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“What are you going to do about it?” I asked.

His arms outstretched at his sides. “What the hell am I supposed to do? My hands are tied. It’s a hundred families or me and Farrah. You can’t think I should be that selfish.”

I shook my head at him, not believing what I heard. “You’re telling me a man who has spoken in front of congress, eaten dinner with the president, negotiated with the biggest sharks on Wall Street, and grew up riding wild bulls for whatever dumb ass reason—that manis giving up on the love of his life?” My lip curled in anger, in disappointment. “That’s not the man I’ve worked with for the last three years. That’s not Gage Griffen.”

His angry blue eyes pierced mine, but I didn’t look away. My friend’s heart was on the line, and he was letting it break.

“Go to work, Ms. Baird,” he ordered roughly.

“I don’t think so. I’m taking a personal day, Mr. Griffen.”

55

Gage

With my assistant gone and my heart in tatters, I left the office. Because no matter how much I tortured myself in the gym, no matter the amount of scotch I poured over ice, no matter how many times I tried to bury myself in work, the image of Farrah disappearing behind the elevator doors was seared into my mind.

My personal torture.

The price I paid for choosing the good of hundreds over the good of a woman who truly mattered to me.

Because I couldn’t choose her for myself. I couldn’t focus on what would make me happy.

Not when I’d spent my entire life growing a business to serve other people. Not when I wanted so desperately for my dad to be wrong about me.

I felt a renewed sense of pain and rage all over again, like Dad and I were fighting that first day.

So I got into my car and began driving the path to Cottonwood Falls, needing to handle what I should have done all those years ago. What I should have done the second Farrah asked me.

And since nothing could distract me from that ache in my chest that was Farrah leaving, I sat with it. I stewed in it. I let it eat me from the inside out because I knew there would never be another like her. There would never be someone who wholly understood me and loved me without asking for anything in return. All she asked for was my dedication. My heart.

And it had cost me too fucking much to give.

My Tesla had never seen a dirt road before, but now I drove it down the gravel path to my family’s home, driving under the metal arch that said GRIFFEN FARMS with a cow silhouette on either side.

Dust flew behind me as I sped toward the white farmhouse waiting at the end of the lane. A glance at my clock told me it was almost noon. Dad should be back for lunch any minute now if he wasn’t there already.

A car and two pickups sat in the drive, and I figured one of them was his.

I let anger, hurt fuel me as I got out of my car, and marched to the front door, rapping the wood not covered by a massive wreath with lots of gingham ribbon and a large white G in the middle.

Footsteps sounded on the hardwood inside, and my mom opened the door, her lips pulling into an O at the disheveled sight of me. “Gage, what are you doing here? Come in.”

I walked past her, saying, “Where’s Dad?”

“At the table, why?”

“We need to talk,” I replied, stepping through the living room. They still had the same couches, same layout from when I’d been there more than a decade ago. Some things didn’t change. But I had.

When I made it to the kitchen, Dad was getting up from the table, asking, “Who is it?”

Then he laid eyes on me.

His jaw tensed as he took me in, reading me just like I was reading him.

“Well this is a surprise,” he said. “Mom just made lunch. We have some extra if you want it.”

What the hell was going on, and why was he offering me food? “That’s not why I came.” My anger was already fading, being replaced by pain. Guilt. Regret.