Broken Miles

by Claire Kingsley

  We waited a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t going to puke up the Alka-Seltzer. Then I gave both men a glass of my emergency hangover smoothie. They looked at me like I was nuts. I couldn’t blame them, it was bright green.

  “Kale, lemon, ginger, cucumber, and pineapple,” I said. “Trust me. This works. Finish this, have some more coffee, and then another glass of water. And I’ll remind you to pee before the ceremony starts, because you’ll definitely need to.”

  I left Victor and Dirk to check on a few other details and when I came back, they both looked a little better. They had color in their cheeks, at least.

  I took my bag of man supplies out of a cupboard and started pulling things out. Deodorant, shaving cream, razors, clippers for stray neck hairs. I also had bandages, breath mints, a sewing kit, a Tide stick, several extra ties—bow and regular in assorted colors—beef jerky and a few mini bottles of Jack Daniels for my grooms who needed a quick shot of liquid courage to calm their nerves. I found what I was looking for and tossed them each a packet of pretzels. “If you think you can keep them down, eat these too. The salt helps.”

  “You keep all this stuff on hand?” Victor asked.

  “I like to be prepared,” I said. “Trust me, you’re not the first groom I’ve had to revive from the dead.”

  “You’re not going to tell Victoria, are you?” he asked.

  I gave him a reassuring smile. “Not a word.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “By the way, are you single? Dirk has a huge crush on you.”

  “Hey,” Dirk said, shooting a glare at Victor.

  I grinned at them. “That’s sweet, but I’m divorced and dating my ex-husband. You don’t want any of this drama.”

  Victor laughed—he probably thought I was kidding—and I was relieved to see his smile looked fairly natural. He’d do okay in the wedding photos.

  The wedding went off without a hitch. Or at least, without any hitches that I could have prevented. Dirk swayed on his feet during the ceremony, but thankfully he didn’t fall over. Victor held his shit together pretty well, although he did start to look a little green while he said his vows. Tequila or no tequila, I didn’t really blame him.

  Victoria cried so much her mascara ran everywhere. Apparently she hadn’t taken my advice to wear waterproof. I passed her maid of honor a small packet of tissues as they walked to the reception area so she could get her cleaned up.

  With the reception in full swing, my job was done. Jamie and a few other winery employees, as well as the caterer, would be here for the duration, but thankfully, I was free to go.

  Instead of leaving for home, I wandered into the small tasting room and sat down at the bar. It was impossible not to think about the night I’d had a drink—and done other things—with Roland in here. That hadn’t been very long ago, all things considered, but so much had changed.

  I thought about returning Roland’s call, but I wasn’t sure what to say. I needed time to let everything settle. Time to figure out what the hell I was doing. Hearing myself say it out loud—I’m divorced and dating my ex-husband—had been a little surreal.

  It was probably good that he’d gone back to San Francisco for a while. It gave us some space. Things had been happening so fast. Just a month or so ago, I’d been wondering how much longer he’d be around—trying to suppress my physical attraction to him. Now I’d plunged head first into a relationship with a man I thought I’d left behind for good.

  His words from earlier echoed in my memory. They’d been running through my head all day. Because you fucking gutted me. My world collapsed, and I didn’t know how to handle it.

  Leo’d told me Roland had been hurt when our marriage ended, but until I’d heard it from Roland, I hadn’t really believed it. And now that I knew, I wasn’t sure what to think. It called all my assumptions into question. And it made me wonder what role I’d played in the demise of our marriage.

  It was easy to lay all the blame at Roland’s feet. He’d been the one who’d worked too much. Who’d been so consumed with upping his pay grade that he’d completely lost touch with his wife.

  But things like this weren’t completely one-sided—not always, at least. Maybe most of the fault had been his, but I’d played a part. He’d seemed surprised to hear me say I’d felt like he didn’t have time for me. It seemed so obvious, how could he not have known? But had I ever told him? We’d fought about his work schedule, plenty of times. But had I ever told him why it bothered me? Why I hadn’t liked how much he was working, or how it had made me feel? Or had I assumed he should know better, and kept silent?

  It was mostly the latter. Our arguments hadn’t been productive discussions where either of us were being heard. More like yelling matches that had never solved anything. We’d fought about things, not the real issues behind them. Canceled dinner plans. Late nights at the office. But we’d never dealt with the real problems running beneath the surface.

  I’d spent the last four years believing that our divorce hadn’t affected Roland. And it had led me to the conclusion that I hadn’t mattered to him. He’d chosen his career over his wife, and from what I’d seen, he’d been perfectly content with his choice.

  Now I knew that wasn’t the case. He had been hurt, and I had meant something to him. I still did, and he wanted to give us another shot.

  I did too. I really did. I wanted it more than anything. But I was afraid I was setting myself up for heartbreak. Leaving Roland had nearly broken me the first time. I didn’t know how I’d survive something like that again.

  “Hey, kiddo,” Shannon said from the doorway.

  “Hi.”

  She came in and sat next to me. “The wedding seems to be going well.”

