Page 119 of On One Condition

“At the height of the tourist months, there will be plenty of business for both hotels.”

He gives a measured nod. “It’s the non-height months that put people out of jobs.”

I’m used to facing people, to dealing with the repercussions of the decisions I make. This one doesn’t sit well with me, and there is no quick fix. “Let’s see what happens. Asher always has my number if need be.”

“That’s generous of you, but we don’t expect any handouts or hand-ups.”

Our eyes meet, and pride wars against concern in his eyes. “Understood. The offer is there.”

“Noted.”

I look back to the house and the porch swing that looks so empty without her curled up on it. “You helped Asher out with the changes here. It looks incredible.”

“It does.”

He’s not going to give me a fucking inch, is he?

“I think it’s a smart business decision on her part. It’ll give an added income stream. Give this place a new life to people who would have never noticed it before.”

“Is there a reason you’re on her porch, talking about her business with me . . . sir?”

Definitely not an inch.

I clear my throat and level with him. “Why did she leave, George? Run? Why not stay and fight for this place?” For me?

“Who said she wasn’t fighting?”

“She’s not here, is she?” I ask.

“That girl has fought her whole life. The scorn and judgment she’s faced in this town is enough to break most people. It never broke her.”

“I know, but—”

“No, you don’t. With all due respect, you don’t know shit about what it was like for Asher year after year. And yes, she’s worked tirelessly to not live under the shadow of her mother’s disgrace and abandonment.” He looks out toward the fields as the lavender ripples like a wave. “She’s building something here. With her grit and her tenacity and her courage. Would it make Pop proud? Damn straight. But it also made her proud of herself for the first time in a long time . . . and when something you’re hoping for falls through, sometimes it takes time to accept that blow. To figure out how to live without it.”

“So what are you saying? That she’s coming back?” I’m more desperate for that answer than anything—so it takes me a second to hear him. It’s not just the dream she’s created here she’s afraid of losing . . . it’s me too.

Jesus Christ.

She can’t be figuring out how to live without it.

Goddammit, Asher. I’m here. I’m waiting. Come back.

“Of course, she’s coming back.” He snorts in disdain at me. “Asher Wells isn’t a quitter. My guess is she’s looking for another way to make this happen. She’s taking time to accept the reality she was handed and move forward.”

Accept reality and move forward. Have I done that? Have I moved on from what my dad did?

And long after George has explained the reasoning to me and took off for home, I’m still sitting on the porch swing, listening to it creak. Trying to work through the question.

My father fabricated a lie that has affected me in some way or another for the past fifteen years. My fear of letting him down. My fear of not living up to the potential he gave me by “saving me” that night with his lie. I’ve moved goalpost after fucking goalpost to make him happy. To make him proud of me. To live up to the Maxton Sharpe standard . . . and for what? To put off my happiness in the hopes of achieving his approval? To almost lose the woman I love for a second time?

Dad is gone, Ledger. Isn’t it time you abandon his goals and create ones that make you happy? Isn’t it time to no longer be in and under his shadow?

“My gran is here, Ledger. So is The Fields. It’s my family legacy much like S.I.N. is yours. I can’t leave it behind just as I’d never ask you to leave yours behind. This is how I make my mark. For me. You’re wealthy and revered in business, and no doubt believe you’re more important than I am because you basically own the world . . .”

How could I ever ask her to give up her goals? How do we make this work so we can both live out the dreams we have individually and the new ones we want to create together?

Fuck.