Chapter 6 Hayes
Hayes
Mornings in Honeysuckle Grove always smell of cinnamon and freshly baked bread.
The square’s buzzing, more than usual, even for Winterfest week. People are milling around in those “Honeysuckle Strong” shirts Levi Cruz handed out last winter, the ones that shrink in the wash and make everyone look like they’re stuffed into pastel sausages.
Someone’s arguing about parking.
Someone else is playing the accordion. Loudly. Off-key.
I love this weird town. God help me.
I’ve got a clipboard tucked under one arm and a crumpled granola bar wrapper in my pocket because breakfast didn’t happen.
Again. Too many meetings this morning, budget updates, mayoral hand-wringing about parade logistics, and three separate calls about who gets to sit closest to the ice sculpture at the Gala.
Spoiler: no one cares. Except Sylvia Hammond. Who cares deeply.
I round the corner by the florist when something, or rather, someone, crashes into me.
Reflex kicks in. I reach out, arms steady, and catch them before they can fall.
And suddenly, the world stops spinning.
Because it’s her.
Lo Marsh.
In the flesh.
In my arms.
And for a moment, that’s all there is.
The crowd fades. The town disappears. Even the accordion dies down. Or maybe I’ve just gone deaf from shock. Honestly, either seems likely.
I’d heard the rumors about the crash, but I didn’t know it was real…
She looks up, wide-eyed, as if she didn’t mean to touch me, didn’t mean to see me, and I forget how to breathe.
God, her eyes.
Same as they were when we were kids: stormy, sharp, full of thoughts she never quite said aloud. Her hair’s longer, messy like she’s been through a wind tunnel, and she smells of road dust and citrus shampoo and something sad she’s trying to hide.
Holy shit. Even as a Beta, being this close to this Omega is way too much.
Especially when I haven’t seen her in about seven years—but thought about her every damn day.
“…Lo?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
She blinks. Starts to pull back. “Crap, sorry. I didn’t see where I was… uh, going…”
She’s disoriented. Embarrassed, clearly. Her cheeks flush, and she tucks her chin, trying to disappear into her hoodie. But her eyes, those eyes, they meet mine for a half-second too long.
Suddenly, I’m twelve again, standing on the edge of the baseball diamond with dirt in my socks and the sun blistering the back of my neck. I watch Lo sprint for third like her life depends on it.
She always looked good baking in the sun. Sweating beneath her ball cap. Clapping her hands and cheering her team on as if it were her life’s purpose.
I remember those years in a flash. How she never hesitated. Never flinched. How she launched herself into a slide for home, legs flying, arms wide, yelling about being invincible. Gravel tore open both of her knees that day, blood blooming against her jeans.
Then she popped up, grinning, dirt smeared across her cheek, and shouted, “Safe, suckers!” as if she didn’t just leave half her skin on the field. My heart stuttered for her, even then.
Only sixteen years old, crammed into the front seat of my dad’s truck outside the Dollar General, windows fogged from the rain, listening to her go off about Sylvia Hammond’s “fascist reign of terror” over the Honor Society.
In my memory, she’s pacing in front of the headlights, a girl on a mission, hoodie soaked through, hands flailing as she builds her case similar to a war general rallying troops.
I pretend to scroll on my phone, but I’m not hearing a word, only her voice. Sharp. Fierce. Alive. She could rewrite the whole damn town with enough righteous fury and a ballpoint pen.
I remember the smell of peppermint sticks melting in my pocket. I remember thinking: God, I love her. And then doing absolutely nothing about it.
Another memory with her scent in my nose. She’s twenty now, the night it all exploded. Lights on in every window, voices raised behind the walls, the town turning its back on her faster than the wind shift that signals the first winter snow.
I knocked until my knuckles went numb. Waited with a bag of her favorite gummy bears in one hand and a stupid, terrified apology on behalf of a town that didn’t believe her hanging on my lips.
Not that I got to say it.
And now…
Now, here she is.
Back in my arms.
Standing in front of me as if no time has passed at all, and like it’s been a thousand years.
“I didn’t think…” I start, but the words fumble on the way out. I clear my throat and try again. “I didn’t know you were back.”
Lo tugs at her sleeve, eyes darting anywhere but mine. “Yeah. Surprise.”
Surprise doesn’t begin to cover it.
She looks thinner. Not fragile, Lo’s never been fragile, but a little worn at the edges. Like someone’s taken sandpaper to all her sharp parts.
She’s standing funny. Maybe she’s hurt, but trying hard to pretend she’s not.
She’s wearing a ridiculous hoodie that says I Brake for Possums, which shouldn’t make my chest ache the way it does. But it’s her. Still stubborn. Still weird. Still…
Still Lo.
“Are you okay?” I ask, softer now.
Her expression flickers. “Define ‘okay.’”
I huff a small laugh, even though nothing about this feels funny. “Alive?”
“Barely.”
I want to wrap her in a blanket. I want to buy her a hot chocolate. I want to take her across the street to the gas station and get her a pack of her favorite gummy bears. Are they still her favorite?
I want to go back in time and stop her from ever leaving this place broken and alone. I want to ask her where she’s been, what happened, why she never called.
But I don’t.
Because Lo’s standing in front of me, her eyes darting around like she might bolt at any second.