  “I think so,” I said. “The bride was difficult, and the groom and best man were so hungover, I wondered if they’d be able to stay upright for the ceremony. But it all seemed to work out.”

  “I’m sure you had something to do with that,” she said.

  “Just doing my job.”

  “And you’re very good at it,” she said. “We’re lucky to have you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Honestly, I feel like I’m the lucky one. All things considered.”

  Shannon smiled and reached out to squeeze my hand. “Zoe, can I be straightforward with you?”

  The way she said that made me nervous, but I nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

  “You’re going to wonder why I’m telling you this, but hang in there with me. I have a point.” She shifted on her stool. “I stayed with Lawrence for as long as I did because I thought I had to. At first, it was because of the kids. Roland was born less than a year after we were married. Ten years later, I had four. And I wasn’t just tied to him by our children. There was Salishan, too. I overlooked things I shouldn’t have because I was afraid of what would happen if I had to make it on my own.”

  “That’s understandable,” I said.

  “I suppose,” she said. “The problem is, I wasted a lot of time. And I was never really happy.”

  “You’re right, I do wonder why you’re telling me this.”

  She smiled. “I don’t want you and Roland to make the same mistake.”

  Involuntarily, I shrunk back. Was she saying she didn’t want me to be with her son? She’d never seemed to harbor hard feelings against me over the divorce. But maybe she didn’t want Roland and me to reconnect.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You bring out the best in my son,” she said. “I’ve been seeing glimmers of him again—of the man I tried to raise him to be. And I know it’s because of you. I don’t know what’s happening between the two of you, and you don’t have to tell me. But my son loves you. And honey, if you love him back, don’t give up on that. I was unhappy for years. I don’t want any of my children to live the way I did. So, if you love him, find a way. Take the chance, and don’t let go.”

  I took a deep breath. “Wow, thank you.”

  She slid off her stool and held out h
er arms for me. I got down and stepped into her hug.

  “No matter what happens, you’re still one of mine,” she said quietly. “You always will be.”

  Tears stung my eyes, but I bit my lip to hold them back. I hated crying in front of people. “Thanks. But shut up.”

  She pulled away and laughed. “I hope you don’t think I’m trying to meddle in your life. But I’ve been realizing lately that not speaking up has a way of becoming a very bad habit. I’m working on breaking it.”

  “Good for you.” I took another deep breath and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Since we’re speaking up, thank you for keeping me around even though I divorced your son.”

  She smiled again, tears shining in her eyes. “Of course, honey. Besides, I always knew you’d bring him back to me.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Roland

  It was late by the time I got to my condo in San Francisco. It was a clear night, and the lights of the city shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The view really was amazing. The city. The water. It was gorgeous.

  My house cleaner had kept her regular schedule, so the place was clean. She’d even emptied out the refrigerator before the food started going bad. Everything was as it should be.

  I wandered into the bedroom and put my bag down. Usually coming home after being away felt good. Relaxing. But this didn’t feel like home anymore. Nice as it was, there was no familiarity to it. I’d lived here for almost four years, but it was like the place wasn’t mine.

  Or maybe I was no longer the man who’d lived here.

  I’d tried to call Zoe, but it had gone to voicemail. She’d replied with a text, saying she was working. I wished I knew how she was feeling tonight. Mad at me, sure. I could handle her being mad if I knew I’d be going back with a chance to make things right. But I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure about anything, except that I fucking loved her, and I didn’t want to let her go.

  I was tired, but too keyed up to sleep, so I went into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of wine. It looked like something I’d probably picked up for a night when Farrah would be here. God, I hadn’t thought about her even once since I’d broken things off with her. Had I really been dating her the last time I was here? It was only a couple of months ago. But it was hard to fathom, now. What had I seen in her? I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter anymore.

  I poured a glass of wine and took it to the couch. Turned on the TV. The wine was expensive, but disappointing. My mom’s wines were rich and full-bodied, with hints of flavor that reminded me of home. This one was mediocre at best.

  Which basically described everything about my life in San Francisco.

  It hadn’t seemed that way before. I’d thought everything was perfect. I had a great job, lots of money. Condo with a view. Nice car. What else did a man need?

  But none of it had made me happy. I’d been smugly self-satisfied with my position in life. My resume looked great. But I’d been alone. There had been a void inside that I’d kept trying to fill with things. With power and money. With prestige and respect. But it had never worked. It was never enough.

  I set my wine down and went back to the bedroom. In the closet, I found the box with Zoe’s wedding ring. I pulled mine out of my wallet and added it to the box with hers. I stared at them for a long moment. The city lights shone through the windows of the dim bedroom, glinting off the gold.

  Zoe was the only thing that had ever made me feel whole. When I was with her, the void inside me went away. She filled my empty spaces. With her, everything felt right. It didn’t matter what kind of day I’d had. How many hours I’d worked, or what I’d left unfinished on my desk.

  When we’d been married, I’d lost sight of that. Focused on the wrong things. I’d been so consumed with achieving and earning more, I’d forgotten what it was to be content. To be truly happy.

  And I hadn’t been happy since she’d left me. At least, not until I’d gone home.

