🍎 Thirty Seven

Layla stood frozen in the kitchen staring at the closed door, unable to do anything but let Dawson's words spin around in her mind. He'd been out of the room before she could even try to fix what she'd broken. Even if he'd given her the chance, she wasn't sure it would have matteredβ€”the look on his face had been so cold, his voice so disgusted.

Whatever feelings he had for her were no doubt gone now. It was like the story he'd told her, how he'd walked in that room and fallen out of love. Only this time he hadn't been in love, and now there was no chance he ever would be. By trying to play things safe, Layla ruined everything they had.

Maybe leaving was the best thing she could do for him, and maybe that's what really mattered. She'd only been thinking of herself, thinking of what was best for her. To stay, to leaveβ€”every time she'd weighed the options in her mind it had been from a selfish perspective. Would she always think that way, trained into self-preservation and all the narcissistic side effects?

Maybe she'd been stupid to think things could ever be different. An animal raised in captivity could never be released to the wild, and Layla would never be made for the life she wanted to live. Not when she would always be so selfish.

She should pack up her things, get in her car, and start the long drive back to New York. But how could she possibly go back? She'd been content in her old life before she knew things could be different. She could have friends, her work could feel important. Someone could see her as more than just Foster Fitness.

Instead of any of that, she'd be going back to a loveless relationship and a business that would never belong to her. And in the back of her mind there would always be Dawson, the man who showed her she was worth more than just her use.

She wiped at her tear-coated face, and finally turned away from the door. If she left now, she wouldn't be able to bring herself to come back. She knew that much. Things would never be the same in New York, and after today they'd never be the same here. The only thing left to do was accept the damage she'd done, or try to fix it.

Dawson was taking inventory of the mulch for the upcoming winter when Jack entered the supply barn, nodding in greeting. The weather had really started to cool down in the past few days, but the breeze that followed his brother inside did nothing to ease the burning inside of him.

He hadn't even had thirty damn minutes to calm down from what happened with Layla yet, and Jack was about the last person he expected to help with his mood. Inside he was still reeling, aching with the knowledge that when he got back to the house, she'd most likely be gone. And he'd all but told her to get lost, so who's fault was that?

It didn't matter what he said or didn't say. She was leaving anyways. He wasn't sure it would have made a difference if he got down on his knees and started begging. Still, it wasn't as if he tried, even for a second, to convince her to stay. No, he'd been hurt and angry and lashed out like usual.

"I thought you would've finished this an hour ago," Jack came up beside Dawson to read the paperwork on the clipboard in his hands.

"Well I finished it now." Dawson shoved the clipboard at Jack's chest, walking past as he grabbed it. He didn't want to be hostile, especially after they'd managed to be civilized the other night. But his bad mood was like a poison, and he was dying to let go of some of the venom. "I hate when you read over my shoulder."

Jack muttered under his breath, "I was just checking if the numbers looked right."

Dawson turned on his heel to face his brother again. "If you want to check the numbers, why don't you just count the fucking mulch bags in the first place?"

Jack shook his head, rolling his eyes at the low blow and letting out an annoyed huff. "You're in a great mood this morning."

"No thanks to you. You might come in and ask me how I am, Jack, how my day's been so far. Instead the first thing you do is check my work and insult me for not finishing it sooner."

"I'm sorry if the fact that I care about our business upsets you."

"Well good, because it does. Because it's the only thing you or anyone else ever seems to care about. Business, business, and more fucking business." He pulled off his baseball cap, ran a hand through his hair. "Before we ate dinner in your office, when the hell was the last time you and me hung out and talked about anything other than the orchard? Apart from updating the goddamn garden once a season, do you do anything other than work?"

"Someone around here has to take care of stuff, or else the place would fall apart." Jack's jaw clenched, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "It's more than just picking apples and fertilizing soil, not that you would know."

The sting of that one had his body itching for a fight again. If he didn't get out of here, he was about to make yet another situation a whole lot worse. "Alright, fine. Perfect. If my work is so pointless, then it won't matter if I take the day off."

"Take the rest of your life off, for all I care," Jack spat out as Dawson left the shed, storming down the path to the manor. He'd get in his truck, drive into town, and likely spend the rest of the day moping at the bar. Better than sticking around and ending up in a fist fight with his own brother, and even better that he wouldn't have to worry about running into Layla before she left. She'd be gone when he got back for sure, and he'd start the long, long process of trying to forget her.

The voice he heard as he came around the front of the house only had his blood boiling hotter. Colin spoke evenly, phone against his ear as he faced the road, leaning against a shiny red Porsche.

He leaned down to brush dust off one of his shiny loafers. "Yeah, you're breaking up too. The signal here's for shit. Long story short, I told her the bullshit she needed to hear. The merger will still happen, so don't get a trigger finger on anything. Just play it cool and everything will be sorted out tomorrow, Dad. Promise."

Dawson walked over as Colin said goodbye and tucked the phone into his pocket. As he turned to meet Dawson's fiery gaze, a smirk planted itself firmly on his face.

"Come to say goodbye?"

"I already said goodbye," he said flatly as he passed Colin to get to his truck. He'd never before felt like such an animal, like he wanted to reach out and tear someone to shreds. "Do yourself a favor and get the hell off my property, Colin."

"Just as soon as Layla finishes packing."

Earlier in the hallway Dawson had swallowed his anger for Layla's sake. He'd held back his words and his fists because he didn't want her to have to deal with the aftermath. The ironic thing was, now that he didn't have to hold back, there wasn't any point in letting loose.

Layla made her choice, and it wouldn't make a difference if her fiancΓ© was bruised and bloody while he helped her load her bags into the trunk of her car. She'd no doubt seen the worst of Colin, and yet still she picked him over Dawson. That hurt Dawson worse than anything he could do to Colin. So what the hell was the point?

He opened the door of his truck, only pausing for a second to send the polished man one last glare. He wanted to say something, ask him to tell Layla that he hoped she'd be happy, that it was worth it. Instead, he stepped up into his track and slammed the door, peeling out to Red View.

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