I take a seat at the countertop bar and dig my hands through my hair, elbows in front of me, propping me up.

“I can’t risk something happening to her,” I start. “I’d be worrying constantly, wondering what’s going to happen next. She’s late; is it because she got in another accident? She’s sick; is she going to pull through? There are so many variables that go into keeping her safe, and I can’t control them. The only thing I can control is staying far away from her.”

“All because she was hurt a few days ago? Are you blaming yourself for that?”

I give her a pointed look. “Isn’t it obvious, Jen? We started to get serious, and all of a sudden she’s hurt.” I shake my head. “I . . . fuck, I love her, and I don’t know what I would do if something happened to her.”

Leaning forward, Jen gently presses her hand to my forearm. “You love her?”

I nod. “And she fucking loves me, but hell if I said it back to her.”

“Oh, Griffin, why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Because . . .” My throat grows tight. “There was nothing wrong with Claire, and I lost her. I can’t lose Ren.”

“You say that, but . . . didn’t you just lose her anyway?”

“It’s not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same. You live in a small town. Are you really going to be okay with her walking around Main Street holding some other man’s hand? Seeing her kiss him at Jake’s Cakes? Walking on the beach?”

My jaw flexes, the thought of seeing Ren with someone else destroying me. I stand abruptly, my voice strained as I say, “I need to get the fuck out of here.”

“Griffin . . .”

Jen’s voice trails off as I exit the store and head straight for my house, passing by every landmark that holds memories of Ren—from Jake’s Cakes to the street we danced in. Fuck. I need to be alone. I need to be anywhere but here . . . in Port Snow.

“Open up, you motherfucker.” Reid pounds on my front door, but I ignore him.

Beer in hand, I stare off into nothing. I knew this was coming. My phone was buzzing like crazy from all of my family’s texts, so I turned it off.

“My hand is getting sore from knocking. Just open up so I can talk to you.”

“Fuck off,” I shout before taking another sip of my beer.

“Come on, Griff. You can’t just give up on Ren. She’s perfect for you.”

“I’m going to save you some time. Anything you say is going to be ignored. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Fine. Your loss. But for the record, you’re being a moron.”

“Noted.”

I down the rest of my beer.

Knock. Knock.

Ring. Ring.

Knock. Ring. Knock.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Knock. Knock . . . “Who’s there? Oh, look, it’s your fun-loving brother, Brig. Open the door for a good time.”

“Go away,” I groan. If he rings the doorbell one more time, I’m going to open the door just to punch him in the face.

“But I have ice cream.”

“I’m not a woman.”

“You sure as hell are acting like a moody bitch.” He grumbles something I can’t hear. “You know, I spent a long time trying to pick out the perfect flavor. It would be really rude not to open the door and at least share a scoop with me.”

“Leave, Brig.”

“Fine,” he answers indignantly. “Your loss.” He taps on the door. “And for your information, it was rocky road.”

Fuck . . . rocky road is damn good ice cream, but not good enough to deal with Brig.

Knock. Knock.

I wait for a ring or something obnoxious to be said, but I hear nothing.

That means it’s Rogan.

“Not in the mood, man,” I shout.

“Thank Christ,” he replies through the door. “Jen made me.”

“Figured.”

“Okay, well, text if you need more beer.”

“Thanks, man.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

GRIFFIN

One week.

One fucking week without Ren, and I’ve truly lost my mind.

I haven’t slept.

I haven’t eaten.

The only reason I’ve showered is for sanitary purposes while working at the shop.

But shaving? Yeah, not happening. And my hair? A goddamn mess.

I’ve heard it all from my family. What a fool I am. How I’m letting go of a good woman, a woman who makes me happy. How I’m an asshole for making Ren fall for me when I knew I was going to pull away.

Yeah, that last one still haunts me.

I made her cry. I fucking broke her heart. I saw it in her eyes when I said we couldn’t be together, that I couldn’t see her hurt. She was right: I’m hurting her anyway.

