CHAPTER EIGHT
JACK
I stand on the porch and stare at the empty driveway. The yard is too quiet, the world off-kilter. Even the breeze through the trees feels different.
Everything changed the moment she left.
Beth said she needed to return and face the mess she left behind. Sure, I understand, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
I drag a hand over my face. I should be working, not standing here like I lost something I never had.
I grab my truck keys and head to the garage. Henry’s already inside, propped against the workbench with a coffee. He clocks my mood and smirks.
“She’s gone, huh?”
I toss my keys on the counter. “Yeah.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “You look like someone ran over your dog.”
“Shut up.”
He takes a sip, eyeing me. “So. Now what?”
I frown, restless. “Now what?”
“Beth. You really going to let her walk out and act like all this never happened?”
I reach for a wrench, needing the weight in my palm. “She had to go. Her family, the wedding, everything.”
Henry shakes his head. “Man, that’s a cop-out.”
I glare at him. “She’s got unfinished business back home.”
“And you? You just going to hang out here, pretending she didn’t tilt your whole world sideways?”
My jaw tightens. “She needs time, Henry. She just left her fiancé.”
Henry sets his coffee down and holds my gaze. “Or maybe what she really needs is you.”
I have no answer. I turn toward the truck, anything to avoid where this conversation’s heading. I force myself to check the spark plugs. All I can think about is Beth.
I can almost hear her laughter around the garage, see the nervous way she tucked her hair behind her ear at breakfast. How she looked at me before she left—like she wanted me to come up with a reason for her to stay.
But I didn’t. I could have; maybe I should have, but I didn’t.
If Beth’s coming back, it has to be her choice. I won’t be another thing she runs from.
I drop the wrench and press my palms to my eyes.
Henry comes up behind me and claps me on the shoulder. “You’re an idiot, but at least you’re a noble one.”
“Appreciate it,” I mutter.
He grins. “Let’s get some work done before you mope a hole in the floor.”
We try to do just that. Sort of.
The day drags, and I keep checking my phone, wondering if Beth made it back, if her family tore into her, if Clark tried to talk his way out of what he did.
