Chapter 16 #2
"The industrial pumps," I said, my voice dropping an octave as the realization fully materialized. "The thermal drones the volunteers were talking about. The big water rigs. That was you."
"We had the resources sitting at the warehouses," Reid answered. His tone was completely matter-of-fact, entirely devoid of the arrogant pride he usually displayed when discussing his company's assets. "I had them put on a barge out of Anacortes."
My hands began to shake slightly. I rested my palms flat against the cold metal edge of the tailgate to steady them, the broken blisters stinging against the steel.
I searched his face, my eyes scanning the dirt, the exhaustion, and the dark stubble.
My defensive instincts, honed by months of neglect and corporate maneuvering, flared to life.
I was desperately looking for the angle.
I was searching for the corporate strategy, the calculated manipulation he employed in every boardroom negotiation.
"Is this a PR move?" I demanded, my voice hardening, forcing the vulnerability down. "Is this a tax write-off for Mitchell Energy? Or is this just some grand, expensive gesture so you can tell your board of directors that you tried to win me back before I file the divorce papers?"
Reid didn’t flinch. The accusation hit him squarely, but he didn't recoil, and he didn't raise his voice to defend himself.
"Winning you back wasn't on my mind," Reid stated, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding intensity.
"I didn't think about the optics. I didn't consult the legal department. I walked into the main conference room, delegated the entire Tacoma factory acquisition to the executive team, and I left.”
I stopped breathing.
The Tacoma acquisition was the crown jewel of his career.
It was the multi-billion-dollar expansion he had been obsessing over for a year.
It was the exact reason Victoria Albright had claimed he was stalling our divorce.
It was the excuse he had used to cancel our weekends, miss our dinners, and slowly starve our marriage into submission.
He stepped a fraction of an inch closer to the truck. He lowered his voice, pitching it so only I could hear the deep, raspy cadence over the mechanical noise of the basecamp.
"I didn't come out here to make a gesture, Gwen," Reid said, the absolute sincerity in his tone stripping away the last of my defensive armor. "I came here because that lighthouse is the only sanctuary you have left, and I am not going to stand by and watch it burn down."
He didn't ask for my forgiveness. He didn't demand that I acknowledge his sacrifice. He didn't ask me to take him back. He simply stated a fact, anchored in the dirt and the smoke of a disaster zone.
Reid held my gaze for one long, agonizing second.
Then, he offered a single, tight nod of his chin.
He turned his back on me, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel, and walked away.
He headed toward the edge of the church lawn, dropping his fire axe onto the grass, preparing to catch a few hours of exhausted sleep on the hard ground before heading back to the fire line.
I stayed completely frozen at the bumper of the truck.
My pulse hammered a violent, erratic rhythm against my ribs. My throat felt incredibly tight. I watched the bright yellow fabric of his shirt blend into the sea of exhausted firefighters collapsing on the lawn.
I walked into the conference room, delegated the entire factory acquisition to the executive team, and I left.
I replayed Victoria Albright’s exact words in my head. I heard the smug, sisterly compassion in her voice as she stood on my porch. He's only stalling because a scandal would spook the investors at the new manufacturing plant. He's relieved you left.
The narrative I had accepted, the story that had completely shattered my reality and driven me to demand a divorce, was suddenly full of massive, glaring, fractures.
A man who was secretly relieved his wife was gone would not charter a private barge in the middle of the night.
A man whose absolute, singular concern was keeping his corporate optics pristine for a major acquisition would not abandon that exact acquisition to dig trenches in the dirt with a hand tool.
He wouldn't risk millions of dollars in proprietary corporate equipment, incurring astronomical liability, just to save an old, historic lighthouse on a remote bluff for a woman he didn't want.
I reached a shaky hand into the front pocket of my denim jacket. My taped fingers brushed against the smooth glass screen of my cell phone.
I was supposed to call my lawyer. When the evacuation orders had hit, I had sworn to myself that the moment the immediate physical danger was over, I would initiate the paperwork. I had meant to end my marriage, to sever the ties and walk away from the empire Reid had built.
I watched Reid lower his large frame onto the dry grass. I watched him pull his hard hat off, rest his head against his pack, and close his eyes, pushing his body to the brink of collapse just to protect the walls that sheltered me.
My fingers lingered on the edge of the phone.
The betrayal had felt so absolute. The neglect had been so real.
But the man sleeping in the dirt was not the untouchable, arrogant CEO I had left in Seattle.
He was the man who had stayed awake all night in our cramped starter apartment, trying to fix a failing prototype.
He was the man who had promised to build a life with me.
I slowly pulled my empty hand out of my jacket pocket.
I left the phone exactly where it was.