Chapter twenty
Bryan
The ball curves too far right. I mutter a curse under my breath, tightening my grip on the club as I watch my putt roll off target, landing nowhere near where I need it to be.
"That’s a darned shame," Liam chuckles, leaning on his club. "Your game’s slipping, man."
"More like his focus," Nate smirks, tipping back the last of his sports drink. "He’s lost in Emma-land."
Liam grins. "Yeah, you’ve been off all day, Kingston. What, you leave your brain at home with your girl?"
I roll my eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. "She’s not my girl."
As much as I'm enjoying the moment with Emma, there is still a part of me that is scared. I’m scared because I know if she decides we aren't worth it or if she just leaves, I might not recover. I might not be able to pick myself up like I did before. So, the best thing is to hold back. Even though my heart doesn't seem to agree.
Nate snorts. "Sure, buddy. Tell that to your pathetic excuse of a putt."
They’re messing with me, but they’re not wrong. Emma is in my head. She’s been in my head for weeks now.
I take a deep breath, trying to clear my thoughts as I step back from the green. The salty breeze from the ocean carries over the fairway, rustling through the neatly trimmed grass, but it does nothing to ease the tension coiling in my chest.
Ever since her confession about the debts, about why she left all those years ago, I haven't been able to shake it. The thought of her bearing that weight alone, struggling in silence, makes me feel something I don’t want to name. It’s a mix of frustration and regret.
She should have told me. But what gets me most? I should have seen it before she ever left. I grip my club tighter.
“Man, you’re really gone, huh?” Nate nudges me with his elbow. "I can see it. It’s over for you. You’re done fighting this."
I exhale through my nose, rubbing the back of my neck. What’s the point in denying it? He’s right. I am done fighting it.
My mind flashes back to that night, when she finally told me the truth. The way she looked at me, eyes filled with hesitation, vulnerability, regret. The way it hit me like a freight train, realizing how much pain she’d carried alone.
And then, the kisses. The way she feels in my arms. The way she trembles against me, like she isn’t sure if she should let herself believe in us again.
"Yeah," I mutter, running a hand over my jaw. "I’m done fighting it. I still like her,"
Liam whistles low. "Well now. He finally admits it."
Nate grins. "Took you long enough. Thought you’d keep playing the broody, emotionally constipated billionaire act forever."
"Shut up," I grumble, shaking my head. "I still don’t know where this is going. So, I'll still say there is nothing."
Nate shrugs, lining up his next shot. "Doesn’t matter. She’s in your head, and you’re in hers. That’s enough to start."
His words hit harder than I expect. Start. Can we? Can we actually start again?
I glance at my phone, tempted to send her a message, just to check in. Just to hear from her. To see if she’s thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about her.
Before I can, Nate speaks up again. "So, about the clinic, how’s that going?"
That snaps me out of my thoughts. "She likes the place you recommended."
"Yeah?" Nate lines up his shot, then pauses. "If she wants any input on renovations, let me know. I’ll help out."
Liam nods. "Same. If she needs anything, I got her."
That hits differently. Emma doesn’t have to do this alone anymore. Not this time. I nod, pocketing my ball. "I’ll tell her."
My mind drifts back to her, there is one more thing I still need to do.
"Also, Liam I need a favor. Can we talk about it once we’re done with the game?"
We move onto the next hole, but my mind isn’t on the game anymore. It’s on her. On us.
The past few weeks with Emma have been some of the best of my life. And suddenly, the idea of rebuilding what we had not just the house, not just the clinic, but us? It doesn’t seem impossible anymore.
***
The wrench slips in my sweaty grip. I huff out a breath, adjusting my stance as I tighten the last bolt on the swing’s frame. The metal creaks slightly before settling into place, sturdy, polished, perfect.
I step back, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, heart pounding harder than it should. For her.
The thought settles deep in my chest, heavier than expected but right. This isn’t just a restoration project. This swing, it’s us. A piece of the past I’m not willing to let fade.
I run my fingers over the wood, memories creeping in. Emma at fifteen, hair windblown as she laughed, feet kicking off the ground. I used to push her higher, teasing that one day she’d launch into the sky.
"You’ll always catch me," she’d said once, grinning at me like I was her whole world. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second.