Christ.

What a fucked-up mess.

I adjust my baseball cap and head into Oliver’s General Store to pick up something to drink, a.k.a. beer. Beer is my only friend right now. Depressing but true. I’ve banished everyone from my life, even my family. The only time I see them is in the shop, and I barely speak to them; I just go through the motions. Mom and Dad tried to have a talk with me the other night, but I turned them away. They weren’t happy about it, not even a little.

But at this point, I don’t give a fuck who’s mad at me—with the exception of one person.

There’s only one person I care about, one person I can’t get out of my head, one person I want nothing more than to pull into my arms and apologize to like a mad motherfucker.

Thankfully Oliver’s isn’t too busy, so I make my way toward the back where the beer is, passing by the aisle with mac and cheese. Shit, I should probably eat something, and mac and cheese isn’t too much work. I scan the boxes, finding the Velveeta, and grab a box. There—I’m feeding myself. Progress. I’ve started to move toward the back when I bump into someone.

I look up to apologize, and my voice catches in my throat when I see Ren. Her hair is pulled back, her bruise almost gone, the scar above her eyebrow much smaller.

She’s about to apologize when she recognizes me. Her eyes widen, and she stumbles backward.

I grip her arm before she tumbles into a display of Triscuits. “Careful.” I steady her.

Once on solid ground, she pulls her arm away and adjusts the strap of her purse on her shoulder.

This was bound to happen at some point. We live in a small town where everything is walking distance. We were going to run into each other; I’m just surprised it took us this long. Full disclosure: I’ve been skipping out on Snow Roast coffee and heading straight to the Lobster Landing earlier than normal.

I just don’t think I’m ready for this yet—to see her.

To remember how beautiful she is.

To see the pain in her eyes.

To hear the anger in her voice.

To be consumed by her scent all over again.

It’s weakening me, breaking down my defenses.

I’m desperate for her.

I want her to hold my hand. I want to be her man. I want to take her into my arms and know that nothing is ever going to happen to her, that she’s going to be mine forever.

“Excuse me,” she says, breaking me out of my thoughts. She attempts to move past me, all emotion gone from her face, a blank stare in her eyes.

“Ren . . . I . . .”

She shakes her head. “Don’t, Griffin. Don’t apologize. It will just make it worse.”

“But I am sorry.” I reach out to touch her face, but she steps back.

“I need to go. I can’t do this here with you.”

“Ren.”

She stops and takes a deep breath before facing me again. “Did you change your mind? Do you all of a sudden have the courage to be with me?”

My jaw moves back and forth, the answer stuck in my throat.

“That’s what I thought. Just leave me alone, Griffin. Please, if you had any sort of feelings for me, just leave me alone.”

And with that, she takes off down the aisle and out of the store. I watch her walk briskly down the street, her hand lifting to her face to wipe away a tear.

And here I thought I couldn’t feel any shittier.

Fuck the mac and cheese. I’m drinking dinner again.

When I lost Claire, I felt like I was cloaked in darkness, like rain clouds were hovering over me, ready to pour on me whenever they felt like it.

I was in denial. Lost. Barely living.

I was just going through the motions for two years.

And then Ren came along, and she changed everything. She parted the clouds and reminded me what sunlight could feel like.

She set me free.

But instead of flying, I’ve grounded myself, taking away the one solid piece of happiness in my life.

I don’t know how to move forward, though. I don’t know how to move past the fear.

And I sure as fuck don’t know how to live in the same town as Ren.

It’s been a week since I ran into her at Oliver’s, another week of me avoiding her at all costs. One more week of not seeing the way her eyes light up when she sees me or feeling her small hands skim my waist before fully pulling me into a hug.

“Are you paying attention?”

“Huh?” I ask, snapping my eyes to the paper in front of me.

Annoyed, my dad huffs next to me. “You know what? I’m going to take over.”