CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Lennon
The last week has been amazing, even if I’m running on fumes most days. Between long shifts at the hospital and practically living at the theater, I don’t remember the last time I had a moment to myself. Not that I’m complaining. It’s the kind of exhaustion that comes from doing something meaningful.
Mike and Jennifer keep insisting I take the lead on decisions. They’ve said it so often I can practically hear their voices in my head. You’re younger, Lennon, and you have a fresh vision. I don’t entirely know what that means, but I guess I’ve faked my way through it convincingly enough.
The air smells like sawdust and varnish as I step into the theater today, and the noise hits me in a rush. Classic rock blasts from a portable speaker, competing with the rhythmic hammering and the occasional metallic screech of a saw. The workers call out to each other, their voices bouncing off the vaulted ceiling. The space feels alive, buzzing with the energy of transformation.
In the main room, scaffolding towers reach toward the ornately carved wooden ceiling, where workers are meticulously restoring the old coating. The chandelier—massive and dripping with glass crystals—has been disassembled and hauled out to the parking lot, where another team is cleaning each piece by hand and polishing the brass.
When the ceiling is finished, the walls will be painted a rich cream color to highlight the gold accents in the woodwork and the murals. After that, the seats come in—a delivery I’m probably more excited about than I should be. They’ve been reupholstered in a deep red velvet that Ruben swears is both luxurious and indestructible.
Ruben had the idea to incorporate a library into one of the smaller rooms after a trip to El Ateneo in Buenos Aires. It’ll focus on romance novels, especially indie authors. I’ve already started curating a list of books, and I’m quietly dreaming of the day I see readers lounging in plush chairs, lost in their favorite stories.
The other smaller room will be an event venue, complete with a separate entrance. A private space for ceremonies will be on the second floor, with plenty of flexibility to host anything from weddings to corporate galas. Elena, Ruben’s sister, suggested we diversify to create multiple streams of income. Smart.
When I step into the main room, Mike waves me over. “You’ve gotta see this,” he says, pointing up at the ceiling.
One of the workers is applying a layer of polish to the wood, and the light catches just right, making the carvings glow. It’s stunning.
“It’s coming together,” I say, grinning.
“More than that,” Mike replies. “It’s a damn masterpiece.”
The community has been rallying behind us in ways I never expected. Georgina Alvarez, whose family owns the barbershop down the street, booked the venue for her wedding the second she heard we were taking reservations. She and her fiancé even came by with a deposit and a promise to let us use their photos for promotional materials.
“We’re doing this big,” Georgina told me, practically vibrating with excitement. “And everyone will know this is the it place for weddings.”
We’ve started curating a list of preferred vendors, too. The restaurants on the block are offering catering packages, and Erin, Gabriel’s wife, and her company are handling all the floral designs and rentals. She’s already shown me a lot of pictures from the events she has worked on. Her taste is exquisite and I’m pretty sure they’ll be a hit.
Mrs. Huang’s bakery has turned into the unofficial morale booster for everyone involved, and of course, our main sweets supplier. She showed up yesterday with three dozen cookies and announced she’d be baking a cake every week until the project is done.
Today, she’s out front with a group of neighbors, debating paint colors. The businesses on the street have collectively decided to repaint their storefronts to match the theater’s color palette. Mrs. Huang has appointed herself the unofficial project manager, and she’s armed with swatches and unshakable determination.
“No, no, no!” she exclaims, waving a swatch of deep blue in one hand and pointing at a strip of teal trim with the other. “That doesn’t match! Are you blind?”
The poor painter she’s addressing looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, but he nods dutifully and starts mixing a new color.
“Mrs. Huang,” I call out as I step outside to join her. “You’re really cracking the whip today.”
She turns to me with a sly smile. “Someone has to keep things moving, Lennon. You young people have too many distractions.”
I laugh, holding up my hands in surrender. “Fair enough. But I think you’ve got this under control.”
