Raiders of the Lost Heart(29)

Tears were on the verge of escaping, but he didn’t even care anymore. Corrie already thought the worst of him. So what if she saw the worst of him, too?

It didn’t stop him from turning his head away from her, though. “News flash, Corrie,” he said, having calmed slightly from his outburst. “Maybe you have tons of people who care about you, who you can talk to, but the only person I have is two thousand miles away, and you know what? Unlike you, I didn’t move closer to her so I could help. I left her alone while she’s dying of cancer. So, again, no, I don’t really want to talk about it,” he finished, looking squarely at her.

He could sense the redness in his eyes as they burned, but there was no hiding them from her, not even behind his glasses. His pulse raced as he tried to slow his breathing. That calm, confident demeanor that he’d worked so hard to master over the years? That persona he’d tried so hard to maintain, to convince even himself that he wasn’t a failure? Well, it broke into a thousand pieces.

Corrie let out a resigned sigh and cast a worried look at him as she ran her hand along the spine of the bound dissertation. She looked sorry. Not sorry for bringing it up. Sorry for him.

“You’d be surprised by how many people care about you. You might realize that if you ever let people in. From one stubborn wannabe loner to another, trust me, I know.” She lifted the dissertation then continued, “I’m going to sit outside to read this over and think about things, but it’s a standing offer. If you ever do want to talk about it, you know where you can find me. That goes for while we’re here . . . and after.”

With a shaky smile, Corrie walked out of the tent, leaving Ford sad. And confused. And, honestly, a little pissed. How dare she drudge up all his problems and then up and leave? What was with all that I’m here for you bullshit? Corrie didn’t know him. Or at least not present-day Ford.

No one did.

Because Ford didn’t talk to people anymore. Not really. Nowadays, Ford had surface-level conversations. Conversations that could easily be had with friends and strangers alike. Real conversations meant vulnerability, which Ford didn’t have the courage to show anymore. Last time he let himself be vulnerable, it had ended with Addison packing her bags and moving out of his life, sticking him with the entire share of the mortgage payment. It might have technically been his place, but she’d been there throughout the sale, having always intended that someday it would be theirs. Maybe her reluctance to be on the title from the outset should have been a sign of her lack of commitment to their relationship.

And that was when he’d thought he had life figured out. How the hell was he supposed to let himself be vulnerable now?

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Not because he was crying. No. He wouldn’t cry. Not over Addison. Or his dad. Neither of them deserved his tears. Not anymore.

But as he rubbed his eyes, another sensation washed over him. What was it? Like . . . a release.

Fuck. Corrie was right.

Everything that had been building inside. Everything that he’d been keeping to himself. He’d finally had a moment where he let go. And, dammit, as much as it sucked balls, it felt surprisingly good.

Of course, he hadn’t really gone into depth about what was going on with him. But acknowledging to someone else—acknowledging to himself, really—that he wasn’t okay . . . well, it felt okay that he wasn’t okay.

Ford dropped into the chair and leaned back, directing his gaze to the tent ceiling before closing his eyes and letting out a huge sigh. Corrie deserved an apology. And a thank-you.

Chapter

Seven

Ford was worse off than Corrie had originally thought. She hadn’t expected all . . . that. Or any of it, to be honest. When Ethan had asked her to talk to him, Corrie had thought maybe he would be sad about missing his mom. Or maybe he’d be stressed about the dig and the fact that they were practically starting over at square one.

But this whole thing about his dad? Yeah, Corrie didn’t know what to make of that. Or Addison.

Was she a horrible person for feeling a slight sense of satisfaction that they were no longer together?

No. Don’t be like that. High road. The man had just opened up to her, albeit in his own way. Now wasn’t the time to gloat.

“Hey,” Ford said, startling her out of her thoughts.

She looked up from where she sat on the covered platform outside Ford’s tent to find him standing across from her, leaning against one of the posts holding up the tent with his arms folded. Good thing these tents were heavy-duty. They could not only withstand the heavy rains, they could also support a solid body like Ford’s.

“Hey,” she said back.

“Look, I’m sorry that I snapped. I get that you’re trying to help. It’s just . . . it’s not easy for me to talk to people about this.”

It wasn’t quite the apology Corrie had waited eight years for, but she’d take it.

“I get it, Ford. Trust me, I get it more than you think I do. We may be different in many, many ways,” she said with a friendly smirk, “but we’re alike in many others. We don’t like to appear weak. But talking about your feelings doesn’t make you weak. In fact, I’d say the opposite is true.”

He cocked his head and smiled. God, was it sexy. “You’re very wise, Dr. Mejía.”

“Thanks. I’d say I try, but it’s natural,” she said with a playful smile.