My throat closes around every answer I could give. The ring burns against my skin, hidden beneath fabric that suddenly feels too thin. Too revealing.
"Everything is complicated." The words escape before I can shape them into something braver. "More complicated than you know."
Jake doesn't look away. His eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes my chest ache.
"That's exactly why we need to talk." He takes a step closer, and I force myself not to retreat. "Really talk. About us. About what happened. About where we go from here."
"Jake—"
"Maybe that's why you came." His voice drops, softer now but no less certain. "Maybe you're here because you know we can't leave things like this."
The accuracy of his observation cuts through every defense I've constructed. I swallow hard, fighting the urge to tell him everything—the pregnancy, the fear, the sleepless nights spent wondering if I'd destroyed the only real thing I'd ever had.
"Maybe." The word comes out barely above a whisper. A concession I can't take back. "But I have work to handle first. Documents to review. Calls to make. The company doesn't stop because I'm—"
"Running away to Texas?" A ghost of his old humor surfaces, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"Taking a necessary break." I cross my arms, grateful for the barrier. "Ward Enterprises needs attention even from a distance."
Jake nods slowly. Something like understanding crosses his features, though disappointment shadows it. "I have duties too. The ranch doesn't run itself, especially with guests who think this is a hotel."
"Violet."
"That one's going to be trouble." He exhales, shoulders dropping slightly. "But we'll find time. To talk. I promise."
The word lands in my chest like something precious and terrifying. Promises between us have weight. History. Meaning I'm not sure I deserve anymore.
"Your room." Jake gestures toward the house, his voice shifting to something more neutral. Safer. "It's the same as before. Nothing's changed."
Everything's changed, I want to say. I'm carrying your child and you don't know and I don't know how to tell you and I'm terrified you'll hate me for sending you away.
Instead, I nod. "Thank you."
I walk toward the house before he can see my composure cracking. And memory leads me to my safe place.
The room smells cedar and dust and something underneath that reminds me of mornings I thought would last forever. The bed is made with military precision. The curtains are drawn against the fading light. Everything exactly where I left it, like a museum exhibit of happier times.
I close the door and lean against it, breathing hard.
This isn't what I want.
The truth surfaces with brutal clarity. I don't want to have a conversation. Don't want careful discussions about feelings and futures and whether we can salvage what I broke.
I want him to kiss me.
Want him to pull me against his chest and confess that sending him away was the worst mistake I've ever made. Want him to give me a reason to never let go—to stop running, stop hiding, stop pretending I can survive without him.
Instead, I'm drowning.
Silence presses against the walls. Uncertainty coils in my stomach alongside the life I haven't told him about. The distance between what I want and what I have stretches into something unbearable.
The tears come without permission.
I sink onto the bed, pressing my palms against my eyes like I can force the emotion back inside.
Hormones, I tell myself. Just the pregnancy doing its work.
But my heart knows better. My heart knows this is grief for something I might have already lost.
* * *
Hours later, the documents blur into meaningless shapes.
I've been staring at the Henderson contract for twenty minutes without absorbing a single clause. The numbers swim. The legal language tangles into knots I can't untie.
Thirst finally drives me from the bed.
The house is quiet as I pad toward the kitchen, following the dim glow of a light someone left burning. My bare feet make no sound on the hardwood, and I'm almost to the doorway before I realize I'm not alone.
Tommy stands at the counter, glass of water in hand, looking like he's been caught somewhere between thought and action.
"Addy." His face brightens when he sees me. "Couldn't sleep either?"
"Just needed water." I move to the cabinet, reaching for a glass. "Reviewing documents always makes me thirsty. Something about legal jargon."
"Work stuff?" He leans against the counter, watching me with those honest eyes. "Even out here, you're still CEO-ing?"
"The company doesn't care about geography." I fill my glass, grateful for the mundane task. "Someone has to keep things running."
"Speaking of things running." Tommy's expression shifts toward something between amusement and exhaustion. "Those girls you brought with you?"
"Violet and Paige."
"Yeah. Paige seems okay. Quiet. Polite. Says please and thank you." He shakes his head slowly. "But Violet? That one's chaos incarnate. Already complained about the water pressure, the mattress, the lack of Wi-Fi signal, and something about thread count?"
Despite everything, I almost smile. "She's nineteen and entitled. Sound familiar?"
"You were never that bad." Tommy grins, but it fades quickly. Something heavier moves behind his eyes. "Addy, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
He sets down his glass, and his voice softens in a way that makes my chest tighten. "Jake was... after he came back from New York. After whatever happened between you two." Tommy pauses, choosing words carefully. "He was dark. Silent. Went through the motions like a machine. Barely human."
The description lands like a physical blow. I grip the counter to steady myself.
"I wanted to call you," Tommy continues. "Wanted to ask what the hell happened, why he came back looking like someone had died. But I was too afraid of the answer."
My throat burns. "Tommy—"
"You don't have to explain." He holds up a hand. "That's between you and him. I just... I need to know if you're okay. If there's any chance of fixing whatever broke."
I stare at the water in my glass. The trembling surface reflects light in patterns I can't predict.
"I don't know where we stand anymore." The confession scrapes out of me like something raw. "I'm terrified I destroyed everything. That I pushed him away so hard he can't find his way back."
Tommy is quiet for a long moment. Then he shakes his head slowly.
"Today was different." His voice carries something like hope. "When you showed up. Jake actually talked. Actually looked less hollow. Like seeing you reminded him how to be a person again."
My eyes sting. I blink rapidly, refusing to cry again.
"I'm glad you're here, Addy." Tommy's hand finds my shoulder, squeezing gently. "Whatever happened, whatever's broken—at least you're here to try."
"I wish I knew what he was thinking." The whisper escapes before I can catch it. "What he actually wants."
Tommy's laugh is soft and sad. "Yeah." He releases my shoulder, picking up his glass again. "I wish I knew too."
We stand in the quiet kitchen, two people who love Jake Sullivan in different ways, both waiting for answers he is not in a hurry to give.