Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

JESSICA

T he desperation in Matthew’s eyes guts me.

I have enough to manage with my own emotional turmoil. I don’t need his on top of mine. The pain he caused has dictated my life for far too long, and I need to shore my strength against it if I have any hope of surviving Uncle Jimmy’s funeral. Dealing with him is not a part of my survival plan.

Why exactly is he so upset in the first place? This is my childhood home. Not his.

I’d think our shared memories would be enough to keep him away. It doesn’t matter, though. I don’t plan on getting close enough to him again to find out. I’m much too weak around that man. Being near him is asking for trouble.

Case in point, he held my fucking hand, and I liked it. I was so shocked by the bomb Richard dropped on me. I didn’t even realize Matthew had moved to my side to comfort me. But I welcomed it all the same. His hand felt good in mine, and for a moment, it calmed me. When I finally pulled myself out of my dazed state-of-mind, my hand tingled and a rush of heat ran through me. I hate my body for reacting like that.

I pull up in front of my parents’ house— my house now—and drop my head to the steering wheel. I take a few steady breaths as the slow drip from my eyes begins to stop.

Seeing Matthew at some point during this trip was inevitable. But seeing him today completely threw me off. I’m not prepared to deal with him and all the feelings—love, hate, need, utter confusion—I still have for that man. I’m not sure I’ll ever be prepared to deal with that.

I sigh and bang my head against the steering wheel a few times, trying to knock the image of him out of my mind. Why did he have to look so damn good? He was always handsome with his deep green eyes—the color of forest leaves—his dark hair, tall stature, and muscular frame. But he’s filled out even more. Broader. Bigger. Harder. He’s more man than boy now.

I’d secretly hoped he let himself go and would be scrawny and balding, but that’s so not the case.

Instead, time has been kind to him.

I let out a deep breath and wipe my face. I hate that this made me cry in front of him, but seeing him in my emotional state was too much. Lord knows, I’ve cried enough over that man to last a few lifetimes. My well of tears should be all dried up by now, yet they still keep coming anytime he’s involved.

I lift my head, and my mouth falls open as I take in my first look at the house. I’d expected to find my childhood home a little run down and in need of repair. But it looks well-maintained, like the welcoming home it had always been when I was a kid—fresh paint, new porch furniture, and a new stone path from the driveway to the porch. There are even flowers blooming in the planters Mom asked Dad to build when I was a kid. I was seven, maybe eight, when she’d asked for those for Mother’s Day. Ryan was too little to help, but Dad taught me how to finish them in the deep brown stain that contrasted perfectly with our two story, white house.

Movement catches my eye near the big oak tree in our front yard. A tire swing still hangs from the same large branch that sweeps over the yard, and the same bench is still sitting in the shade.

A little girl, no more than three or four is sitting on the swing, now still, watching me. And someone who looks very similar to Matthew’s mother, Rosie, is sitting on the bench.

My heart rate kicks up again, and my chest suddenly feels so heavy I can’t breathe. This has to be a bad dream—a nightmare of the worst kind. Any second now I’ll wake up and all of this will go away.

I turn my face away from the little girl with long dark hair the same color as Matthew’s, and my eyes fall on the old barn and stable. Though, it doesn’t look old anymore. It’s been completely overhauled and converted into a veterinary clinic.

Along the top of the stable doors is a sign that reads, Langdon Veterinary Hospital. “What the actual fuck?”

I drop my hands in my face and mumble, “This can’t be happening.”

Why would Uncle Jimmy do this to me? I’d always told him no matter what happened to the vineyard, I wanted to keep the house. Always. I have too many memories in this house with my parents and friends, and even Matthew, to ever let it go. I can’t believe he let Matthew take it over like my wants and needs meant nothing.

I wipe my face dry and take a deep breath. I need time to figure out what all this means. There’s no way I can reach a decision on the best path forward until I’m in a better emotional state.

My car door swings open, and I let out a startled yelp. Matthew is standing on the other side.

“Jess, please don’t do this here. Not in front of my little girl.” His expression is tense, and his eyes are filled with concern.

The look on his face only feeds my anger, and I push him away. I hop out of my car and approach him, my finger poking him in his chest. “And what exactly don’t you want me to do, Matt? Tell you what an asshole you are? Tell you that my uncle and brother lied to me? Or would you prefer I tell you how empty I feel, knowing that everyone in this God forsaken town knew about this and apparently thought it was okay? This,” I point at my house, my anger boiling over, “is not okay. You can’t live here. This is my house.”

“Please, keep it down.” He looks over my shoulder toward the big oak tree, but I don’t bother following his gaze.

“I will not keep it down,” I say even louder than before. “All this required was a fucking phone call.” I cringe as those words come out. Because Uncle Jimmy did call, and I never answered. My words lose a little steam after that realization hits me. “Even a note would’ve gotten my attention. But no. You went on with life as you saw fit without any regard to my feelings or needs.”

I expect him to yell back—to beg me to stop yelling in front of his daughter again, but he doesn’t. Matthew’s shoulders drop. He looks defeated. “Uncle Jimmy said he told you. You have to know I never would’ve moved forward with this if I had known you didn’t know.”

“Why should I believe you? Everything you’ve ever told me has been a lie. Not once have you ever just asked me what I wanted. Your choices made my decisions for me with zero regard for what I actually wanted. Why would I believe for one second that you took me into consideration before moving into my house?”

He lets out a deep exhale. “Not everything was a lie, Jess.”

There’s so much pain and anguish in the way he looks at me that it almost calms me down. Almost. But I remember all the pain and heartache he’s caused me, and my anger regains control.

“Matt, this is my house. I don’t care what my uncle told you. I need you to get out. I will never sell this house to you.”

“Daddy?” The panicked voice of a little girl cries behind me. When I turn around, I come face-to-face with a young version of Matthew’s eyes, sharp nose, and gentle frown. Seeing his daughter up close only sticks that knife deeper into my chest.

Tears are streaming down her face. Matthew rushes past me and swoops her into his arms. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t cry.”

“But she said we have to get out.” She wraps her little arms around his neck and buries her face in his chest. The way he holds her and comforts her breaks me even more. I’d dreamed about starting a family with Matthew. We talked about having kids and raising them together on this land. A fresh batch of tears run down my cheeks. That should be my daughter he comforts, not some other woman's child.

He turns an angry eye to me. “Thanks, Jess,” he says with frustration. “You can say whatever you want to me. I know I deserve it, but I will not have you upsetting Emmie. This has nothing to do with her.”

His words come out harsh and demanding, and I take a step back. For once he’s right. Whatever happened between us has nothing to do with his little girl. She’s innocent in all of this.

Needing to get away from him, I turn toward the forested area bordering my property and run. I don’t really have a plan when I start, I just know I have to get as far away from him as I possibly can. As soon as I hit the treeline, my feet carry me toward the creek. When I was a kid, this was my place of solitude. I escaped to the creek anytime I needed to think or be alone or wallow in my sorrows.

And I definitely have lots to wallow in today.