  As I stood in my two-million-dollar condo, staring at wedding rings that had probably cost two hundred, I realized something: This wasn’t home. Neither was Salishan Cellars, or Echo Creek. Home wasn’t my family’s land, or my mom’s house, or the town where I’d been raised.

  Zoe was home.

  She was home in every sense of the word. It wouldn’t matter where we lived, or where I worked. I belonged with her.

  I did want to step in and run Salishan. I was good at it—great, even—and despite years of telling myself otherwise, I enjoyed it. Being home had allowed me to reconnect with my family. Help my mom through a crisis. I’d realized how much I’d missed by being away. By letting resentment rule my life.

  But I didn’t resent Salishan. Not anymore. The only thing I resented was myself, for letting Zoe walk out of my life. I should have fought for her. I’d let her go, thinking there wasn’t anything I could do. I’d been hurt, and masked it with anger. Let anger lead. Just like my father.

  I was done with that. Done with letting resentment and anger permeate everything I did. Steal my chance at happiness. Zoe was my life, and she always had been. Regardless of everything else—my career, the winery, my family—I was going to find a way to make things work with Zoe. I couldn’t let her go again.

  So what the fuck was I doing here?

  There wasn’t anything for me in San Francisco. And if I stayed—if I kept my job here and split my time—I’d be just as busy as I’d ever been. Maybe more so. Zoe had been right to call me out on it. Just because I’d been juggling things for a while, didn’t mean it would work long-term.

  What would that life be like for her? She’d see me when I was in Echo Creek. But then I’d constantly have to leave her. The pressure to be here at least half the time would be huge. I wanted to believe I could find a way to make it work, but I kept coming back to the same question—why?

  Why did I want to make this work? Because I was afraid to commit to one path or the other? I really wasn’t. I knew I wanted Zoe, and if I had to go home swinging and fight to get her back, that was what I’d do. So why split my time at all? Why keep my life here? I didn’t want it. I wanted her.

  I felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. Maybe I had needed to be here again for it to sink in. See my old life in all its stark emptiness. Because I could see now how hollow it had been.

  I grabbed my laptop and went back to the couch. Took a sip of the mediocre wine. I needed to spend a few days here—go into the office and take care of things. Work with my boss on a transition plan. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t up and walk away. I had responsibilities to see to. But I wasn’t going to stay—not any longer than necessary.

  If I was going to make things work with Zoe—and I was fucking determined to do just that—I knew what I had to do. I had to commit to a life with her. Make her my priority. That’s where I’d screwed up the first time.

  And I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

  Twenty-Nine

  Zoe

  With the Cockburn wedding out of the way—I hoped the Cocksuckers would be blissfully happy together and never book Salishan for an event again—I took a few much-needed days off. I hung out at home—sans pants—binging Netflix and drinking wine. And it was mostly pretty great.

  But god, I missed Roland.

  We texted back and forth some, but didn’t talk about our argument. I hated leaving things unresolved, but it wasn’t the kind of thing we could deal with by thumb typing on our phones. He told me he was taking care of business there, whatever that meant. I imagined him back in his element. Dressed for work, meeting with all the other important people at his company.

  Uncertainty ate at me. I tried not to dwell on it, but unanswered questions hovered in the back of my mind. Was his plan going to work? Would his company let him split his time? What if they said no? What would he choose? I kept wondering if he was going to call and tell me he had to stay a few more weeks. And if that would turn into months. And if six months from now, I’d realize I’d been a
fool to trust him again.

  It made me retreat into myself. My answers to his texts were short. I felt like I needed to protect myself, guard what little of my heart I had left. He’d taken most of it with him and I wasn’t sure if I was ever getting it back.

  I went to work on Wednesday with a burst of motivation to clean my desk. It felt like it was time to start fresh. Get rid of all the stacks of crap I’d been holding onto, put things in their proper place, and enjoy a nice, clean workspace.

  I spent my morning going through all the stuff I’d been telling myself I’d put away later. Later had to come eventually, and for this girl, it was today. I scanned and filed invoices and contracts. Tossed old notebooks I didn’t need anymore. Threw away the numerous to-do lists I’d completed and left strewn about my desk.

  In the process, I found a coffee mug, a t-shirt that I’d somehow shoved in a drawer, two nail files, my favorite blue pen, and the phone case I’d thought I lost a few months ago.

  It took a while to get through everything, but when I finished, I stood back and looked at my lovely, pristine, organized desk. I felt lighter, like I’d tossed out baggage I no longer needed to carry.

  Cooper stopped by, and after a snarky remark about not realizing there had been a desk in this office, he took me to lunch. It was oddly relaxing to listen to his endless stream of chatter about the upcoming harvest. How he was routinely checking on his babies to see if they were ready. He was also taking a trip south soon to visit another large vineyard. We were sourcing a new variety of grapes this season, and he was like a little kid at Christmas over it.

  After lunch, I went back to the Big House. The hum of voices came from the tasting rooms, but otherwise it was quiet. I started up the stairs and Roland came barreling down so fast, he almost crashed into me.