The street outside the theater feels like a block party. Workers from the theater stroll out with takeout boxes from the Italian restaurant on the corner, balancing them like trophies for a hard day’s work. The air hums with energy, a tangible reminder of how much life has been breathed into this project.
I tap my pen against the clipboard in my hand. I have an idea forming as I watch the scene in front of me unfold. A street closure for the grand opening, a celebration with food trucks, live music, and maybe even a fireworks display. It’d be bigger than the fundraiser, a proper love letter to the community. I jot down a quick note, already mentally compiling the checklist to make it happen.
I’m mid-thought when Martin strolls up, looking like he walked straight out of a magazine ad. He’s dressed in jeans and a blazer so sharp it might double as a weapon.
“You look like you’re here to close a million-dollar deal, not hammer nails,” I tease, raising an eyebrow at his conspicuously unruffled appearance.
Martin smirks, sliding his sunglasses off with a practiced ease. “Who says I can’t do both?” He surveys the bustling street before his gaze settles back on me. “This is more than a theater revival, Lennon. It’s a movement.”
“Tell me about it. People are coming out of the woodwork to help. It’s incredible.”
“Speaking of help,” Martin says, leaning in slightly, his tone dipping into a conspiratorial drawl. “I’ve got an idea.”
I cross my arms, feigning skepticism. “Should I be worried?”
“Not at all,” he replies, flashing a grin so Ruben-like that my stomach flips. “My firm’s going to donate promo services for the theater and the entire street. Branding, social media campaigns, video content—the works. Pro bono.” He pulls out his phone and shows me a mock-up of a sleek website. “We’re creating buzz, Lennon. Big buzz. People are going to be talking about this street. We want it to be the new hot spot in town.”
For a moment, I’m speechless. Then I manage, “You’re a genius.”
Martin’s grin widens. “Don’t tell Ruben. He’ll never let me live it down.”
Before I can respond, Mrs. Huang materializes out of nowhere, wielding a plate of cookies like a weapon of kindness. She thrusts it into Martin’s hands.
“Take these home,” she commands. “Looks like you don’t eat enough.”
Martin blinks, clearly caught off guard but wise enough not to argue.
I stifle a laugh. “See? Even cookies are part of the movement.”
The rest of the day blurs into a whirlwind of activity. Meetings with vendors, checking in with the construction team, finalizing orders for the bookstore shelves… It feels endless, but the exhaustion is almost exhilarating. The theater is transforming into something magical, and the community has rallied around it like it’s the heartbeat of the neighborhood.
My mind drifts, unbidden, to Ruben. He’s been distant lately, not cold exactly, but quieter. Thoughtful in a way that feels like he’s carrying something heavy he hasn’t shared with me.
Jennifer pops into my makeshift office with two steaming mugs of cocoa. She slides one across the table toward me and sits down.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asks, her voice gentle but probing.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, too quickly. “Just busy.”
Jennifer gives me a look. “You’re working too hard lately. But there is something else. Don’t tell me you’re expecting.”
Expecting? OMG, no.
“Just had my period.” Giving her the news is satisfying. Ruben and I haven’t talked about this particular subject, but he comes from a big family and he loves his niece. I’m sure one day he will want kids of his own, and so do I. But not just now.
“Well, then you’re not eating well… look at your cheeks.”
I won’t say another word, we are both too tired, and this is a good faith remark. Jennifer’s heart is in the right place.
“I think it’s time for me to go home.”
“And have a good meal. Not just chips!” She chimes from behind me.
When I step out of the theater, the night air bites against my skin. The streets are too quiet, eerily so, like the whole city is holding its breath.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to shake off the unease as I start toward my car. My footsteps echo against the pavement, too loud, too sharp. A sense of wrongness settles over me, prickling at the back of my neck.
Then I hear it.
Footsteps.
Not mine.
