CHAPTER TWELVE
Lennon
I’m bone-tired. The kind of exhaustion that makes your limbs feel like they’re moving in a pool of mud. My legs twinge from running up and down, and my arms are aching from hauling tables and supplies. Even my voice feels strained from hours of shouting directions and cheering on the volunteers.
But the worst of it isn’t physical.
It’s the weight pressing on my chest as Mike, Jennifer, and I sit at the worn wooden table in the theater office, surrounded by cash, receipts, and donation forms. The bustling energy of the fundraiser has drained away, leaving behind silence and a dull throb in my temples.
The day had been a success, or at least, everyone kept saying that. The parking lot was packed. The indie movie premiere was a huge hit. The audience gave it a standing ovation. We also got press coverage. Mike and Jennifer were busy for a couple of hours giving TV interviews and talking with a few news reporters. The theater story is everywhere.
Kids laughed and played at the craft station, while families snapped pictures under the recently cleaned marquee.
Our amazing volunteers, God bless them, worked like a well-oiled machine, running from one task to the next without any complaints.
On the surface, the event was perfect. Like we’d materialize some kind of miracle.
But as I sift through the pile of cash, my stomach churns.
“With this,” Mike says, his voice weary but steady, “we can pay the electricity bill and maybe half the taxes, Lennon. Jennifer and I need to head back and try to work out a deal for the property taxes. They always say no, but maybe we’ll catch a miracle this time.”
I nod slowly, staring at the numbers scrawled across the yellow notepad before me. The neat rows of figures are mocking in their finality. We’d pushed ourselves to the brink, rallied an entire community, and still… it’s not enough.
Jennifer leans back in her chair, her hand pressed to her forehead like she’s trying to hold herself together. “I thought we’d do better,” she whispers, her voice tinged with guilt… and shame. “All those people, all that effort…” She trails off, shaking her head.
“It’s not your fault,” I say quickly, hating how my voice sounds hollow. “You both worked so hard. Everyone did. This…” I gesture to the table. “This isn’t because of us. It’s the system, the fucking big chains. We are fighting against massive corporations. It’s unfair.”
Mike gives a humorless chuckle, rubbing his temples. Poor guy. “Unfair doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He sighs, looking at me with tired eyes. “You’ve done enough, Lennon. More than enough. Maybe it’s time to let it go.”
Let it go. Let this go.
The words hit me like a wrecking ball right on the sternum.
“No,” I say sharply, my spine straightening despite the exhaustion weighing me down. “We’re not giving up. This place…” My voice cracks, and I have to swallow hard before continuing. “This place means too much. To all of us. To the community. We’ll figure it out.”
Jennifer reaches across the table, her hand settling over mine. Her touch is warm, grounding, but the look in her eyes is something else—pity, hesitation, something that makes my stomach twist.
“You’ve done so much already,” she says softly, her voice a gentle push against the storm inside me. “More than anyone else would have. But… there’s something you need to know.”
What now?
The words slam into me like a freight train. I want to scream, to push back. I want to tell her I’m at my limit, but my lips stay pressed shut, my pulse hammering in my ears.
She slides another donation form across the wooden surface. My fingers tighten around the edge. I’m reluctant to read it, almost afraid. I blink twice, my vision blurring as I force myself to read the name printed at the top.
Ruben Posada.
No.
This has to be a mistake. A trick.
I scan the form again, my breath locking in my chest. There’s no listed amount, but Jennifer’s already done the work, already unearthed the number that’s now staring me in the face, shaking my world apart.
Fifty thousand dollars.
The words don’t register. My brain refuses to compute, refuses to accept what’s right in front of me.
“What?” It’s barely a whisper, more breath than sound, because oxygen isn’t reaching my lungs fast enough to form anything stronger.
Jennifer nods, her expression unreadable. “It’s unbelievable,” she admits. “I had to check twice.”
I shake my head. “Jenni…” My throat tightens, closing around my words. “This could be another trick.”
