn’t see me at first, and I don’t move.
I just watch her like a man who has never stopped wanting what he couldn’t have.
She turns before I can pretend that I’m not staring at her, and the second our eyes meet, everything inside me pulls tight.
“I just needed a minute,” she says, voice soft and hesitant around the edges. “I’ll get back to the gala.”
“I didn’t come out here to scold you.”
Her jaw tightens. “Right.”
I’m not surprised to find her here. Landyn always liked quiet. It’s one of the reasons she used to love the ocean. She said the noise in her head got quieter when she was close to the water .
“I didn’t come out here to check on you either.” I add. “I came out for air. Same as you.”
“I’m sorry, Ford.”
The words fall out of her like they’ve been weighing her down for years, but they don’t land anywhere close to enough. Nothing she could say ever would.
My fingers shove through my hair, yanking hard at the roots, trying to dull the sharp edge of pain lashing through me. It’s useless. It’s impossible to control.
When she left, I didn’t handle it well. Didn’t is putting it mildly—I came apart at the seams. For weeks, there was nothing outside my grief. Nothing but the hole she’d left behind.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, bowing her head as if she can hide from it. Her hands tremble before she forces them to still. “I’m not proud of what I did, Ford. I feel horrible.”
I let out a rough, bitter laugh, shaking my head.
“By the time I started thinking straight, I tried to find you. But you’d blocked me.
” My voice cracks, anger mixing with years of hurt.
“Even if you hadn’t, I don’t know what I would’ve said.
Not then. I was so goddamn mad… but I would’ve liked to at least get an answer from you. Something.”
Her nose scrunches, like my words physically hit her. She swallows hard. “I… I didn’t know what else to do,” she admits quietly. “I had to—” Her voice breaks, and she shakes her head. “To survive it, I guess.”
The confession slices through me, sharp and merciless. What was she trying to survive?
She squeezes her eyes shut and inhales, but I can feel her pulling away.
Not just physically, emotionally too. I guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise.
I’ve been keeping her at arm’s length since she walked into my company and back into my life.
Every meeting, every passing interaction, I’ve made sure to keep my tone clipped, my words measured, my attention on anything but her.
I’ve been building this wall, making her pay for walking out on me, making her pay for breaking my heart.
The funny thing is, it’s not making me feel any better. It’s only making me feel worse.
She gives me a mock salute then she walks towards me, stopping before she walks back inside. “It’s amazing what you’ve built, Ford,” she says, sincerity in her voice. “This night, and all of those people in there, it’s all because of you.”
I feel her words land in my chest, not my ego.
My wounded heart has been begging for a fight, but right now—just for a moment—I need to tell it to call a truce.
“Thanks. You always looked at me like you saw something worth keeping,” I say, unable to stop myself now. “Even when I didn’t have anything.”
“I did see something,” she whispers. “Still do. Even if you hate me being here.”
I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. I should walk away. Instead, my feet stay rooted to the floor beneath me.
“I’ve hated you for a long time,” I admit. “For leaving. For letting me believe we meant something and then disappearing. For never telling me why.”
“I hated myself, too.”
Her words hang between us, thin and frayed, and they do nothing to loosen the knot in my chest. I’m still so damn mad at her. The kind of mad that’s been simmering for years, low and steady, burning everything it touches.
Looking at her now makes my skin feel too tight, like it’s trying to hold in something too big to contain. Every inch of me is wound up, strung between wanting to walk away and wanting to grab her just to make her feel this too .
I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be talking to her.
Every instinct I have says to turn around, walk out, put a wall back between us that’s so high she can never scale it.
But my feet don’t move, and I don’t know why.
Maybe because some part of me still wants answers.
Maybe because I hate that she still makes me feel anything at all.
“Ford—"
“I shouldn’t be saying any of this,” I mutter talking over her, scraping my hands through my hair.
“Then don’t,” she says, eyes lifting to mine. “But don’t pretend it doesn’t matter.”
I stare at her, at the way the moonlight dances across her skin, and I know from the charge in the air, this thing between us isn’t dead. It’s buried. Waiting.
“I’m not sure what we’re doing here,” she finally says, her gaze shifting to her feet. When she looks at me again, something flickers in her eyes. Not anger. Not sadness. Something deeper.
“We aren’t doing anything.” I snap.
“Then stop looking at me like that,” she says softly
I freeze because she’s right. I’m looking at her like I haven’t stopped wanting her since the day she left.
“I should go,” she says, voice trembling slightly. “But Ford, I want you to know that I didn’t come back to hurt you.”
I nod once, but it feels like a lie in my chest. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
For a long moment, we just stand there in the hush of the hallway, the only sound the muted swell of music spilling out from the ballroom.
“I should get back,” she says finally, straightening her shoulders, like she’s putting her armor back on. “Jesse’s probably wondering where I am. ”
Of course he is.
She brushes past me, and I catch the scent of her perfume same as it used to be. That scent used to cling to my sheets for days. She doesn’t look back as I watch her walk away, every part of me aching with the weight of what we’d been. Of what we are now, beneath all the years and damage.
One thing I know for sure…
This isn’t over.
Not even close.