Page 23 of Run to Me
“What happened back there?”
I lean against the porch post, my shoulders tense, pretending I can avoid this moment forever. But we both know better. His eyes don’t leave me, but I look everywhere else—the gravel driveway, the pasture in the distance, the far edge of the sky where the light bleeds into the coming night. I wonder if he can see how torn I am.
Ace waits, patient but with a simmering impatience beneath. I know he won’t speak first, and I don’t know if I can. “Just the usual talk,” I say, forcing a lightness I don’t feel. “You know how those meetings go.”
He doesn’t buy it. I can tell by the way his brow creases, the way his jaw sets. “This one felt different.” He pushes off the rail and steps closer, bridging the distance I’ve put between us. “I could see it on his face when he left. And yours.”
There’s nowhere to run, no more distractions to look at. Just him, and me, and everything I’m too scared to say. “We’ve got a lot riding on this,” I finally admit. It feels like a coward’s way out.
“We?” Ace’s voice is low, but there’s an edge to it now, like he’s picking up on something I haven’t said yet. “Or just you?”
I look away, desperate to keep it together. Desperate not to show how much I’m breaking. “You know how these deals work,” I say, and my voice cracks just enough to betray me. “Nothing’s certain. Not until it is.”
His silence presses against me, heavy and expectant. “What aren’t you telling me, Olivia?” It’s a plea and an accusation all at once, and it hits harder than he knows.
I twist the hem of my shirt between my fingers, anything to keep my hands from shaking. “He wants assurances.”
“Assurances.” Ace repeats it like he’s testing the word for truth. His gaze pierces through every excuse I want to make.“And that means cutting me out?” I don’t answer right away, and in that hesitation, I say more than words ever could. “That’s what he wants?”
The words are a dam inside me, ready to break and drown everything. Everything we are. I’m desperate to stop it, to hold on, but the truth slips free. “Maybe we rushed into this!” I shout, and the sound of it feels like an echo that will never stop. “He doesn’t want anything to do with the Lockwood name.”
It hangs there between us, each word a wedge pushing deeper. I’m stunned that I said it. Stunned that I meant it.
Ace’s face shifts from shock to something raw and wounded. The look in his eyes is unbearable, and I can’t take it back. “So that’s how it is?” he says, and the quiet after feels like it’s suffocating us both. I try to speak, but he cuts in, his voice sharp with anger and something like desperation. “I thought we were in this together.”
I can’t stand the hurt in his voice. “We are!” I insist, but the words are flimsy and thin, not nearly enough to hold the weight of his disappointment.
Ace runs a hand through his hair, the gesture rough and unsteady. “You’re just gonna toss it all because one guy with a fancy checkbook comes in and rattles you?”
“It’s not that simple!” My own frustration breaks through now, matching his, fighting his.
“It’s not that complicated.” He stands his ground, refusing to look away, refusing to let this go. “Either we’re doing this or we’re not. Which is it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, and it’s barely a sound, but it carries everything.
He steps back, and I can see the struggle in him, the way his whole body tenses like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart.
“This is a hell of a way to find out where I stand.” The words are bitter and cold, and they hit me like a punch to the gut.
I want to reach out, to say I’m sorry, to say I’m scared and I don’t want to lose him, don’t want to lose us. But I’m frozen, trapped in my own doubt and fear.
“Are you taking the deal?” Ace demands, voice rising.
“I just need time,” I say, almost pleading, and I hate the way it sounds like a goodbye.
He turns away, a fierce anger in his movements, but beneath it I see the ache I’ve caused. “Guess that makes one of us,” he mutters, and the words cut deeper than any we’ve said all night.
ACE
Sweat clings like guilt, trailing paths of surrender across my skin. I drive each nail into rotting timber with the precision of penance, knowing the fence might hold even if I can’t. Heat wavers in the distance. I’m crouched by a weathered stack of wood, wrestling with splintered boards and the threat of my own inadequacy, when Gavin’s pickup rattles up the dirt road.
I don’t bother looking up. I grip the hammer tighter, swinging hard and fast. The fence shudders but stays intact, at least for now. Gavin’s boots crunch as he approaches, but I keep working, muscles burning, lungs aching for more than just air.
“You’re pushing it, Ace.” Gavin’s voice cuts through the noise. He stands there with his arms crossed, shadows pooling under his brow, waiting for me to acknowledge him.
I hit another nail, feel it bite and bend in protest. “I’m fine,” I manage between clenched teeth, though I know the lie is as crooked as the timber in my hands.
Gavin moves closer, eyeing the pile of wood, the precarious lean of the fence, the sweat and dust caked on me like a second skin. He sees too much, knows too much. “This isn’t you,” he says, softer now, but no less firm.
