"Ford," Jensen says, resting a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it away.
I set my jaw, staring hard at the ground. I know I’m being a dick, but it needs to be said.
"I just think it’d be best if you stayed away. Kept your distance."
She lets out a short breath, not quite a laugh. There’s no humour in it, but no heat either. I look up and her eyes glisten, and I hate that I’ve put that look there.
"Right." Her voice is soft but clipped.
I shift my stance.
"I think it’s better this way."
For a moment, she doesn’t move. Just looks at me, really looks at me, like she’s trying to see past the walls I’m throwing up between us. Thenshe nods, in that slow but controlled way of hers. “Okay,” she says again, quieter this time. “If that’s what you want.”
Her words hit, slicing in places I don’t want to admit. She steps past me, and I don’t turn to watch her leave, because if I do, I might regret it.
"What the hell was that?" Jensen asks, voice sharp with disbelief.
“Don’t,” I tell him. “I don’t need a lecture.”
He shakes his head, frustration clear in every tense line of his body.
“She didn’t deserve that.”
I don’t answer. Just stare at the ground, jaw tight, fists clenched at my sides. I know she didn’t deserve it. I know it came out too harsh. But knowing doesn’t change the fact I said it. Doesn’t soften the way it landed. And now it’s sitting in my gut like a lead weight. I thought it’d make me feel better. Instead, I feel worse. Way worse.
Jensen steps closer.
“You think pushing everyone away is gonna fix whatever mess is in your head?”
“I think it’s none of your business,” I reply, voice flat, detached. “And I think you should go too.”
“Come on, man. I’m not leaving you here to stew in whatever this is.”
A faint laugh slips out, more tired than amused.
“You love her so much? Then why don’t you go after her.”
Jensen’s shoulders drop, a quiet ache settling into his expression. He takes a long breath, and then another. And finally, he takes a defeated step back, knowing I’m not one to back down. His eyes flit towards the path where Stormy disappeared, then back to me.
“You don’t have to do this, Ford.” His voice is calmer now. “You don’t have to be alone.”
I don’t answer. Just hold his stare, silent, waiting.
And eventually, with reluctance, he turns and walks away.
I hear his truck door swinging open, the rumble of the engine.
Then stepping closer to Raven, I rest my forehead against her nose, letting the warmth of her breath steady me.
She’s the only girl I need.
23
Stormy
Isit on the floor of what I hope will soon be my bookshop, papers spread around me. Frustration hums beneath my skin, not just from the mess Ford left me in after what he said to me, but from the mountain of work that stands between me and opening these doors for real.
