Chapter 30
WESTON
“Pete would have been chuffed to see this,” Callum said as we stood on the hillside, looking out at the coastline where Kincaid Energy had finally broken ground on the wind farm. “He’d probably hike up here every morning just to check on the progress himself.”
“Nah,” I forced something close to a smile, “he’d head straight down there and insert himself right in the middle of the action.
” Callum hummed in agreement as I considered just how much progress I’d made.
The feasibility studies were done, the environmental planning had been concluded, and the foundations had been built.
Now the vessels were out there, actually securing the foundations for the wind turbines to the seabed floor.
I lifted my phone to snap a picture. Click.
My first thought was to send it to Lena. Then I remembered it would linger there, in cyberspace, undelivered. My chest clenched, and I tucked my phone away as a chill nipped at my cheeks.
As much as I knew I should be proud of the progress on the project over these past months, there was a hollow ache that accompanied all the success.
Business was booming, and yet I struggled to celebrate those wins when all I could feel was Lena’s absence.
Even now, reminders of her lingered in Lochbrae—the toiletries she’d left behind in the bathroom, the book she’d abandoned on her bedside table in her rush to leave.
Sometimes I’d walk by her room and swear I could still smell her perfume.
Agnes had offered to clear out her things on more than one occasion. She said she’d box everything up and have it shipped to Houston.
But I’d declined, repeatedly.
I wasn’t ready for that yet. I wasn’t ready to give up the last little things that made it feel like she was still here.
Because every part of my life was already emptier without her in it.
Lochbrae echoed with eerie silence, walks through town felt dismal, and the cold was somehow colder, sinking right to my bones despite the layers I wore.
I’d never experienced this kind of loneliness before, and trying to figure out my life without her there to take me by the hand, to face these things by my side…
I realized now what I’d done.
All the mistakes I’d made.
“You’ve done good work here, Weston,” Callum said. “Don’t doubt that.”
“I appreciate you saying that.” I had done good work, but I needed to do better. I needed to be the man Grandad believed I could be. I needed to be a man who was deserving of Lena.
I’d certainly been trying in our time apart.
I’d found myself a therapist and started exploring how life with my parents had shaped my view on relationships and love, and how that impacted my relationship with Narissa.
I’d made large financial investments into women’s reproductive health and infertility after learning how under-researched and underfunded it was.
I knew the money I provided now would do nothing to help Lena’s situation, but I also knew that even if she couldn’t stand the thought of me, she’d agree it was a worthy cause.
Most of all, I’d taken Lena’s point to heart—the one she’d shouted at me in the middle of our breakup argument. The second things become a little complicated, you bail.
She was right, and I didn’t want to be that man anymore.
So against the PR team’s advice, I’d finally worked up the nerve to sit down with Narissa, apologizing for the way things had ended between us.
I’d hurt her, bailing on the engagement the way I had, and because I’d never owned up to it, the hurt had never really had a chance to heal, which was why she continued to lash out.
I wouldn’t say things were good between us now, but at least they were better.
I’d acknowledged my part in that mess, and I think that helped settle some of her anger.
At least, I hoped so. PR already warned me of the potential for backlash if she took to her socials again.
But despite all the things I’d done to try and become the best version of myself, I knew none of them were going to magically fix my relationship with Lena.
That required a more personal approach. I tilted my head in Callum’s direction.
“You think people get second chances if they work hard enough?”
“Your granddad gave me a shot when everything else in my life was falling apart,” Callum said. “So, yeah, I suppose I do believe that if someone works hard enough and they’ve committed to changing for the better—and they pick the right people to reach out to—then maybe they get another shot.”
A real smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I clung to his words. These past few months, Callum had become someone I relied on much like I had Grandad. For a man who came across as surly and often talked in monosyllables, he was surprisingly well-versed when it came to advice.
Looking out at Grandad’s dream realized, I could only hope that I could show Lena I had changed. That I could prove I wasn’t the same man who had let her walk away. No—pushed her away.
“Bloody frigid out here.” Callum checked his watch. “Aren’t you gonna be late? You know she’ll never let you off for wasting her time.”
I nodded, my breath clouding over in front of me. “Don’t I know it.”
The bell over the door jingled as I walked into the newspaper building.
It was almost empty but for that same young woman who’d been monitoring the front desk when Lena and I had swung by with the information for Grandad’s funeral.
This time she had her knees pulled up to her chest, the chair beneath her spinning slowly as she scrolled on her phone.
I cleared my throat to get her attention. Her eyes flicked up briefly. “Jo, he’s here!” she called without moving an inch. “Want me to send him back?”
A door opened down a hallway, and Jo poked her head out, waving me toward her. I headed toward the office, slipping past her as she closed the door behind us.
“Take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the open chair on the other side of her desk while settling into her own swiveling chair.
I slid into the chair. A laptop sat between us.
On the wall behind her were framed photos of local events, newspaper clippings, and a sign that said The Deadline Is Always Closer Than It Appears.
There was a bookcase off to the side with more framed photos of Jo and her husband, books on journalism, and stacks of old newspapers.
I couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Who better to run the local paper than the town busybody?
Jo slipped into the chair across from me, running her fingers along the keyboard of her laptop. “I’m just going to take notes while we talk, if you don’t mind?”
“Right, of course,” I said. “And again, thanks for doing this.”
“When Pete’s favorite grandson says he’d like to do an interview,” she said, a thin eyebrow arching, “what else am I supposed to be but intrigued?”
I cleared my throat, a little nervous to be on the other end of that piercing gaze all of a sudden.
To know my words were going to be captured, saved, immortalized, even just in the town paper, was a little daunting.
I’d sat for dozens of interviews in my professional career, but none had ever been as important as this one.
This was my last hope for a second chance with the woman I loved.
And putting all that down on paper felt like I was exposing a raw nerve to the world.
But what other choice did I have? All my efforts to reach Lena through normal channels hit roadblocks—namely blocks on all her socials—and she returned everything I had messengered to her with no comment.
I had to try something to reach Lena. “I’m not quite sure where to start. ”
Jo shifted in her chair, getting comfortable.
“As far as I can tell, you’ve done what you set out to do here.
You secured your grandfather’s estate, pulled off a successful festival, and broke ground on the new Kincaid Energy wind farm with the town’s blessing.
And yet, you’ve decided to stay in Braeburn despite the bulk of your business still being overseas.
” Jo regarded me curiously. “So, I think the first question I have is why have you’ve decided to take this next step? ”
“Well,” I said, watching her hands hover over her keyboard. “Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what legacy means to me and what I think it meant to my grandad. And I’ve been searching for ways to honor those beliefs.”
Jo nodded, her gaze cataloging my every microexpression. “What do you think legacy meant to Pete?”
I rubbed my hands together, “I think it meant connection.”
“Connection?” Jo said, pausing her typing. “Like a blood connection?”
I shook my head. “Sometimes. But not always. When I was growing up, my parents divorced, and my home life became quite difficult.” That was glossing over what my life was like, but she didn’t need those details.
“My grandparents really stepped in to make sure I was happy and supported. His home here in Braeburn became the safe, stable space I needed when the rest of my life was too unpredictable. A space where I could feel comfortable and know that I was loved. But many of my happiest memories in this place are from Grandad’s Highland Adventure Camp.
It was through that camp that I found the friends I’m still closest to today.
It was through that camp that I got in touch not just with my heritage but with my sense of self.
And I realized, recently, that maybe it wasn’t just me that needed that.
My grandparents provided a place of support, stability, self-discovery, and connection for a lot of people over the years.
And I think that’s the legacy Grandad wanted to pass on to the next generation. ”
“Connection with the community?” Jo said.