Page 58 of Small Town Daddy

***

I gripped the steering wheel so tight my knuckles ached. The truck tore down the highway, the engine growling like it felt my fury. My phone sat on the dash, screen lit up with Lucy’s name in my call history. Voicemail again. Every time it rang out, my chest tightened another notch, nerves coiled so tight they felt ready to snap.

"Come on, Lucy," I muttered, slamming my palm against the wheel. "Pick up. Please."

Her last text—"I don’t understand . . . why would you do this?"—flashed over and over in my mind, a broken record that shredded me from the inside out. She thought I’d said those things. Thought I’d chosen Emily. Goddamn it.

I called her again. Straight to voicemail. My voice cracked as I left yet another message. “Lucy, listen to me. That message wasn’t me. Emily sent it. I swear to you—" My throat closed up.I swallowed hard. “I’m coming back. We’ll talk. Please, just hang tight.”

All my messages remained unread. Maybe she’d blocked me. Maybe she was just ignoring me. Either way, it felt like time was running out.

The streets of Small Falls blurred past in muted greens and greys as I barreled toward her house. Closer now. Almost there. My gut told me something was wrong—had been wrong since the second I saw that message—but I refused to believe it. Not until I saw for myself.

When I turned onto her street, the sight of the moving truck hit me like a punch to the ribs. It was parked at an angle in her driveway, its back open, boxes stacked inside. Vanessa stood by the tailgate, clipboard in hand, chatting with one of the movers.

I slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop. Gravel crunched underfoot as I jumped out, leaving the door hanging wide open. "Vanessa!” My voice came out sharper than I meant, but I didn’t care. “What the hell is going on?”

She looked up, startled, then folded her arms across her chest. “Marcus. Didn’t expect you to show up.” Her tone was neutral, but her eyes were wary. Protective.

"Where’s Lucy?” I demanded, striding closer. My boots scraped against the pavement. “Why is there a damn truck here?”

Vanessa sighed, tilting her head. “She decided to sell the house. Buyers wanted a quick closing, so,” She gestured to the truck like that explained everything.

"She what?” My voice dropped, rough and low. The words barely made it past the knot in my throat.

"Left this morning,” she added, softer now. Like she was trying to cushion the blow. “Didn’t say much except she needed a fresh start.”

"Did she tell you where she was going?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. My pulse pounded loud in my ears.

Vanessa shook her head slowly, sympathy written all over her face. “No forwarding address. Just said she had to go.”

It felt like the ground gave way beneath me. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest, spreading fast. "Damn it." I raked a hand through my hair, pacing a tight line. “She didn’t even wait for me to explain. To fix this.”

Suddenly, it hit me.

I knew what I had to do.

Chapter 16

Lucy

Icouldn’t believe whatI’d done.

I sat hunched over in the corner of The Daily Grind, my fingers clutching Mr. Whiskers like a lifeline. His soft, worn fur pressed into my palms, grounding me in the chaos of my mind. Coffee and cinnamon lingered in the air, but even the familiar comfort of Marie’s shop couldn’t touch the ache in my chest. Emily's face flashed in my thoughts again, smug and victorious. My stomach churned.

I’d sold my Dad’s house to a development company.

I’d sold my childhood.

"Hey,” Marie said softly. She slid into the seat across from me, her curls bouncing as she tilted her head to catch my eye. “You remember old Mr. Thompson? The guy who tried to start a yoga class in the goat paddock out by the river?”

"Yep," I murmured, not looking up. My voice sounded flat, even to me.

"Turns out he didn’t realize goats eat everything, including yoga mats. They had his whole setup shredded before the first class even started." She chuckled, the sound light and warm.

I blinked, vaguely aware that she was waiting for a reaction. "That’s . . . something," I mumbled, staring at the frayed stitching on Mr. Whiskers' ear.

I knew what she was trying to do. Trying to get me to open up. But I’d barely said a word to her since coming in. I was meant to be here to say goodbye, I was even failing at that.

---