But when it comes to Shayleigh Jackson, my no-regrets attitude stops there. I screwed up royally where she’s concerned. Then I made another mistake when I let her shut me out of her life.

Now after more than a decade living in different time zones, I’m coming home to Jackson Harbor. My first priority is keeping my daughter away from the media circus in Los Angeles, but the moment I see Shay, I know something else brought me back here. Now I’ll stop at nothing to win her back.

So what if she won’t speak to me? So what if she’s changed? So what if she’s fallen for some douchebag professor? I’ve never gotten over her, and I know she feels the same about me.

I’ve let her go twice. I won’t make that mistake again.

Dedication

For all my readers who want to visit Jackson Harbor.

I’ll meet you at Jackson Brews.

Shay

I was seven when I fell in love with Easton Connor. He was four years older than me and best friends with my brother Carter, but that didn’t matter to me. I never thought of him as too old back then. Never thought of him as off-limits.

When I fell off my bike while racing down the street after my brothers, it was Easton who circled back to help me. Easton who took me inside, helped me clean the bits of gravel out of my knee, and then dabbed it with hydrogen peroxide. Easton who turned my tears into laughter by telling me about Carter’s inability to speak every time he saw his crush in class.

I decided right then that I was going to marry Easton. Because I was seven and didn’t understand the realities of romantic love. Because Easton hadn’t yet become the Easton Connor. Because I hadn’t hit puberty and become chubby Shay. Because I still believed in fairytales, I believed I would marry this boy with the light brown hair and blue-green eyes.

It was my secret. One I vowed to keep to myself until the time was right. Easton didn’t know my plans.

And I had no idea he’d break my heart.

Part I.

Shay

April 27th, draft night, thirteen years ago

“Shay!” Easton hoists a shot glass in the air and wriggles it in offering. “Tequila? What do you say?”

Carter spins on him and frowns. “What the fuck, man? Don’t give my little sister alcohol.”

“Shit, sorry,” Easton says, but his mischievous eyes are on me as he says, “I always forget she’s so young.”