Only then could I move, propelling myself out her door, down the stairs and back to my truck, where I jumped inside and peeled out of the driveway.
I turned in the opposite direction from the one they would have gone in, toward the lakeside restaurants in Calliope where he’d wine and dine her. He’d probably notice she was tense. She had been uncomfortable hurting me because she was kind.
But she’d done it anyway because she didn’t have the same feelings for me that I had for her.
Only when I’d turned down the dirt road that led to my land was I able to take a full breath. I came to a slow stop, rolling down the windows and turning off the ignition, staring unseeing at the faded red barn. It would be years before I saved up for the one thing I wanted. The only thing I had left.
I was spinning. Spiraling.
You will lose it all. Or lose it all.
Desperation spiked, a hot flood of despondency, and I leaned back on the seat, the breeze through the window ruffling my hair but doing nothing to cool my blood.
The pile of things my mother had given me was sitting on the small space of floor behind the passenger seat and I twisted, reaching for them. Why? To torture myself further? To remind myself that I’d always been thrown away by people I cared about? By people who mattered?
The picture album was on top of the folder of documents and I rifled through that, shutting it after only a few pages. It hurt to look at my father in that moment.
I could have used you right now. I could have used you in so many moments.
But even if you had lived, you left. You chose him over me.
You fucking asshole.
Only I didn’t hate him. I wished I could. And that’s what hurt the most.
Underneath the albums was the file of original documents and I opened it, taking several minutes to read through it, furrowing my brow as I read it again, more slowly.
Holy shit. She was right.
I saw what my mother meant.
I looked up momentarily, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. Tap, tap, tap. This amendment to the original contract regarding the ownership of Pelion changed everything. I leaned back, considering. A legal challenge would almost definitely work with the right lawyers involved.
At the very least, Archer and I would split the town. I considered the documents again. I’d regain the social status among the Pelion and Calliope elite I’d once enjoyed. I’d have the money to build the house I wanted on this land in front of me. The land that had once been my father’s but now was mine. Only mine.
I’d meant it when I’d told my mother that Archer did a great job running the town and that the citizens of Pelion thrived under his leadership. But Archer could still keep doing what he did. He didn’t have to split the ownership of the town. But I could gently demand that he buy me out.
Why should he have everything when Connor Hale had been my father too? Even if he didn’t want to be.
We didn’t have to get lawyers involved.
It didn’t need to get messy.
My pulse slowed and I felt more in control. Tap, tap, tap. Relief descended.
Why not? Even if there was a small possibility of Haven staying, she had walked away from me tonight, showing me that I meant little to her. I had simply been her friend with benefits…temporarily…something I had done to others many times if I was honest. All over Pelion, women would be—justifiably—laughing their asses off if they knew the pain I was in. Despite what Burt said, Haven would not be the one to fill or complete me. The hope of that potential future had died. If I was going to lose it all—again—this time, why not grab what I could before all of it was gone?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Travis
“I’m glad you made it. But you should have taken the time to change into something more comfortable,” Bree said, eyeing the uniform I was still wearing and handing me a fistful of skewers as we walked down the hill toward the bonfire I could already see dancing on the beach below. “Your uniform is going to get all smoky.”
As I’d sat in my truck, holding the documents and considering what I was going to do, I’d remembered that Archer and Bree had invited me to roast marshmallows with them and the kids down by the lake. I’d been so wrapped up in Haven that I’d completely forgotten. Perfect timing, I’d thought, tossing the albums and the paperwork onto my passenger seat. And I’d driven right over.
“I’m off tomorrow,” I said. “I have time to wash it.”
“All right. Well, Archer’s getting the fire going, so go on and join him. I need to change the baby and then the boys and I will gather the supplies. We’ll be down as quickly as possible.” She paused, considering me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine.” I didn’t want to look at her. She’d be disappointed in me once she found out what I wanted. Oh well. I’d handled it once, and I could handle it again. “I’ll see you all in a bit.”
Archer looked over his shoulder as I approached, raising his chin and using a poker to adjust a piece of firewood. Firewood I knew he chopped himself even though he could’ve easily afforded hiring someone else to do it.
Maybe old habits died hard.
I sat in one of the Adirondack chairs flanking the fire, across from Archer, setting a file folder and one of the albums on a rock next to me.
Archer tilted his head, his gaze flicking over my uniform. Is this an official visit? he asked.
“No. I came straight from work.”
He looked at the items I’d placed on the rock questioningly. What’d you bring?
I cleared my throat, going for the file but instead sliding the album out from underneath and handing it to Archer. He took it with two hands, frowning slightly as he held the photo album up and then set it on his knees.
I saw him swallow, the scar on his throat rising as he turned the page slowly. The scar that had taken his voice and submerged him in a world of silence. An odd hollow formed between my ribs. He looked up at me and I recognized the emotion in his eyes: surprised wonder. These are pictures of my mother.
“Yeah. My, uh, mother gave it to me. It was with our father’s things. Alyssa must have given it to him at some point. I’m surprised my mother didn’t burn it.” I attempted a rueful laugh but it petered out.
Archer looked back down to the photos, flipping a few more pages, his gaze moving from one picture to the next. He ran his hand gently—lovingly—over the plastic-covered page. I only have one photo of my mother, he said, raising his hands but not his gaze, seemingly unwilling to look away from the treasure in his lap.
The expression on his face reminded me of the way Haven had looked as her eyes had moved over the antique photographs of someone else’s family. Yearning.
“I know,” I said. I’d seen the picture of Alyssa Hale in a place of honor on the mantel in Bree and Archer’s home. I knew his mother hadn’t had much family to speak of, if any. Archer had his memories of her, good ones, I assumed, and the knowledge that she’d loved him, but no tangible items other than the one lone photograph.
I remembered how beautiful I’d thought she was. I remembered how she’d kneel down to my level when she spoke to me and that she’d always listened closely to what I had to say, even though I was only a kid. She had loved my father and I was the child of another woman, his wife. She had to have had mixed emotions, and even pain, regarding my presence, but she’d never once treated me as though she did.