From the truth behind his question: why don’t you read the epilogues, Ellery?

  And it continues to ache all night as I sit in the empty rooftop bar, wrapped in the comforter, staring out at the moon, high over the ocean. I watch its reflection ripple with the swells as they ebb and flow. I listen to the muted sound of the waves crashing on the beach below. I sink further into my own thoughts as the new framing creaks and settles all around me.

  You’ll have to be unselfish and figure out what the fuck you want here, because I’m sick of not knowing. Deal?

  Is that why I ran away? Or rather ran to the bar, which sounds ridiculous in and of itself?

  Because, God yes, he’s gotten too close. And when someone gets too close, I panic? Is it because I’m mad at him for having a family I could only dream of and not wanting to preserve it? Some of one, a little of the other.

  Or is it because I’m afraid to believe that I could actually deserve that happily ever after? That he could be my happily ever after? And I’m terrified to hope, terrified to believe, that if he is, he won’t be ripped away from me too?

  Or is it simply that I’m questioning everything about last night? His promise to partner up. His suggestion to tie my stepfather’s hands so that I have a stake in what is rightfully mine.

  Was it all legitimate? Does he really want to partner up with me, or was he trying to bind me to him in some way so that I can’t run? So that I don’t have a reason to walk away?

  But then again, the binding would only be of our companies since he would front the capital.

  And how do I feel about that? Less than? Bought? Bribed?

  I scrub a frustrated hand over my face as the questions spin and spiral out of control, the doubt not far behind them, as the dark night turns into the early morning hours.

  Where did my resolve go? When did my willingness to just have fun and enjoy him disappear?

  I was willing to marry a decent man for what boils down to helping our business prowess. What is so wrong with dating a man and working with him at the same time? A man I’m crazy about no less?

  Fordham Sharpe.

  So much more than Just Ford. I just wish he’d understand that.

  Maybe having the night to our own thoughts will help us realize the truths we’re refusing to face. Maybe it will help us find a middle ground where we can meet and agree. One where he sees that he needs to go to his brothers and that I’m not a happily-ever-after kind of girl—while I realize it’s okay to be with him without freaking out.

  Time settles everything down.

  Time gives clarity.

  At least I hope it does.

  The sky begins to lighten to that miserable morning gray before the sun thinks of rising.

  More than anything, we need to clear the air before we face a hotel full of workers trying to finish this monstrous task in such a short amount of time. We have to be able to work together even while at odds.

  It’s something we’ve yet to face during this entire project—adversity between each other—but isn’t that what a true partnership is about? What a true relationship is about?

  Because that’s what this night has allowed me to accept. Ford and I are a thing. What type of thing is the question, but I’m willing to acknowledge that and make that conclusion.

  I’m willing to admit to him there is more here than I’ve ever felt for someone before and that’s huge. I’m hoping he’ll let me leave it at that. I’m hoping he’ll realize and accept that I’m not an I love you type. That he’ll realize as Josh did that what I can give isn’t—will never be—enough for a relationship. That eventually, Ford would want to leave me too.

  Professionally?

  Yes, it’s a deal, Ford.

  It was last night when I told you.

  With the comforter still wrapped around me, I make my way back to the suite. I need to get dressed before the crews start arriving, but more importantly, I need to talk to Ford. I need to tell him that yes, I’ll make that deal. That if he goes and fixes things with his brothers, then I’ll let him know where we stand. That we’re in a relationship . . . but that I can’t give him what I think he needs. What he deserves. But that I can be everything but.

  It’s something, right? While it might not be exactly what he’s looking for, at least it’s a jumping-off point.

  With each step I take downstairs, I rehearse the words in my head. The phrasing. The reasons behind it. The everything.

  But when I walk into the suite, the sheets, sans comforter, are pulled up as if the bed is made, and Ford is nowhere in sight. His laptop is gone. His keys are too.

  Panic vibrates through me.

  He left.

  We argued. He left.

  I go through the room like a mad woman, only to find his clothes still there, his toiletries on the counter, random work notes strewn about on the dresser.

  Relief hits me like a battered tidal wave.

  Maybe he just needed space too.

  But he didn’t leave me.

  He didn’t walk away.

  Tears of relief fall while I’m in the shower. It’s the only moment of weakness I allow as I reassure myself that he’s coming back.

  That he’s still fighting for us.

  I spend the next hour getting ready because even though Ford and I had a fight, the show must go on here. Contractors need to be directed. Problems need to be solved. The day must move on.

  Maybe he drove to Sag Harbor for the night. To gain that same distance I did.

  But when I’m outside showing Roddy how the awnings need to be fixed over the café’s door, we’re all distracted by the sound of a helicopter.

  It’s a common sound out here in the playground of the rich, but this one is especially low.

  And when I look up and see the black chopper with the gray letters S.I.N. fly overhead, I know Ford is showing me that he’s keeping his end of the bargain. Just like that. No additional discussion. No negotiations. No final proposals. He did what he said he was going to do. He’s keeping his word.

