Chapter 13

Thirteen

Cory

When I walked in, the cabin was quiet, the type of stillness that usually helped me think. Tonight, though, it felt suffocating. I kicked off my boots by the door and headed straight for the fridge. The cold beer felt good in my hand, a small comfort in the whirlwind my life had become.

Popping the tab, I sank onto the couch, trying to make sense of the day. Jake and I had really connected—and for the first time, I thought maybe I was starting to find my footing in this mess that I called my life. And Elena... God, Elena. She was there, always there in my thoughts, making me feel things I wasn’t sure I deserved anymore.

I thumbed the remote, flipping on the TV to drown out my thoughts. The first thing that hit me was the glow of flames. The screen lit up with a live shot of a building in Dallas engulfed in fire. My building.

The beer slipped from my hand, splashing onto the rug. I leaned forward, gripping my knees as the news anchor rattled off details.

“A five-alarm fire continues to rage in downtown Dallas tonight, consuming the offices of The Horizon Foundation. Firefighters struggle to contain the blaze, and there’s no word yet on injuries or the cause.”

My chest tightened. That wasn’t just a building. It was my foundation, my work, my people—the building I had inherited from Grandpa.

I fumbled for my phone on the coffee table, hands shaking as I unlocked it—no missed calls. No messages. I pulled up Natalie’s number—my assistant, who knew every corner of that office better than anyone—and hit call. The line didn’t even ring. Just a flat, robotic message: Call failed .

“What the hell?” I muttered, trying again. Nothing. I scrolled through my contacts, dialing board members, staff—anyone who might answer—and got the same result. Every call was dead before it started.

On the screen, the anchor continued. “Cell service in the area is experiencing significant disruptions, possibly due to the fire. Authorities are urging those nearby to remain calm and await further updates.”

I let out a long breath, running a hand through my hair. Of course, the network would go down now.

Just perfect.

My irritation bubbled to the surface, sharp and bitter. I stood, pacing the room, my mind racing with questions I couldn’t answer. Was everyone safe? How bad was the damage? And why the hell did this have to happen now, just as my life was starting to make some damn sense?

I glanced at the phone, thinking about the one person I could still reach. Elena. She didn’t know much about what I did—at least not the whole picture. I’d skirted the details, not wanting to overwhelm her with the reality of my life. And now? Now, I had no choice but to leave Cedar Cove and face this head-on.

But what would she think? That I was running away the second things got hard? That I’d leave Jake in the dust, the way I had all those years ago? I swallowed hard, the thought twisting something deep in my chest.

The truth was, I didn’t know how to be anything other than the guy I’d become—always moving, always fixing, always working. And yet, for the first time in years, I wanted more. I wanted to be there for Jake, to see that smile again. I wanted Elena to look at me like she used to before I screwed everything up.

But maybe that was a pipe dream. Perhaps I was destined to be a long-distance dad, watching my son grow up from a hundred miles away while Elena built a life with someone else. Someone like the guy I didn’t have the nerve to ask about out of fear. Or worse, someone I hadn’t even heard about yet.

I sighed, the weight of it all settling heavily on my shoulders. Suddenly, I was thrown into this situation that wasn’t just about the fire. It was about everything—the choices I’d made, the life I’d built, and whether there was any way to fit Elena and Jake into it.

Or if I’d already run out of chances.

The news coverage shifted to a reporter on the ground, his voice muffled by the roar of fire engines and the crackle of flames. The camera panned to firefighters battling the blaze, their silhouettes stark against the inferno that had been my office. My office building. The news pressed against my chest like a damn anvil.

I tossed my phone onto the coffee table, its uselessness mocking me. There was nothing more I could do from here, and sitting in this cabin, staring at the chaos on TV, was only making it worse. The decision was obvious—there wasn’t a choice, really. I had to go.

The building wasn’t just an office; it was the backbone of everything I’d built since I left Beaver Creek. It was the place where ideas had turned into action and where my foundation had helped more people than I could count. And now it was in ashes.

I ran a hand over my face and stood, pacing the room. My beer sat abandoned on the floor, a puddle forming around the can, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. There was too much else demanding my attention.

I stopped at the window, staring out at the lake. The moonlight reflected off the water, calm and undisturbed, the opposite of what was happening inside me. This place had started to feel like home again, like a glimpse of the life I’d left behind. But the fire reminded me of the reality waiting for me in Dallas—the obligations I couldn’t ignore.

My gaze dropped to my phone, and a fresh wave of frustration rolled through me. I hadn’t told Elena much about what I did—not the whole story. I’d kept things vague, partly because I didn’t want to overwhelm her and partly because I wasn’t sure how she’d take it. What would she think if she knew the truth? About the money, the responsibility, the constant pull of the life I’d chosen over her?

And then there was my home in Dallas—a sprawling, beautiful house that was now mostly abandoned. I’d built it to be everything I thought I wanted back then: sleek, modern, a symbol of the success I’d enjoyed. But these days, it felt hollow, more a monument to who I used to be than the man I was trying to become. I hadn’t spent more than a handful of days there in months, spending most of my time here in Cedar Cove, trying to find some semblance of balance. Would she think it was all just a facade? That the man she’d once known had been swallowed by a life too big for someone like her—or a couple like us?

I grabbed my phone and hesitated before opening our text thread. The last message was from her, something simple about Jake’s baseball game, but seeing it hit me harder than I expected. For a second, I thought about calling her. But what would I say? That I had to leave, again, just when it felt like I was finally getting somewhere with her and Jake? That the fire had dragged me back to a life I wasn’t sure I even wanted anymore.

I sat down heavily on the couch and started typing.

Cory: There’s been a fire in Dallas—my office building. The cell service is down, so I can’t get ahold of anyone. I need to go check on things and make sure everyone’s okay. Please let Jake know I had to leave, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. Miss you both already.

I stared at the words, my thumb poised over the send button. It felt so… damned formal. Impersonal. But anything more would open up questions I wasn’t ready to answer. Finally, I hit send and laid the phone on the couch beside me.

I stood and moved toward the bedroom, pulling a suitcase from the closet. The act of packing grounded me, even as my thoughts ran wild. A few shirts, a pair of jeans, and my laptop were practical things that were no longer in my Dallas home.

As I zipped up the suitcase, I caught my reflection in the mirror above the dresser. I looked tired, older than I wanted to admit. And underneath it all, I looked scared, not of the fire or the building or the work waiting for me in Dallas, but of what I was leaving here. Of the fragile connections I’d started to rebuild with Elena and Jake, connections that felt more tenuous with every passing second.

I headed for the door, pausing only to look at the cabin. The place that had given me a glimpse of what life could be if I just let go of everything else. But life wasn’t that simple, not for me. Not anymore.

With a heavy sigh, I stepped outside and loaded the suitcase into my SUV. The lake shimmered in the distance, as calm and steady as ever.

I envy it.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, I started the engine and pulled away, leaving the cabin—and maybe the life I wanted—behind.