Page 7 of When We Are Complete

She rolls her eyes, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Stop being weird.”

I laugh, resisting the urge to ruffle her hair like I used to when she was little. “Alright, alright. But I mean it—we’re in this together.”

“Yeah, okay.” She shakes her head, but wears the smallest hint of a smile, and for a second, the distance between us doesn’t feel quite so big.

“Look, I’ll call you in a couple of hours and see how you’re doing. And don’t forget. School tomorrow isnotoptional.”

She steps back into her room, and I hope tomorrow will be kinder to her.

I grab my keys and head out, closing the front door with a quiet click. The coastal air greets me—salty and fresh. Before I climb into my truck, I take a moment to let the silence wash over me, a brief pause before the day’s demands kick in.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that, more than a decade later, the ache for Kelly still lingers.

With a last glance at the house, I start the engine and head down the quaint roads of Harbor’s Edge, my thoughts echoing a silent promise to fix this thing with my daughter, to figure it out, somehow.

Chapter 4

Jake

I pullup outside Tanner Construction and kill the engine. The building is modest, a simple structure with weathered wood siding. A dozen or so vehicles are scattered across the lot, each one belonging to an employee—my crew, my second family—who count on me for their livelihood.

I prefer to be the first one in and the last one out when I don’t have Adele, and at least on-time when I have her. But I don’t rush in, instead sitting behind the wheel a moment longer—another few minutes won’t make a difference when I’m already late—thinking about my life.

I’m glad Jenny and I split when we did. Our marriage was wrong from the start, one born from obligation due to a surprise pregnancy, and it was impossible to square no matter how much we tried to force it. I was never really in love with her.

Not when someone else had already found their place in my heart.

But all of that’s ancient history.

Kelly’s been gone from Harbor’s Edge for so long. None of our mutual friends even fill me in on what she’s up to, knowing it’s a sore spot. It’s probably better that way.

And even though Jenny and I got divorced, we’ve found our rhythm now, co-parenting like two pros. Jenny’s got someone new, someone good for her, and Adele’s half-brothers look up to her as though she was always meant to be their big sister. That part of life is working out, but even knowing all that, it’s hard to shake the feeling that I’ve gone wrong somewhere along the way.

I think about Adele, my bright, stubborn, quick-to-laugh daughter who I know is still in there, hidden behind her teenage bad mood. But as much as I love her, as much as being her dad is the best thing I’ve got going, there’s still a part of me that feels… empty.

I can try to fill it with all my obligations, with late nights and early mornings, but deep down, I know it’s not enough. There’s a part of me still searching, still aching for somethingmore.

But I’m not going to find the answers today, staring out my windshield.

“Time to shift to work mode,” I say to myself, pushing the truck door open and finally stepping out onto the sidewalk. My boots hit the ground, and I stand there for a moment longer, looking at my company’s office. I built this from the ground up, and we’re doing well, but there’s still so much to do if we’re going to maintain our success. There’s no such thing as rest if you want to keep things in the black.

“Morning, boss!” someone calls out from the parking lot, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Morning,” I reply, heading inside to the sound of people on the phone and others chatting around tables spread with blueprints and plans.

“Jake!” Mark Green calls out from behind his desk. He’s built like a linebacker and barely shaves. “Got the new shipment in.”

“Good,” I reply, walking over to exchange firm handshakes.

I make my rounds, offering handshakes to the rest of the team. As I pass Sarah Brummitt, one of my project managers, she catches my eye. She’s sharp and efficient, with her dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and the kind of no-nonsense attitude that gets things done. But she’s also got a softness about her, the kind that comes from raising kids while juggling a demanding job—she knows we’re all just doing our best.

“Everything alright?” Her eyes narrow in on me. After working together for years, she reads me like a book.

I try to shrug it off. “Another morning with teenagers.”

“Solidarity.” Her expression is sympathetic—she’s got two teenage boys. “We’re living with mini tornadoes, all attitude and mess.”

“Exactly.”