Worse than any of it. Worse thanallof it.
I stood there, staring at the empty space my husband left behind, and found it hard to breathe.
And then the floor creaked as my brother took a step toward me, and I took out every ounce of my anger and hurt and devastation on him.
“Youasshole.” I braced my hands flat on his chest and shoved, hard. “What the hell was that?”
“That was me trying to protect my best friend and my sister from themselves,” he snapped back. “You two are being stupid, and you can’t even see it.”
“Stupid? You have a lot of nerve saying that to me. You’ve been gone for years, Beau.Years. And I’ve been running this place alone. Breaking my back—literally—to keep it afloat. And you have the fucking audacity to show up now and lecture me like I haven’t been bleeding every fucking day for this family?”
Beau’s eyes flashed, shame and anger mixing in their depths. “Because you never told me you needed help!”
I laughed, but the sound came out as a sob, my throat clogged with emotion. “Because I didn’t think I could! You were halfway around the world, saving babies and being a goddamn saint! You think I was going to tell you the farm was in trouble?”
Silence fell around us, both of us primed and ready for a fight. Until, all at once, Beau’s shoulders slumped and he dragged a hand over his mouth, his eyes locked with mine.
“I would’ve helped,” he said softly. “You could’ve told me you were in trouble. You didn’t have to drag Lincoln into this.”
“I didn’t drag him. He jumped.” I tried to blink back the tears threatening to fall, but one escaped anyway. “And now he’s gone.”
“Fuck,” Beau muttered, stepping close to grip my upper arms. “What do you need?”
I didn’t answer right away. I’d heard that question from him before, too many times to count. After Dad died. After I took over the farm. After Mom bailed and moved to Florida, leavingus. After he left me too. And every time, I’d said nothing. I didn’t need anything.
I could handle it all on my own.
But I didn’t have it in me to pretend anymore.
“I need him,” I said, voice trembling as I admitted my worst fear aloud. “I need Lincoln.”
Beau recoiled like I’d slapped him. “Thatfucking guy?”
“You mean yourbest fucking friend?” I glared at him, even through my tears, and punched him in the stomach. “Yes, idiot!”
He doubled over with a soft, “Oof,” before raising his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll find him.”
The second he left, the silo felt too quiet. Too still.
Too empty.
I sank onto one of the armchairs, unable to stop the tears, more lost than I’d ever been.
This was always supposed to be fake. A simple fix. A contract. A strategy. But somewhere between our first practice kiss and him building me an outdoor soaking tub like something out of a fairy tale, it became real.
And now that he’d walked out? The fear of losing the farm had nothing on this feeling inside me. Because with Lincoln gone?
It felt like I’d losteverything.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
LINCOLN
The bar was quiet—therare kind where every glass clink, every stool creak, and every muted laugh from the guys playing darts in the back sounded too loud. One Night Stan’s was the community hub, a place that was never meant to feel hollow.
But tonight, it did.
Maybe because I wasn’t behind the bar, mixing drinks and laughing with the regulars. Maybe because Willa wasn’t with me, pretending to hate every bit of attention I poured on her while secretly loving every minute. Maybe because everything I’d been building since this thing between us started—everything I’d beenhopingfor—felt like it was teetering on the edge of collapse.
