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.
He snickered and bowed his head, giving it a slow shake. “Well, thank you. I mean it. You’re the first person who’s really tried to get me to talk, at least in a while. Even Ethan gave up trying a long time ago. Either I must be really good at hiding my emotions or everyone else is in denial that I might have actual feelings.”
“Ford Matthews has feelings?” she said, scrunching her nose. “I’m kidding. But, in all seriousness, you’re welcome. Perhaps it’s weird, but I do actually like you in my own sick, twisted way.”
“Well, as long as it’s sick and twisted.”
“Hey, I’d say this is an improvement, don’t you think?”
He smiled again and it was doing weird things to Corrie’s insides. “We haven’t argued in at least fifteen minutes. Huge improvement.”
Corrie laughed. “Huge. I suppose the fact that you were stewing inside for the last fourteen and a half of those minutes might have had something to do with it.”
He stared at her, tenderly, like they were old friends rather than old rivals. She liked this. Liked this playful side of him.
“Could you have pictured this even a few days ago?” he asked. “The two of us in middle-of-nowhere Mexico, laughing and talking about our feelings?”
“Oh God, no,” she said with a laugh. “I would have bet all my savings against it.”
His smile fell a little. Was it her emphatic denial? Or something else? Great. She’d gone too far. He’s going to close up. He doesn’t want to—
“Does it get easier?” he asked with no context, his tone somber.
“Does what get it easier?”
“That lost feeling you had after your mom died?”
Did he . . . did he want to talk now?
Corrie didn’t want to miss the opportunity to help him get it out. Who knew when he might open up again.
“Yes. It gets easier. Some days are better than others. I might go weeks without feeling sad. And then I’ll be out, and something will suddenly remind me of her, and it’s like the day she died again. But those days are less frequent now. How about you? Do you miss your dad?”
Ford looked up, clearly willing himself to maintain control. He’d looked like he might cry when they’d been in the tent, but those were angry tears he’d been holding back. These tears? These ones were sad.
“I try not to,” he finally said. “I don’t want to miss him. I’m so pissed at him and the mess he left for my mom. He’s been gone for two years, though, and those feelings haven’t subsided.”
“Maybe anger is harder to let go of. Maybe if you let yourself miss him, miss those happy moments and the dad you loved, then eventually the other feelings might start to subside.”
A quick scoff escaped his throat, and this time he looked down and scratched the corner of his eye behind his glasses. Pretended to scratch his eye, that was. He then wiped his hand across his mouth and opened wide, letting out a long exhale.
“I could use a drink. How about you?” he asked.
“What time is it?”
“Who cares?”
Hmm. He had a point. Besides, Corrie was never one to turn down a drink.
“Fine. But grab the sandwiches. We can’t go getting wasted on empty stomachs at one in the afternoon, or whatever the hell time it is.”
Ford popped into the tent, leaving Corrie while he rummaged for Lord knows what. She tossed the partially read dissertation on the platform beside her. Something told her they weren’t going to get a lot of work done today. But it didn’t seem like they were on any specific time frame, and Ford wasn’t worried about it, so whatever. She could go with the flow.