I freeze mid-step, heart hammering. The sound is faint and deliberate, trailing just behind me. I glance over my shoulder, but there’s nothing but the long stretch of empty sidewalk and the glow of streetlights casting shadows that seem to move when I’m not looking. It’s happening again.
I grip my keys tighter, threading them between my fingers like a makeshift weapon, and quicken my pace. Almost there. Just a few more steps…
A hand clamps down on my arm.
A gasp catches in my throat as I twist, but he’s too strong.
Aiden.
His face is half-lit by the flickering lamp above us, his eyes dark and feral.
“You thought you could keep this from me?” His voice is low, seething, curling around me like a noose. “You’re just a brat that…”
Panic flares in my chest. I don’t think or react. I drive my elbow hard into his ribs.
He grunts but doesn’t let go.
“Get off me!” I thrash against him, trying to break free, but he’s relentless. He shoves me back, and my spine collides with the cold metal of my car. Pain explodes across my skull, white-hot and blinding.
The world tilts.
I barely register his hand tightening on my wrist before my survival instincts kick in. I claw at him, nails raking across his skin. My legs are kicking wildly, but he’s solid and immovable. His breath is ragged, filled with something unhinged.
“You think you’re untouchable?” he snarls. “You think he can protect you?”
A new wave of terror crashes over me. My breath comes fast, barely reaching my lungs. I twist, trying to wrench free.
Then suddenly, he’s gone.
One second, his weight is pressing me against the car, and the next, he’s ripped away from me with a force that sends him sprawling onto the pavement.
My vision snaps into focus.
Ruben.
He stands between me and Aiden like a goddamn storm, shoulders squared, fists clenched. His face is pure rage, sharp and lethal.
Aiden coughs, dragging himself to his feet, but Ruben is already moving.
“You really want to do this, Fisher?” Ruben’s voice is dangerous, vibrating with tightly leashed fury. “You’re giving me the perfect excuse to kick your ass without worrying about being disbarred.”
Aiden lunges.
Ruben dodges effortlessly, and counters with a brutal punch to his gut. Aiden staggers, gasping for air.
But Ruben isn’t done.
He drives him back with another strike, sharp and controlled. Aiden barely gets his hands up in time before Ruben lands another devastating blow. The crack of knuckles meeting bone is sickening.
Aiden swings wildly, landing a sloppy hit against Ruben’s jaw. My stomach drops, but Ruben barely flinches.
“You pathetic piece of shit,” Ruben growls, grabbing Aiden by the collar and slamming him against the hood of my car. The impact rattles through the metal. “You ever put your hands on her again, and I swear …”
I snap out of my frozen state and fumble for my phone. My fingers shake as I dial.
“911—please, I need the police. Now.”
Aiden groans beneath Ruben’s grip, but he’s pinned.
“You’re done,” Ruben tells him, voice like steel. “Legally, financially, in every possible way. I will take everything from you.”
The wail of sirens cuts through the night, flashing red and blue lights slicing through the darkness.
Officers rush forward, guns drawn, barking commands. Ruben finally steps back, muscles still coiled with tension as they drag Aiden to his feet and cuff him.
I exhale. My whole body is trembling, and exhaustion crashes over me like a tidal wave. My knees nearly give out.
Ruben is there before I fall. Strong hands grip my arms, then steady me. “Easy, baby. You’re safe now. I love you. I got you. I’m here.”
I cling to him in the same way my heart is hanging on every word that comes out of his mouth.
A few minutes later, he’s looking for something. Ruben checks my neck, my arms, my chest. “Lennon, you’re hurt. We’re going to the hospital,” he says. His voice is firm but gentle, like an iron fist in a velvet glove.
I shake my head, words thick with exhaustion. “No… I just… I just want to go home. With you.”
Ruben’s eyes darken, something fierce and protective flickering in them before he exhales sharply. His hands are tightening on me like he’ll never let go.
“Home,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “That sounds fantastic.”
And right now, it’s the only place I want to be.