I let her go once. But not again. The garden’s thriving now, roses in bloom, pathways cleared, everything rebuilt just like the house. Just like her trust. And now, this.
Buddy sniffs around, his tail wagging as he barks toward the house. My cue that Emma will be back soon. I scrub a hand over my jaw, inhaling deep. This is more than just a swing. She’ll know what it means, what I mean.
I check my watch. Dinner. I’ve been planning it all day. Her favorite, lemon-garlic shrimp with creamy pasta, fresh sourdough on the side, and a bottle of white wine. I don’t cook often but tonight needs to be special.
And not just dinner. A movie night. Here.
I head to the storage shed, pulling out the old projector and a white sheet. We used to do this all the time as teenagers, sneaking out late to watch films under the stars. The setup isn’t hard, a string of fairy lights from the porch, a few blankets, a low table for the food.
By the time the sun dips lower, everything’s in place. Soft glow from the lights, the swing perfectly framed, our favorite movie cued up on the screen. All that’s left now is her.
I hear her car pulling up, followed by the telltale sound of Buddy’s paws on the front steps. My heart kicks up. Here we go.
She calls for me, her voice drifting through the house, and I call back, “Backyard!”
Seconds later, Buddy barrels toward me first, tail wagging furiously as he goes straight for the bowl of food I set out for him. Then Emma steps through the back door and everything stops.
Her eyes widen as she takes in the swing first, then the candlelit dinner, the soft glow of the projector. She’s stunned, lips parting slightly, eyes darting between me and everything I set up.
“You did all of this?” she breathes. I shrug, trying to keep it casual, but my pulse is hammering. “Thought you deserved a night off.”
She takes slow steps forward, fingers grazing the swing. “You fixed it?”
“Our spot, right?”
Her fingers tighten around the chains, and when she looks up at me, her eyes are soft, searching. There’s something unreadable there, something I wish I could decode. Then she does something that makes my chest ache. She smiles.
A real smile, one that reaches her eyes, one that reminds me of before.
She whispers my name, and before I can think twice, I reach for her, pulling her into a hug.
She tenses for half a second, then melts against me, her arms looping around my back, her face pressing into my chest. My arms tighten, my fingers pressing into the small of her back, holding her there. Oh yes, she fits. She fits perfectly.
I can feel her heartbeat against mine, her fragrance wrapping around me, her breath feathering against my skin. It’s the kind of hug that says more than words ever could.
I’m here. I see you. I feel this too.
When she finally pulls back, it’s slow, reluctant, even. Her fingers linger on my shirt before she steps away. “This means a lot,” she murmurs.
I swallow hard. “I meant it to.”
For a moment, she just looks at me, eyes darting across my face like she’s searching for something, for proof this is real.
I don’t push. Instead, I gesture to the table. “Sit. Let’s eat before the movie starts.”
Her lips twitch at that, a ghost of amusement flickering in her gaze. “A whole movie night too?”
I grin. “Go big or go home, right?”
She laughs, light, soft, beautiful. Then she takes a seat, and I follow. We eat, and it’s easy.
She teases me for going all out. I tease her for taking tiny sips of her wine like she’s trying to make it last forever. Buddy lays between us, quiet for once, only perking up when Emma sneaks him a bite of shrimp.
Then the movie starts, and somewhere between the opening credits and the first act, she leans against me. I freeze.
Not because I don’t want it, but because I want it so much it terrifies me. She shifts slightly, like she’s testing the weight of it, the feel of being this close to me. My arm is resting along the back of the swing, and after a few beats, I let my fingers drift just barely brushing her shoulder.
She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she relaxes, her breath slowing, her warmth seeping into me. Minutes pass, and all I can focus on is her.
The way her lips part slightly as she watches the screen, the way her fingers absently stroke Buddy’s fur, the way she trusts me enough to lean into me like this. This is real.
And I don’t want it to end. But I also don’t want to ruin it by saying the wrong thing. So, I do nothing but sit there, memorizing this moment.
By the time the movie ends, she’s quiet, tracing circles on Buddy’s back, her gaze distant. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I do know she’s not ready to say it yet.
That’s okay. Because I’ll wait. For her. For us. For whatever this is turning into.