Page 94 of Deal Breaker
I open the article. It’s good—better than good. Positive press. A feature about the new Sierra line, the company’s commitment to sustainability, the turnaround we’ve managed to pull off. Words like innovative, responsible, admired.
All the long nights. All the damage control. Landyn’s work. Jesse’s too. It’s all here in black and white.
I snap the laptop shut, stand, and walk to the fridge. I pull out a bottle of water, twist the cap off, then rummage in my cupboard for Pepto-Bismol.
Four hours later and it hasn’t done a damn thing.
THIRTY-FOUR
Landyn
She’s napping, finally. I’m curled up in the chair by the window, watching my mom’s chest slowly rise and fall as she sleeps in the hospital bed. The journal Ford gave me is balanced on my knees, pen hovering over the page as I try to write down my thoughts. But the words don’t come easily. They haven’t since I saw the wrecked look on his face.
Still, I start.
Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like if I’d stayed. If I’d told him. If we’d figured it out together instead of me figuring it out alone, terrified, sitting in a bathroom with a plastic stick with two pink lines and no plan. Would he have stepped up? Would he have run? Would I have still lost him anyways? I used to believe I was doing the right thing. That not telling him protected everyone—especially her. But now? Now I’m not so sure.
I stop, breathe, thenkeep going.
I wish I could go back. Not to change what happened, but to let myself trust him with the truth. I told myself I was protecting him. That knowing about Poppy would change his life in a way he didn’t want. That it would tie him to something he hadn’t chosen. That I was saving both of us. But I think the truth is simpler than that… I was afraid.
I press the pen harder than I should, dotting the page with ink. My hand trembles as I write the next line.
And now that he knows, I keep wondering if we’ve reached the end or if this is just the beginning.
My mom stirs in her bed, murmuring something unintelligible, and I glance over to find her eyes fluttering open. I close the journal gently, smoothing my hand over the cover.
“Hey,” I say softly, standing and crossing the small room to her.
She offers a tired smile. “Hey, sweetheart.”
I help her sit up a little, adjusting the pillows behind her as she reaches for the small tray beside her. The hospital food is…well, it’s hospital food, but she eats slowly. She smiles at me, like she’s trying to convince me she’s fine, but I can see it. The dark circles under her eyes. The faint tremor in her hand as she lifts the fork. The effort it takes just to stay upright.
“I’m fine, Landyn,” she says gently, not even looking up.
“You always say that, even when you aren’t fine,” I reply, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“And you always say you’re okay when I know you’re breaking.”
I blink hard, looking down at my hands.
“You don’t seem like yourself. What’s going on?”
I sigh. “A lot has happened this week.”
Her hand covers mine, cool and fragile. “He came.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “He came.”
She nods, understanding. “That man’s heart has always been yours, Landyn. Even when you pretended otherwise.”
Before I can respond, a gentle knock sounds at the door, and the handle turns. It’s the doctor, clipboard in hand, a nurse shadowing him. He smiles warmly, but it’s tight. Measured. My stomach twists.
“Hi Carolyn,” he says, glancing toward my mom. “How are we feeling today?”
“I’ve had better days,” she replies with a small laugh.
The doctor smiles warmly, then looks at me. “Hi Landyn, is your father around?”
