Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
F ord
I don’t remember pouring the second drink. Or the third.
The bottle sits half-empty near the edge of the counter, watching me spiral. Judging me. I know I shouldn’t have drank this much, but I couldn’t stand to be stone cold sober with my thoughts.
The house is quiet, the kind of silence that settles deep in your bones and sits there. Stella’s asleep near the door, tired of begging to go for a walk. The lights are off. I haven’t eaten. I’ve barely slept. I just keep thinking about the look on her face when she said it. Yes .
Yes, she’s your child. Yes, you’re a father. Yes, I’ve been lying to you.
One word, and everything shifted. Every moment, every memory.
I lean forward, elbows on the kitchen island, pressing my palms against my forehead like maybe I can push away the headache that’s brewing. I feel like shit, but my heart is still beating, like it doesn’t understand it’s been broken .
The glass in my hand shakes slightly under the pressure of my grip.
I set it on the table, shoving it away before I throw it against the wall.
Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she tell me when she found out she was pregnant?
Why wasn’t it the first thing she said to me when she came back to town?
Why did she keep it a secret when we started getting closer?
After we slept together? I thought we were getting somewhere, that maybe we could get past all the obstacles and the years that separated us. That what we had still meant something.
I slam the rest of the whiskey and wince as it burns down my throat.
My phone lights up on the counter. Jesse again. I’ve ignored every call since I left the site. I’ve never not showed up to work before. He’s probably wondering what the hell is going on. I don’t have the energy to talk to him. None of it fucking matters right now.
A sharp knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. I stay where I am, even when the knocking turns into banging. Eventually, I hear a key in the lock, followed by the sound of the door opening.
“Ford, we’re coming in.”
Jesse, of course. He walks into the kitchen like he owns the place, Wes and Noah trailing behind him.
“Christ, it’s like a cave in here,” Jesse says, flicking the light switch. They all freeze when they see me—shirt untucked, eyes bloodshot, bottle near empty.
Noah whistles low. “Shit. You look like hell.”
“I feel worse,” I mutter.
Wes grabs a glass from the cupboard then takes the bottle without asking and pours himself a splash. He doesn’t say anything, just leans back against the counter.
Noah watches me carefully. “What’s going on? ”
I grab the edge of the sink, steadying myself before I answer him. “She has a kid.”
Three sets of eyes land on me.
“Landyn,” I clarify. “She has a six-year-old little girl.”
Jesse nods. “Okay…”
They still don’t get it.
“The kid is mine.”
Noah is the first to react. His brows lift, stunned. “You’re sure?”
“She’s six.” My voice cracks. “We broke up seven years ago. And I saw her at the hospital. I didn’t need anyone to tell me. I knew.”
Wes lets out a long breath and then silence settles heavy over the room.
“She didn’t tell you?” Jesse asks finally.
“No. I found out.” I rake a hand through my hair. “I saw her. And it hit me like a freight train. And when I asked Landyn point blank, she confirmed it.”
Jesse sinks onto a stool at the island. “And you haven’t talked to her since?”
I shake my head. “I left. I was afraid if I stayed, I’d say something I couldn’t take back. I had to get out of there.”
Noah crosses the room and claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got every right to be angry, but you need to talk to her, man.”
“I don’t know if I can,” I admit. “I don’t know what to say. What kind of person does this? Keeps a child a secret?”
“A scared one,” Wes says quietly. “I’m not defending her, Ford. But maybe she thought she was doing the right thing at the time.”
I walk into the living room and drop into the chair beside the fireplace, my body heavy and useless. Jesse, Wes, and Noah follow .
“I wanted a life with her,” I whisper. “Part of me still does.”
The truth of it wrecks me. All these years. All that love. And now I don’t even know if I’ll ever trust her again.
Noah sits on the coffee table, his eyes locked on mine. “It’s messed up, man. The way you’re feeling right now? You deserve to feel that way. But, I know how much she matters to you. That’s a lot to walk away from.”
I look at him and ask the question that’s been running through my head all day. “How the hell am I supposed to forgive Landyn for keeping her from me?”
The silence that follows is thick. Noah is the first to speak, his voice steady, always calm when the rest of us are spiralling. “You don’t have to forgive her tonight. You let yourself be mad. Be hurt. Feel it all.”
Jesse nods. “And then you ask her why. I’ve known Landyn a long time, and she’s not cruel.”
“There has to be a reason,” Wes says. “And you should know what it is.”
I shake my head, “She had years , Wes. Seven fucking years.”
“I know,” he says. “And you’re not just going to get over that. But giving up on what you still want might only make it hurt more.”
I don’t answer but I know exactly what he means. I know what I want, and I feel like an idiot for still wanting it. I want Landyn. I want Poppy. I want every beautiful, messy, complicated thing about it. But there’s a wall between us now, and I’m not sure how the hell to cross it.
Quietly, Jesse adds, “She should’ve told you. You have every right to be angry over it, but I’ve never seen you act the way you do when you’re around her. I haven’t seen you that happy in a really long time. Don’t let pride keep you from something you’ve wanted for years.”
I close my eyes, rub the heels of my hands against them, and swallow the truth I’m not ready to admit out loud. I still love her. God help me, I do.
An hour later, I’m alone again. Jesse offered to spend the night in a guest room, but I made him leave with the others, promising them I’d get some sleep. But I can’t, not yet.
I should go to bed. Instead, I pour another shot and sit at the kitchen table with a thousand memories running through my mind.
I remember the exact moment I realized she was really gone all those years ago.
It wasn’t when I woke up to an empty bed.
It wasn’t even when I saw her toothbrush was missing from my bathroom.
It wasn’t until a few days later, when I opened the fridge and saw the stupid oat milk she always insisted on buying sitting unopened on the shelf.
