I blink as she storms away, that newly golden hair of hers blowing out behind her and that silly suitcase banging across the boardwalk in her wake.

“Wait a second. Ivy-” I jog after her, snagging her arm and pulling her back around.

“Hang on a sec-”

“I did, Silas!”

When she whirls on me, there’s fire and a pain in her eyes that I’ve never seen before.

It’s a look that kills me.

I never had to see the rage. I could picture the sadness and the anger, about a million fucking times over the years.

But I never got to see it right there in front of my face.

Not after I left.

Not after the night that changed fucking everything. The night that shattered the perfection I’d held in my hands for a brief second before it all streamed away like the blood and rain of that night. I never had to look her in the eyes after that last time in the hospital lobby.

I left because of the heat, but also because I couldn’t bear to hurt the only real family I’d ever known any more than I had after that night. It was bad enough that I was dating Jacob Hammond’s daughter - me, the wrong guy from the wrong side of town with one of his princesses.

But after that night, and the crash, and Rowan?

Yeah.

I was nineteen, and stupid, and afraid. And I left the girl I loved more than anything in this world, three days after marrying her.

That was eight fucking years ago.

‘Course, the pain of leaving was bad enough, but seeing how fast she moved on hurt even more. Even with the letter I left her, a month after I’d gone, she was off at college like she’d planned. Three months after that, she was with someone new.

She never did write me back.

So I stayed away, and I buried myself in the life I always said I’d never dive into. Five fucking years pulling jobs for Declan’s people in Dublin, earning a reputation as the best lift-man in town.

I’d only thought about coming back about a hundred times, but the only things worth coming back for were her, and the rest of the Hammond family. The rest of them had written me off.

She’d moved on.

And just like that, I’d lost anything that would have brought me back, until now.

And now here I am, in the town I left fucking years ago, in front of the girl whose heart I broke.

The girl who shattered mine.

Goddamn she looks amazing. I mean, the hair, the makeup, the clothes - they might not quite be the “her” I knew, but damn does she look good. Besides, the girl I knew stopped being the girl I “knew” the minute I left.

I know who she is these days. Yes, Ireland has the fucking internet. I know about the seminars, the web series, the cookbook, the YouTube channel, the Instagram account full of fucking all-juice diets and holiday crafts and goddamn endless pictures of her looking just this side of sexy posing all over the damn place in yoga gear.

Yeah, I know this isn’t the same girl, because I’ve watched her become the woman she is now, knowing I’d fucked that up.

She turns back and starts walking down the boardwalk again, and I follow.

“Where are you going?”

“Home, Silas. I’m m going home and away from you and this asinine conversation.”

“Do you want a ride or something?”

We’re at the end of the pier and she turns and barks out a laugh. “Not a chance.”

I nod at the beat-up old pickup truck parked behind her, and she stiffens.

“You still have that?”

I shrug. “Declan kept it, miraculously. I think he forgot it was in the garage or he’d have sold it for whiskey or cards about twelve hours after I-”

I stop short, realizing how easily I’m falling into the same sort of banter and ease that I knew eight years before.

“After you left?” she says sharply.

My jaw tightens. “Look, I’ll give you a ride. There’s-” I look away. “There’s a lot to tell-”

“Nope, no need,” Ivy says brusquely. “I’m getting a ride from Stella, and besides,” her eyes narrow on me, that fire burning fiercely. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend.”

I know I have zero right to own the anger and the raw fury I feel at the mention of that word, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to keep my temper from roaring up inside.

Of course, I know about the boyfriend - Blaine. The fucking douchebag with the bleached white teeth and the goddamn ponytail that’s always popping up in her social media posts. The smarmy looking prick with the store-bought tan and the magazine smile.

The guy she’s clearly head over heels for.

The guy that was me, in another life.

“I can’t believe you came back here,” she says quietly, her voice like shattered ice as she slowly shakes her head at me.

“I told you, I came-”

“I don’t care,” she says sharply. “But whatever you think you’re looking for? Whatever ‘big conversation’ you think we’re going to have? Whatever bullshit answer you have for fucking me over all those years ago?” Her eyes narrow into mine, her face a mask of cold fury as she brushes hair back from it.

“Forget about it.” She blinks twice. “I have.”

She turns again on her high-heels and starts to march down Commercial Street, her suitcase rolling loudly behind her.

“Go back to Ireland, Silas,” she calls over her shoulder.

And then she’s gone.

Again.