I know where Ruben is coming from. I dug into his background and found the strings he’s tied to, the loyalties he serves. This—this has to be leverage, another calculated move to tilt the scales in his favor.
Mike leans forward, arms crossed over his chest, his tone firm. “His bank processed the transaction.” He shrugs. “The money’s on the way.”
The words knock the air out of me.
I jerk my hand back, the sudden need to move, to escape, making my skin itch. The room is suffocating, pressing in on me from all sides. I push my chair back. My pulse has a wild, erratic beat in my ears.
“I need some air,” I mutter, grabbing my jacket and heading for the door.
The cool night air rushes against my flushed skin. The marquee lights cast a soft glow over the sidewalk, flickering like a heartbeat in the darkness.
I wrap my arms around myself, breathing deep, steadying the chaos inside me.
The numbers don’t lie.
Even after tonight’s success, the theater is still drowning. We’re barely keeping our heads above water, and every day feels like a battle we’re one step away from losing. The money Ruben donated will help, but my mind refuses to let me accept it.
Because it doesn’t make sense.
Because it changes everything.
I stare at the building in front of me, the walls that hold decades of memories, the dreams and sacrifices poured into every brick. This place is more than a theater—it’s history and legacy. It’s home.
And I’ll be damned if I let it slip through my fingers.
I’m not giving up.
Not yet.
Not ever.
First, I’m going to save the theater.
Then, I’ll deal with the feeling clawing its way into my chest, the complication I never asked for, never wanted.
Fuck the man.
? ? ?
The warm, buttery scent of freshly baked cookies pulls me in the moment I step through the door. For a second, I forget the ache in my shoulders, the tightness in my chest. I forget the numbers on the spreadsheets, the flickering marquee, and the way Mike’s words— it’s not enough —still echo in my head.
I close the door behind me as quietly as I can, but the creak of the old hinges betrays me.
“Lennon?” Nikki’s voice floats from the kitchen, light and teasing. “Get in here before these cookies are all gone. Jeanette seems to be eating for two!”
I can’t help but smile, the kind of smile that’s small and weary but genuine. I drop my bag by the door and shuffle into the kitchen, my feet dragging just a little.
Nikki is perched on the counter, barefoot and wrapped in one of her oversized sweaters, her brown curls pulled into a French braid. She’s cradling a glass of wine in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other. Jeanette is at the table, swirling the last bit of red wine in her glass, her dark eyes sharp and curious as she watches me.
“You’re late,” Jeanette says, raising an eyebrow. “And you look like you just fought a war.”
“Close enough,” I reply, sinking into the chair across from her.
Without a word, Nikki hops off the counter and sets a fresh glass of wine in front of me, along with a plate of cookies still warm from the oven.
“Eat,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. “And talk. How’d it go?”
I take a sip of the wine first, letting the velvety flavor roll over my tongue. Then I reach for a cookie. Nikki is an amazing baker; her macadamia nut cookies are out of this world.
“It was a success,” I say finally, my voice soft. “At least, it felt like one. The food trucks were busy, the stands sold out, and the movie was packed. Everyone seemed happy.”
“Except you,” Jeanette says, tilting her head. Gosh, it feels like I brought a dark black cloud to the kitchen.
I glance at her, and the weight of her gaze makes me look away. “It’s just… it’s not enough,” I admit. “Even with everything we made tonight, we’re still so far behind. The taxes alone are…” I trail off, shaking my head.
“Let’s not talk about the theater,” Nikki says suddenly, sliding into the seat next to me. “Not tonight. Tonight, we’re celebrating.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Jeanette cuts me off. “She’s right. You’ve been running yourself ragged over this. You deserve a break.”
“A break doesn’t pay the bills,” I mutter, but I let them steer the conversation away from the theater anyway.
For a while, we talk about nothing and everything—Nikki’s latest disaster in the dating world, Jeanette’s endless tales from her job at the doctor’s office, the ridiculousness of the latest reality show they’re obsessed with.
