By Tristan Kane
James Reynolds isn’t just the guy next door.
He’s the man who sees what others miss. The kind who holds space without needing to fill it, who listens deeper than most people speak. But he didn’t become that man by accident. James was forged through heartbreak — not just romantic, but personal, spiritual, and generational.
When I first started writing Two Doors Down, I didn’t realize I was writing James as a mirror. He’s not perfect. He’s not flashy. He doesn’t come in and “fix” anything. But he’s steady. And that steadiness is born from pain — from being let down, from trusting the wrong people, from carrying too much without asking for help. From loving deeply and being left anyway.
James has been betrayed. By people who should have had his back. By people who said they loved him but didn’t know how to choose him. And so, like a lot of men who’ve been through too much too young, he learned to carry it quietly. His strength isn’t loud — it’s subtle. It’s in the way he shows up, even when it hurts. It’s in how he notices the little things, the things Christy’s husband never did. The way she winces when she laughs. The hesitation in her voice when she talks about her dreams.
What matters most about James isn’t what he says. It’s what he doesn’t have to.
In Two Doors Away, we go even deeper into his story. The emotional cracks he’s patched over. The relationships that shaped his belief that he’d always be second place — to someone else, to someone’s career, to someone’s comfort zone. He’s not bitter. But he’s broken. And part of what makes Two Doors Away so special is watching him begin to believe he’s worthy of more. That maybe love isn’t supposed to be earned through pain.
James matters because he’s proof that men feel deeply. That masculinity can be quiet. And that healing is possible — not by being rescued, but by finally allowing someone in.
He doesn’t need to be flashy to be powerful.
He just needs to be real.
And that’s why readers love him.
— Tristan