Page 93 of Deal Breaker
I stand abruptly, the scrape of my chair loud against the wood floor. My drink is still half full on the table, but I can’t sit still. I pace, heart pounding, fists clenched. “How the hell was I supposed to move on from her,” I mutter aloud, “when I never got the truth?”
I stop in the middle of the room, breathing hard, staring out into the dark like it might offer answers, but all I see is my own reflection in the window.
Haunted. Lost. Wrecked. Just like I felt back then. Only now, I’m not just broken over Landyn walking away. I’m broken over the little girl who never got to know me.
The child I didn’t even know to miss.
I wasup a half dozen times last night, thinking I heard something outside. Each time, I jolted awake and rushed through my house to the living room. I wrenched the glass door open, but there was nothing there. Just the rhythmic sound of the ocean hitting the shore somewhere below.
I’m so tired. I can’t sleep. I haven’t been able to set foot in the office. Haven’t been able to look at my phone without wondering if she’s going to call. It’s pathetic. I know it is. I need to get a grip.
Landyn Sinclair is the only person who has ever had thepower to unravel me like this. I run a multimillion-dollar company. My time is spent thinking about supply chains and product launches, about keeping hundreds of employees paid, about keeping a roof over my brothers’ heads. I go to sleep every night knowing that I’ve taken care of my family. That’s what matters. That’s what I think about.
I don’t need to fucking think about Landyn anymore.
It’s done. Whatever there was between us, it’s over. Seven years is a long damn time to keep dragging a memory around. The girl I once knew is nothing but a ghost. I can’t keep letting her live rent-free in my head, can’t keep picturing her every time I close my eyes.
It’s time to move on. Time to stop acting like some lovesick kid who doesn’t know when to quit.
Time to walk away from Landyn.
But not from Poppy.
That little girl is mine, and I’m not going anywhere when it comes to her. We’re going to have to figure something out, whether Landyn likes it or not because I want to know my daughter. And I will.
I laceup my running shoes like it’s any other morning. Time to get my head back on straight. Time to get back into a routine, burn off some of the restless energy, remind my body what normal feels like. I’ve always been fit since I was a teenager in highchool. Unless I am sick, I never miss a workout.
I head out and run downhill toward the town. The air’s crisp, the pavement familiar under my feet. I keep my pace steady, lungs working, legs pumping. I tell myself I’mfocusing on my breathing, on the rhythm of my strides, on nothing else.
I end up taking the long loop. The one that cuts past the waterfront, snakes up through the quiet streets, and—by pure coincidence, I tell myself—runs right by Landyn’s house.
It means nothing. Just a route. Just a stretch of road I haven’t taken in a while.
When I come up on her place, I slow my pace just enough to take it in. There’s no sign of Landyn or Poppy. I wonder if everything is okay with her mom. Maybe they’re at the hospital. Maybe I should make sure Carolyn is okay. Like it or not, Landyn and I share a daughter, so I should probably know what’s going on with her family.
I keep moving, eyes forward, checking my watch for pace.
It’s nothing. Just part of the run.
I punchin the hospital’s phone number and hit call without thinking too hard about it. This is not about Landyn, I tell myself. All I’m going to do is check on her mother’s health. If something affects Poppy, it affects me now too. There’s nothing more to it than that. I just about manage to convince myself.
“Good afternoon, Deep Cove General,” a woman answers.
“I’m calling to check on a patient,” I say, shifting the phone to my other ear. “Carolyn Sinclair.”
“Are you family?”
“Yes.” The word comes out smoothly. “Son-in-law,” I add, because it seems like it will open more doors than it closes.
She tells me she’s just going to need a minute. There’s a pause, the faint sound of typing on the other end, a cough somewhere in the background. I stare at the far wall, jaw tight, until she speaks again.
“She’s stable. Resting comfortably.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Good. That’s good.”
I’m hunchedover the kitchen table, laptop open, Stella at my feet, trying to push through the low, dull ache in my gut. It’s been there all damn day. Must’ve been something I ate, though I can’t remember the last time food slowed me down. I get now why people complain about stomach aches. It’s no way to spend a day.
I click through a few tabs on my screen, half-paying attention, until a headline catches my eye. It’s about Cove.