But eventually, the conversation makes a loop and lands on him.
“So,” Nikki says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “The lawyer.”
I freeze at the mention of Reuben with the cookie halfway to my mouth. “What about him?”
Jeanette smirks, leaning forward. “Don’t play dumb. Something tells me he was at the fundraiser tonight.”
What? Does she own a crystal ball now?
“And?” I try to sound casual, but my voice comes out tighter than I intended.
“And,” Nikki drawls, drawing out the word, “what was he doing there?”
They exchange a glance, silently deciding who gets to press the issue.
“He wants to get the theater for his client.” That’s the truth. Well, part of it.
“Maybe…” Jeanette trails off in a teasing tone. “Maybe he’s looking for something else. Maybe he’s interested in you.”
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “He’s not interested in me. He’s interested in the theater. Or in taking it away, even if he donated some money today.”
Nikki’s lips curl into a smirk. “Oh, a pity donation, I’m sure. One Benjamin?”
“Fifty thousand dollars,” I blurt before my brain has the time to stop the words.
Both of them gasp.
“This means nothing. This is no more than a tax deduction. The damn man is playing with me. With us! It’s infuriating.”
“Lennon,” Jeanette says after a pause, sharing a knowing look with Nikki. Her tone turns serious. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”
I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. “It doesn’t matter what I believe,” I say finally. “There’s more. Something you don’t know.”
“We’re all ears,” Jeanette says.
And with that, I tell them what I found the other day while looking up Ruben online.
It feels like summoning ghosts, their presence looming over the kitchen ceiling. They know what happened. They know how I feel.
“But what if he’s different?” Nikki presses. “What if he’s worth the fight?”
My chest tightens. Some things belong in sealed boxes in the attic, never to be opened again.
“It’s not that easy,” I whisper, staring down at the glass of wine in my hands.
Jeanette reaches across the table, her hand resting lightly on mine. “Lennon, you deserve to be happy. You deserve to let someone in. You’ll have to do it at some point.”
I look up at her, my vision blurring with unshed tears. “Because it’s not just about him,” I say, my voice breaking. “It’s about everything he represents. The theater. The war I’ve been fighting for so long. If I let him in—if I let myself feel something for him—what happens when it all falls apart? What if he just wants a fling? Would it be worth it?”
Neither of them has an answer for that. My friends love me, but they aren’t fairy godmothers with magic wands, ready to fix everything with a sprinkle of stardust.
“What about Dr. Anderson?” Nikki asks. These two know way too much about my life. I told them about dinner with Jason. Even if I kept to myself the part where Ruben messed everything up just by being there.
“Jason?” I chuckle a little bit, feeling the effect of the wine. “He’s nice.”
“ Aaaaaaaaand ?”
Jeanette knows what the problem is. The gleam in her dark eyes gives her thoughts away, then she elbows Nikki. “She doesn’t like them nice these days.”
I don’t honor that statement with an answer, just roll my eyes, and the three of us laugh our asses off. The conversation shifts after that, back to lighter topics, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift. When I finally excuse myself and head upstairs, my legs feel like Play-Doh.
The shower is a blessing. The hot water washes away the grime of the day, and the tension in my muscles eases just a little. I close my eyes, letting the steam surround me, and for a moment, I let my mind drift.
I imagine a world where fate isn’t trying to destroy the memories I love. A world where the theater is safe, its marquee shining bright, its halls filled with laughter, and the smell of popcorn fills the place. A world where Ruben isn’t my enemy but… something else.
I picture us at the park, a warm afternoon with the sun shining overhead. We have a picnic blanket spread out on the grass, the smell of fresh bread and ripe strawberries in the air. Ruben is there, his smile easy and warm, his laugh like music.
In the cloud of steam around me, I let myself dream for the first time in a long time.
When I finally crawl into bed, my hair still damp, and my heart still heavy, the dream lingers.
And as I drift off to sleep, I hold onto it.