  He’s also warning me that when he returns, I’m going to have to keep mine.

  Ford

  She’s tiny as we fly over.

  Her hands over her eyes as she looks up and takes in the chopper.

  As she realizes I’m keeping my word.

  I watch her until I can’t watch her anymore because I fear this might be the last time I ever see her.

  I worry that whatever she’s scared of is stronger than the love I see in her eyes when she looks at me.

  And hasn’t that been the crux of the matter this whole time?

  Ellery

  “You expecting good news or something today, boss lady?” Roddy asks as he walks by me.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, turning to look at him.

  “You’ve been checking your phone every ten minutes today like you’re expecting your sister to be having a baby or something.”

  I laugh. “Considering I don’t have a sister, that might be a long wait.”

  “Touché.” He stops and narrows his eyes. “But all is good? No problems with the project or permits or shit?”

  “No. Nothing like that. Just waiting for an email to come through on the canopy deliveries for the café,” I lie, suddenly feeling ridiculous that I’ve checked my phone enough today that someone noticed.

  “They have my number too. That’s not something you should really have to deal with. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is. Let me handle that.”

  So much for that lie.

  “There. No more distractions.” I make a show of taking my phone out of my pocket and turning on Do Not Disturb. “If I’m going to preach about being attentive on the job, I guess it’s only right that I do the same.”

  He laughs and winks before getting called into the café to help with something.

  I sigh and lean against the wall. Despite my lack of sleep last night, today has been a good day.

  Am I still hurt and confused about the things that were said last night? Of course, I am. I’m not a robot.

  The comment about my phone, though? It’s because I can’t stop seeing headlines and Instagram notifications hit my screen. To say there is a buzz over the first interview with all three Sharpe brothers together is an understatement.

  Clearly by Roddy’s comment, I’m too caught up in it.

  Is it weird to be proud of something that’s not even something you’re part of? I’m sure it is, but I am.

  The media is having a field day with the visual alone. Three attractive men, identical in their sinfully good looks, successful in the American dream kind of way, all sitting in one camera shot. Their smiles alone must sell ratings, but it’s the passion and love with which they speak about their beloved father that will win the public over if they haven’t already.

  And only the trained eye of someone who has spent almost every minute of the last ninety days with the middle brother would notice the slight blanche on some questions. The hitch is so fleeting.

  In the clips I’ve seen, I’ve been moved by their love for their father. Their complete admiration and adoration of the love between their parents even years after their mom passed. The connection the three of them have is heartwarming to watch, even from afar.

  I’ve sent Ford a few texts saying as much. I’m a big enough person that even though I am struggling with how to fulfill but not fuck up my end of the bargain when he gets back, I can’t deny him the right of knowing how proud I am of him for stepping up.

  And even though he hasn’t responded, I know he’s proud of himself too. It shows in the smile he flashes. In the laugh he emits. In the shy shake of his head when his brothers tease him blatantly, making it clear their father loved Ford just as much as them, regardless of what the book doesn’t show.

  Yes, I’ve spent that much of my workday obsessing over it, frequently under the guise of trying to track down a missing shipment and deal with grand opening-day issues that have arisen.

  If anyone would have questioned me on it further, I would have been caught flat on my heels.

  But they didn’t, and for that, I am grateful.

  As the day continues, my anticipation to see Ford grows. My resolve is stronger. I realize that I want something more with Ford than I ever wanted with Chandler or Josh. Its definition though, I can’t give or even know yet. I just hope he’ll be able to accept the limits.

  I keep myself busy with my endless list of things to do to get this place ready to meet our deadline.

  My to-do list gets shorter in some rooms and grows longer in others. It’s not until I walk into the bar upstairs that I see everyone huddled around a phone and then scatter when they notice me.

  Furtive looks are exchanged back and forth between the workers.

  “What?” I ask, standing in the middle of the room, throwing my arms out. “What is no one telling me? Do I have dirt on my ass? Is there a sex tape I’ve never made on the Internet? What. Is. Going. On?”

  Not a single man smiles at the laugh I’m angling for.

  Hank is the poor soul who meets my eyes. “You.” I shove a finger at him. “What is going on?”

  Hank glances at another finish carpenter and then back to me, clearly dreading whatever it is he knows.

  Now suddenly so am I.

  Hank shuffles forward, his shoulders hunched, his cell phone outstretched.

  It takes a minute for my mind to process the TMZ headline on his screen timestamped ninety minutes ago. My mind stutters and my heart drops as the world falls out beneath me.

  Helicopter Crash in the Hudson

  My gasp is audible as I yank the phone from Hank’s hand and read. Only certain words register.

  Fordham Sharpe on the manifest.

  Heading out toward the Hamptons.

  Downed in the Hudson.

  Search for survivors underway.

  I can’t breathe. Is that normal? I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I feel like there are a million things I need to do—call his brothers when I don’t even know their numbers. Get to New York City when the only way to get there quickly is via helicopter, and there’s no fucking way I’m doing that right now. Have a panic attack because, while it won’t solve anything or answer my questions, it sure as hell will allow me to feel something. Because right here, right now, I feel everything and nothing all at the same time. How is that even possible?