I take a step back, just enough to give her space, but not so much that it feels like I’m letting her go.
The Omega my Beta heart has already claimed.
“Come on,” I say, tipping my head toward the café across the square. “Let me buy you a cup of something hot. Not from the festival stands, don’t worry. Let’s go to the café.”
Lo hesitates. Her weight shifts, and I worry she might say no.
Her arms are still crossed, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands. But then, maybe just to get out of the spotlight, or maybe because it’s me, she gives the smallest nod.
We cross the square side by side, and I can feel it, every single head turning. Conversations dip. Laughter stalls. Everyone seems to want to have a look.
Lo Marsh, the town seems to murmur in unison. Public enemy number one returns and walks into Honeysuckle Brew with Hayes Whitlock like it’s just another day.
I hold the door open. She ducks her head and slips past me in my shadow. I follow.
The café smells of vanilla syrup and fresh espresso. We used to come here every Thursday after school. She always got a root beer float and argued with the barista because it wasn’t technically on the menu.
Today, she just orders black coffee.
I do the same. No frills. No fuss.
We slide into the booth by the window—our old booth, whether she remembers that or not—and I hand her a peppermint stick from the stash I keep in my coat pocket.
She blinks at it. “You still carry these?”
“Helps with stress,” I say, tapping mine against the table. “And moments when a long-lost best friend crashes into you like a badly timed meet-cute.”
That earns me the ghost of a smile. Just a flicker. But it’s something…
“I didn’t mean to crash,” she murmurs, tracing the rim of her coffee mug. “It’s just… this place. It’s loud.”
“It always was.”
“Yeah. But it’s louder now.”
I watch her for a moment, try not to drink in every detail like a man dying of thirst.
Her fingers tremble when she lifts her mug. She keeps her eyes on the table, and I can tell she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
For me to ask her why. Where she went. What she did.
But I don’t. Instead, I say, “It’s good to see you, Lo.”
That makes her look up. Just for a second.
And in that second, I can see all of it—the thunder in her, the grief, the exhaustion. But under it, the girl I used to know. The girl I still know, even if the town forgot.
Her mouth twitches, like she wants to say something but doesn’t. So I fill the silence. “You know people are going to talk.”
“They already are.”
“I don’t care.”
She snorts softly. “You’re still bad at lying.”
“I’m not lying,” I say, and this time I hold her gaze. “I meant what I said. It’s good to see you.”
We sit for a few quiet sips. Her hands are wrapped tight around the coffee mug, bracing for a storm. Part of me wants to reach across the table, just to touch her wrist, to remind her she’s not alone.
But I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I do what I always do and try to make it comfortable.
“So,” I say, keeping my tone light, “you missed seven years of parades, three mayors, two bakery fires, and exactly one very tragic Christmas pageant goat incident.”
Lo raises an eyebrow. “Goat incident?”
“Oh yeah.” I lean back and give her my best scandalized whisper.
“Someone decided we needed live animals to really elevate the nativity. Midnight mass, packed church, baby Jesus in the manger… and this goat named Princess Buttercup got spooked by the choir’s rendition of ‘O Holy Night.’ Bolted straight down the center aisle, kicked over the frankincense, and took out a pew. ”
She snorts. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Just Sylvia Hammond’s pride.”
That earns a real smile. Still small, but it flickers at the corners of her mouth and softens her shoulders a little.
“She still running the town like it’s her personal Pinterest board?”
“She’s mellowed,” I say before I put some thought into it. “Well, actually, no. She just got sneakier.”
Lo hums into her cup, and it hits me with a punch to the chest, how much I missed that sound. That quiet hum of amusement when she’s trying not to give you the satisfaction.
“And you…” She runs her eyes up and down my presence. “You look important these days.”
“Yeah, I’m assistant to Peter Holloway.”
Her eyes widen. “You work for the mayor now?”
“Started as an intern right after college. Didn’t think I’d stay, but… well. Here I am.”
“And your dad?” she asks, then seems to realize too late what she’s done. Her eyes jerk away, the question half swallowed.
I nod, a beat slower. “He’s… pleased. Mostly. I think he was hoping I’d go corporate. Follow in his footsteps, put on a suit, crush a few dreams.”
“Sounds about right.”
I feel a grin spreading across my face. “But I’m important in this town, and you know he likes that.”
Her lips purse together in a thin line. “Hmm, yeah.”
God, I hate the way she sees right through me. No one else but her knows this isn’t exactly dream-come-true stuff for me.
But I can’t get into that right now. It’s too heavy, too much.
Instead, I say, “I like it. Being in the middle of things. Helping people figure stuff out. Even if it’s just parking arguments and float disasters.”
Lo lifts an eyebrow. “Speaking of. I heard there was a float involved in my… uh. Return.”
“Oh, absolutely,” I say. “You made quite the entrance. People are still picking glitter out of their hair.”
She groans and drops her forehead to the table. “Kill me.”
“No can do. I have plans to keep you alive long enough to at least witness the gala’s ice sculpture drama.”
She lifts her head just enough to glare. “Still a dork.”
“Still your friend.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
She goes still.
I wait. Let her breathe through it.
Because it’s true. No matter what happened, no matter how many years passed or how many towns she vanished through, that never changed. I never stopped being her friend.
She just forgot how to let me be.
And maybe now she’s remembering.