His counselor, Mrs. Webner, is there to open the car door for him when we get to the front of the school.
“Love you, Mommy!” Brayden calls out when he’s on the curb in front of his school.
“Love you, too, babe.”
Mrs. Webner smiles at him and gestures for him to head to his class before she leans down to greet me. “Hey, I was going to call you today to discuss some discoveries I made while observing Brayden’s class.” Her face transitions into one of concern. “I’ve tried talking to your husband, but he hasn’t been too responsive. Is it alright if I schedule a meeting for the two of us to talk?”
A flare of anger shoots through my chest, knowing Trevor is avoiding the issue because he assumes the only way to fix it is for us to get back together.
Ignoring the reference to my ex-husband, I smile back at her. “Of course,” I tell her. “Just let me know when works for you, and I’ll be there.”
Relief takes over her features. “Thank you, Violet. Brayden is a sweet boy, and I promise there’s nothing to be worried about. There are just some things we can partner on to stay ahead of the curve. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”
“Absolutely. And I’ll help however I can.”
There’s a heaviness in my chest when I drive off toward the studio. Guilt and worry consume me, and there’s only one way I know how to let it all go. I walk straight into my office and tug on my black leggings, a pink sports bra, and a baggy black muscle shirt. No one will be at the complex for another hour, so I enter one of the studios and blast Dua Lipa’s latest album over the speakers. Then I dance.
Stress is a funny thing. One that I never quite realize has a hold of me until I’m too wound up to do anything about it. When life started getting unbearable at the end of my marriage, stress would wind me up to the point of breaking. I cried every single day—questioning myself, blaming myself, hating myself—until I took my misery to the dance floor one day and completely unleashed.
It was there in the middle of my dance floor where I cried my last tears for my marriage. I let go of the need to fix what had always been broken, and I allowed myself to grieve the loss of a life that didn’t deserve me. Instead, I would take my control back, leave Trevor, and start over. No matter what it took. I knew it would be hard. Mentally, I was prepared for it. But I never could have expected all the little curveballs along the way, Jamison Bexley’s reappearance being one of them.
I’m at least six songs in when my lungs feel like they’re going to burst, and I collapse in the middle of the dance floor. My pulse is racing, my heart thrumming between my ears, and my entire body feels weighed down with bricks.
Besides Brayden, this dance studio is my biggest love. I see the roots in which my dreams were made. I see the heart and soul of the foundation that brought it to life. And I see its future—the endless possibilities of what this place can do for others, not just me. But the fact that it’s not fully mine weighs on me more than anything else in my life because it feels like someone is holding the keys to my dream and waving it in front of my face, taunting me. Which is why I’ve yet to find a suitable name for my business.
I dream of the day I can put up a sign out front declaring what’s mine. It will be more than a name, a symbol of all that I’ve accomplished on my own.
“You’re still a vision when you dance. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
I gasp and sit up, facing the door. Jamison stands there with his hands plunged into his dark-washed jeans pockets. He’s wearing a blue T-shirt and tan jacket, a stark contrast to his usual suited attire. It’s almost absurd how attractive the Bexley men are, but to me, Jamison’s the most gorgeous of them all.
I’m still catching my breath from the surprise of seeing him when I speak. “What are you doing here?”
He leans against the door frame, crossing one ankle over the other. So casually cool that I almost think I’m dreaming. How can he be so confident after our conversation last week? We were both so heated when he drove me back to my car in silence. Not a single word was uttered between us after I declined his job offer. I wouldn’t have been surprised if that had been the last time I saw him, but I guess I’m not surprised to see him now.
“I hated the way we ended things last week. You made it clear that you’re perfectly happy with your jobs. The last thing you need is me coming in and mucking your life up. So, I’m sorry. Hopefully we can end things on a better note this time.”
“End things?” I stand up and fold my arms across my chest. “I don’t understand what that means.”
“It just means that I won’t be making any more pit stops on my way to and from Orcas. No more stalking, I promise.” His tease causes my heart to squeeze. “I’ve thought a lot about what we talked about last week, and the last thing you need in your life is one more distraction. You’re a single mom, and you’re figuring out a path to your dreams just like you said you would. I’m proud of you, Vi.”
There’s another squeeze in my chest, this one lodging my heart into my throat. “That means a lot, Jami. Thank you. If it’s worth anything, I’m proud of you too.”
“That’s worth more than you’ll ever know.” He opens his mouth to say something and closes it again. “Alright, well—”
“Wait.” Adrenaline sends me forward, closing the space between us until he’s right in front of me. He’s still so tall that I have to stretch my neck to look into his eyes. “Can I hug you goodbye?”
His arms stretch out as easily as they used to. One step forward and he’s enclosing me in an embrace that feels too good to be real. My cheek falls to his chest, and I close my eyes while wrapping his middle as far as my hands will reach.
“I’m sorry.” It’s just a whisper into his chest, but by the tightening of his hug, I know he hears me. “You deserve the world, Jamison Bexley. I hope you know that.”
He gazes down at me with eyes I used to be able to read, but I don’t know if I’m capable of that anymore. At least, I don’t deserve what they might be expressing.
When he finally pulls away, it’s like the tearing of a bandage from sensitive skin. For the second time in my life, my heart breaks, but this time it’s not me walking away.
Chapter Eight
JAMISON
Working in downtown Seattle is a dream I never dared imagine until it actually came true. I still remember the day I signed the lease papers, securing the eighteenth floor of the 6,000 square-foot space on Fourth and Blanchard. The building itself is iconic, with its stark black exterior, sleek angled shape, and twenty floors, but the location blew all other options away.
My ego was the largest it had ever been the day I signed my life away on that dotted line and set out to make Bexley Financial Services the premier financial consulting company in the area. Purchasing the space was the riskiest financial move I have ever made, but I knew the only way to grow was to give us the room to do so.
I know that I’m a lucky bastard for all the success the company has had since. My ten-member crew has since tripled, and we’re only going up from here. We run like a machine now, which is why I’m able to spare my long weekends to commute to Orcas Island. Jared is perfectly capable of steering the ship in my absence.