  I stagger backward until I collapse onto a chair. I don’t care if I’m showing my cards to our crew. I don’t give a fuck if my gasp and the blood draining from my face shows them that Ford and I are a thing and not simply partners.

  Roddy is at my side, and I don’t even know how he got there. He pries my fingers off the phone. “Breathe, Sinclair. Breathe.”

  “My phone. I need my phone,” I croak.

  “In your back pocket. Right there.” He points, and I yank it out.

  The screen is a mess of texts. From my Garland. From Ledger. Messages I never paid attention to because I had muted my phone.

  I stare at them until my eyes blur, fear of what they might tell me preventing me from unlocking my phone and reading what they say.

  A glance up tells me everyone is watching me. Everyone is holding their breath just as I am, and the concern etched in their faces is devastating.

  “Everybody out,” Roddy directs, swooping his arms in a shooing motion. I don’t look up. I don’t meet their eyes, but in my periphery, I can see them slowly shuffle out of the room. “Do you want me to stay or go?” He squats in front of me, hand on my knee, and waits for an answer.

  “I need . . . alone, please.”

  He nods and squeezes before standing and walking out.

  I’m the one who pushed him to go. I’m the reason he was on that flight. I’m the reason . . .

  No.

  He has to be alive.

  He’s Ford. Larger-than-life, stubborn-as-hell, Ford.

  When the door shuts, my exhale is shaky as I swipe open my phone and prepare for what I read.

  But before I can, my cell rings. It’s an unknown number, and I answer it as fast as I can, hoping it’s Ford.

  “Hello?” I gasp into the phone.

  “Ellery? It’s Ledger.” The solemnity in his voice cuts me to the core. The grief wavering in it is indescribable. Fear and panic are woven into every fiber.

  “Please . . .” It’s one long, drawn-out syllable. Please let him be okay. Please tell me he’s alive. Please tell me he’s standing in front of you.

  “Search and rescue.” He chokes the words out. “They have him.”

  My heart breaks.

  Not they have him and he’s okay. Not they have him and he’s alive. Just they have him.

  “Ledger,” I croak, the salt of my tears hitting my lips when I didn’t even know I was crying. “Please.”

  Seconds feel like hours as they tick by and all the air is suctioned from the room, leaving the pulse pounding in my ears the only sound that I hear.

  “He’s okay.” It’s his voice that breaks this time. It’s his hiccupped sob that shudders through the connection. His words allow me to breathe for the first time in however long it’s been—minutes that feel like hours.

  My sob follows right behind it. “Have you talked to him?”

  “No. Not yet.” His voice is hoarse but relieved. “It went down. Our pilot was able to set it down. The blades. The water. I don’t understand how they made it, but they’re okay.”

  “I need to get there, to see him . . . to . . . I can’t get in . . . I can’t fly there.” I choke the words out.

  “I know. I know. We’re . . . Callahan and I are in the car. On the way to see him.”

  “Please,” I plead. “Please have him call me.”

  Please. I can’t lose someone else.

  Not again.

  Ford

  “I can’t breathe.” I push against my brothers, but their arms stay locked around me in the type of hug I haven’t had from them in years. Since Dad’s funeral.

  “Fuck you,” Callahan mutters.

  “Double fuck you for scaring us like that,” Ledger adds in.

  And when they step back and I meet their gazes, we’re all looking at each other with tears in our eyes. “Relax. It’s too much fun being a pain in your asses to leave you fuckers just yet.”

  Their laughs aren’t believable. They hold no amusement, only relief.

  I close my eyes and stagger to a seat. I know they want more details than I gave them on the phone. A play-by-play to explain everything, but all I can focus on are the thoughts that ran through my head in those fleeting moments between our pilot telling me there was a technical failure and his words “brace for impact.”

  My mom. Her soft smile. Her warm hugs. Her lasting wisdom.

  My dad. His unyielding ways. His affection you knew you’d earned when you were on the other end of it. His legacy I feared I wasn’t going to have the chance to carry on.

  My brothers. The other pieces of me. The ones who make me whole. My rocks when I can’t be one.

  And Ellery. I love her, and I never got the chance to tell her.

  I love her.

  I won’t make that mistake again.

  “I need your phone,” I say to either of them.

  Ledger holds his out. “It’s already ringing.”

  I take the phone and just as it hits my ear, I hear her voice and it brings me to my knees. “Ledger?”

  “Ellery.” My voice breaks saying her name.

  “Ford? Ford!”

  I don’t know who breaks first. Her or me or both of us, but a tear slips down my cheek at the same time a sob escapes her.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Ford.”

  “I’ll be home soon.”

  Ellery

  The world still feels like it has stopped. It doesn’t matter that I’ve talked to Ford. It was brief and he was quiet, surrounded by his brothers, but it was the best sound I’ve ever heard in my life.

  I’ll be home soon.

  Leave it to Ford to act like surviving a helicopter crash is nothing.