Page 13 of Deal Breaker
“Still some feelings in there?” he asks, his tone kind.
I smile tightly. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yeah,” he says, pushing off the table. “It never is.”
SIX
Ford
I should’ve walked away.
Instead, I stood there like a damn idiot, watching her and Jesse huddled over their work. Hearing her laughter, her head tilted just enough back for the familiar curve of her smile to punch the breath straight out of me. She looks different—older, or maybe just a little less wide-eyed and innocent. But still her. Still Landyn.
And that is the problem.
I don’t want her here. I don’t want the memories she carries with her like static electricity latching onto me, clinging to places I sealed off a long time ago.
Jesse caught my eye and smirked like he was reading my mind. Of course he was. My brother has always been too good at that. I muttered something about being needed elsewhere and turned on my heel, ignoring whatever clever remark he tossed out after me. I didn’t care. I just needed space. Distance from the scent of her perfume lingering in the room.
Back in my own office, I shut the door harder thannecessary and braced my hands against the edge of the desk, head bowed, pulse still pounding, deep and steady under my skin.
She’s here. After all these years, all that silence, suddenly she just shows up. In my town. At my company. And the worst part? The absolute, soul-punching worst part?
I can’t decide if what I really want is to fire her or fall back into her.
I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the chair behind me. It’s been years since I’ve thought about the first time we met. Not because I’d forgotten it but because remembering her has always hurt like hell.
Landyn was standing at the back of a packed lecture hall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like she was already bored before the class had even started. Long, dark-blonde hair and chocolate-brown eyes, wearing a denim jacket. Not even pretending to hide the fact that she didn’t want to be there. And I was gone. Just like that.
I didn’t believe in that kind of thing—love at first sight. That was my brother Wes’s territory. But with her, it wasn’t love. It was like the universe had dropped her into my world and whispered,pay attention, this one is different.
She caught me staring and raised one eyebrow, unimpressed.
I grinned.
She rolled her eyes.
Ten minutes later, she was sitting one row in front of me. A week later, she was drinking coffee from my mug and stealing the covers like she owned them. Three months after that, I was falling in love.
I shift in my chair and stare at the window, watching my own reflection in the glass. CEO. Powerhouse. Leader. That’swhat the world sees now. They don’t see the kid who used to hide a box of granola bars under the floorboard because he didn’t trust someone would cook for him the next day. Or the teenager who learned how to cope with his mom’s death by himself because his dad was too busy getting drunk.
My parents were ghosts long before they were gone. My father had a short temper and wasn’t around. The only time he seemed to notice us was when he was yelling about something. My mother was ill for as long as I can remember. Her headaches were so bad she’d spend days in her bed.
I was 12 when she died of a stroke and my father started to drink. When he wasn’t drinking, he was working. I figured out pretty quickly that no one was going to take care of us. Four boys under one roof, and no roof that could hold us for long. So, I stepped up. I stopped being a kid and started being everything else.
Protector. Provider. Planner.
The leader.
Wes found his charm and eventually found the sky, training to become a pilot, and Noah—the kid was pure fire, always chasing the next win on the slopes. Jesse was out every night, living it up with women and mischief. But me? I got a job. I learned how to cook. I got into college and studied in whatever spare minutes I could find. I kept us together, even when I was breaking.
And Landyn… she understood me.
One night, she asked me about my parents, and I told her everything. I told her about my dad who I was no longer in contact with, who drowned himself in alcohol and buried himself in work after my mom died. I told her about all the nights I made Kraft Dinner for my three younger brothers. About driving Noah to the mountain when he had a ski lesson. About sitting at the kitchen table night after nightwith Jesse, forcing him to get his homework done. She never flinched. Never pitied me. She just curled into me, laid her head on my chest and whispered, “No one should have to grow up that fast.” She made me feel like I wasn’t something that needed to be fixed. Like I wasn’t broken.
Which is probably why it gutted me so bad when she left.
Because if someone sees all of you—every messy, sharp-edged part—and walks away anyway? That kind of wound doesn’t just cut deep. It stays open. Sometimes I think maybe it’s still bleeding. Even now.
