Page 100 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

“Doesn’t matter,” Brennen says firmly. “You’re here now. That’s what counts.”

I nod, taking a deep breath. “I just don’t know what to do next. Candace is… she’s everything I’ve tried not to think about for years. And now that I know the truth, it’s like I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Brennen gives me a sideways glance. “Are you staying? Or are you going to head back to Texas and leave this mess behind again?”

“My life is in Texas,” I admit. “Shadow Strike, the businesses… it’s everything I’ve built. But being here, back at the vineyard, back with you and Emma… I’ve missed this. I didn’t realize how much until now.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah, I get that. This place has a way of pulling you back in.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the sound of the rain a quiet backdrop. Then Brennen speaks again, his voice softer. “Dad cost me Joselyn, you know. We were supposed to be together. She was… everything. But he made it impossible, drove a wedge between us that I couldn’t fix. And I was too damn proud to fight for her the way I should have.”

His words hit me harder than I expect. I glance at him, seeing the pain etched in his features. “I didn’t know,” I say quietly.

“Not something I like to talk about,” he admits. “But seeing her again, having her back in my life… it gives me hope, you know? Hope that maybe we can still figure it out.”

A faint smile tugs at my lips, despite everything. “Yeah. I get that.”

We sit there for a while, the silence between us no longer heavy but filled with a quiet understanding. For the first time in years, I feel a flicker of something I haven’t felt in a long time: hope. Hope for the vineyard, for my family, and maybe, for Candace and me.

As the rain finally stops and the clouds begin to clear, I make a silent promise to myself. I’m not running this time. Not from family, not from the vineyard, and definitely not from Candace.

This time, I’m staying… and fighting.

Chapter 10

Candace

The knock at the door jolts me awake. I blink against the dim light of the room, my neck stiff and aching from falling asleep slumped over my little cache of memories. My arms are tangled awkwardly, the soft sweater I changed into now rumpled and scratchy against my skin. The half-empty glass of wine sits precariously on the edge of the coffee table, the bottle beside it nearly empty.

For a moment, I just sit there, the persistent knock echoing through the house. My head feels foggy, my body weighed down by the emotional exhaustion of last night. I rake a hand through my hair, and my fingers catch in the tangled mess. I groan, wincing as I ease myself upright.

Another knock, harder this time.

I shuffle to the door, every muscle protesting the movement. The cool air from the window reminds me I’m barefoot, my toes curling against the cold hardwood floor. Whoever this is, they’ve chosen the worst possible moment.

When I open the door, I find Ryan standing on the other side. Great. Worst possible moment. Worst possible person.

He looks rough—his dark hair damp from the rain, his jaw shadowed with stubble, his clothes wrinkled as though he hasn’thad a proper night’s sleep. His eyes, though, are what catch me off guard. They’re stormy, intense, and locked on me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

“What do you want, Murphy?” I ask, my voice raspy from sleep. My body tenses, instinctive walls going up.

“Candace,” he replies, his tone low, steady. “We need to talk.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I move to close the door, but his foot shoots out, wedging itself firmly in the gap.

“Don’t,” he says sharply. “Not this time.”

“Go away,” I snap, trying to shove the door harder, but he doesn’t budge. “Fuck it.”

I turn my back and step away. He pushes against the door, and it allows him easy entry with a fluid motion that leaves me gaping at his audacity. He closes the door behind him, his presence overwhelming in the small space.

“I came by earlier,” he says, as he gazes at my casket of memories as well as the hospital bracelet and the form I’d left sitting out. “I saw you.”

My stomach drops, anger rising to cover the shame of being seen like that. “You had no right…”

“I had every right,” he interrupts, his voice rising slightly. “You think I could just stay away after seeing that? After everything you said to me?”

“Why not? You walked away before. That’s kind of your MO, Murphy. When the going gets tough, Ryan Murphy gets going,” I bite back, my voice shaking.

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