That’s when it hit me. She wasn’t coming back.
And the thing is…I didn’t see it coming. Not even a hint. The night before, she kissed me goodnight like she always did. Tucked her cold feet between my legs under the blanket and whispered that she loved me.
And the next afternoon she was just gone. There was no fight. No big, dramatic exit. No closure.
I waited weeks before I told anyone. I kept making excuses for her, checking my phone like a lunatic, thinking maybe she just needed space.
Maybe something had happened. The alternative—that she just left me like we hadn’t built something, like I hadn’t loved her with everything I had—just didn’t make sense.
I even called her parents when she hadn’t responded to any of my messages, worried that maybe she was in trouble.
Her mom had told me that Landyn was okay, but that she’d had to leave town.
She needed time, she’d said, sympathy in her voice. And that was it.
And the worst part? I never did get a reason. She took all of it—the love, the plans, the future we talked about—and disappeared. And I was left here with nothing but unanswered questions. Even now, years later, I have no idea what was going through her mind.
I stand abruptly, the scrape of my chair loud against the wood floor. My drink is still half full on the table, but I can’t sit still. I pace, heart pounding, fists clenched. “How the hell was I supposed to move on from her,” I mutter aloud, “when I never got the truth?”
I stop in the middle of the room, breathing hard, staring out into the dark like it might offer answers, but all I see is my own reflection in the window.
Haunted. Lost. Wrecked. Just like I felt back then. Only now, I’m not just broken over Landyn walking away. I’m broken over the little girl who never got to know me.
The child I didn’t even know to miss.
I was up a half dozen times last night, thinking I heard something outside. Each time, I jolted awake and rushed through my house to the living room. I wrenched the glass door open, but there was nothing there. Just the rhythmic sound of the ocean hitting the shore somewhere below.
I’m so tired. I can’t sleep. I haven’t been able to set foot in the office. Haven’t been able to look at my phone without wondering if she’s going to call. It’s pathetic. I know it is. I need to get a grip.
Landyn Sinclair is the only person who has ever had the power to unravel me like this.
I run a multimillion-dollar company. My time is spent thinking about supply chains and product launches, about keeping hundreds of employees paid, about keeping a roof over my brothers’ heads.
I go to sleep every night knowing that I’ve taken care of my family.
That’s what matters. That’s what I think about.
I don’t need to fucking think about Landyn anymore.
It’s done. Whatever there was between us, it’s over. Seven years is a long damn time to keep dragging a memory around. The girl I once knew is nothing but a ghost. I can’t keep letting her live rent-free in my head, can’t keep picturing her every time I close my eyes.
It’s time to move on. Time to stop acting like some lovesick kid who doesn’t know when to quit.
Time to walk away from Landyn.
But not from Poppy.
That little girl is mine, and I’m not going anywhere when it comes to her. We’re going to have to figure something out, whether Landyn likes it or not because I want to know my daughter. And I will.
I lace up my running shoes like it’s any other morning.
Time to get my head back on straight. Time to get back into a routine, burn off some of the restless energy, remind my body what normal feels like.
I’ve always been fit since I was a teenager in highchool.
Unless I am sick, I never miss a workout.
I head out and run downhill toward the town. The air’s crisp, the pavement familiar under my feet. I keep my pace steady, lungs working, legs pumping. I tell myself I’m focusing on my breathing, on the rhythm of my strides, on nothing else.
I end up taking the long loop. The one that cuts past the waterfront, snakes up through the quiet streets, and—by pure coincidence, I tell myself—runs right by Landyn’s house.
It means nothing. Just a route. Just a stretch of road I haven’t taken in a while.
When I come up on her place, I slow my pace just enough to take it in.
There’s no sign of Landyn or Poppy. I wonder if everything is okay with her mom.
Maybe they’re at the hospital. Maybe I should make sure Carolyn is okay.
Like it or not, Landyn and I share a daughter, so I should probably know what’s going on with her family.
I keep moving, eyes forward, checking my watch for pace.
It’s nothing. Just part of the run.
I punch in the hospital’s phone number and hit call without thinking too hard about it.
This is not about Landyn, I tell myself.
All I’m going to do is check on her mother’s health.
If something affects Poppy, it affects me now too.
There’s nothing more to it than that. I just about manage to convince myself.
“Good afternoon, Deep Cove General,” a woman answers.
“I’m calling to check on a patient,” I say, shifting the phone to my other ear. “Carolyn Sinclair.”
“Are you family? ”
“Yes.” The word comes out smoothly. “Son-in-law,” I add, because it seems like it will open more doors than it closes.
She tells me she’s just going to need a minute. There’s a pause, the faint sound of typing on the other end, a cough somewhere in the background. I stare at the far wall, jaw tight, until she speaks again.
“She’s stable. Resting comfortably.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Good. That’s good.”
I’m hunched over the kitchen table, laptop open, Stella at my feet, trying to push through the low, dull ache in my gut.
It’s been there all damn day. Must’ve been something I ate, though I can’t remember the last time food slowed me down.
I get now why people complain about stomach aches. It’s no way to spend a day.
I click through a few tabs on my screen, half-paying attention, until a headline catches my eye. It’s about Cove.
I open the article. It’s good—better than good. Positive press. A feature about the new Sierra line, the company’s commitment to sustainability, the turnaround we’ve managed to pull off. Words like innovative, responsible, admired.
All the long nights. All the damage control. Landyn’s work. Jesse’s too. It’s all here in black and white.
I snap the laptop shut, stand, and walk to the fridge. I pull out a bottle of water, twist the cap off, then rummage in my cupboard for Pepto-Bismol.
Four hours later and it hasn’t done a damn thing.