Chapter 12
Hayes
Winterfest is over. Christmas is almost upon us. The festival decorations have been removed, and the Christmas lights, along with massive illuminated ornaments, are going up around town.
Soon, every shop will be decorated. Every lamppost will be strung up with a sea of twinkling lights. And once again, I find myself stuck with a clipboard in my hand and an aching back, picking up the pieces of the weekend that everyone’s too drunk or hungover to deal with.
My boots crunch over the pavement, sweeping up plastic cups, crumpled programs, and half-eaten pretzels that no one bothered to finish.
Welcome to Honeysuckle Grove.
I’m making my rounds when I hear it. You can tell when a rumor’s about to drop, it has that… edge to it, like someone’s trying to tell you something without really saying it.
The hushed voices, the sideways glances. Hell, I don’t even have to look up to know exactly what the rumor is about.
Lo.
I hear her mentioned in a couple of conversations. “Ford” mixed in with her name, and it’s a punch to the gut. The way they’re talking about it, the way they’re speaking her name…
Ford.
Another member of my pack.
Another one with a connection to the woman I have always been in love with, who hasn’t said a word. Not that I’ve seen him while I’ve been so caught up with the festival.
Awesome.
I stop, standing under a busted streetlamp, pretending to fiddle with the clipboard when I’m really just trying to get a grip on the sinking feeling in my stomach.
Yeah, Lo’s back in town. But it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s a hurricane, and I’ve always been the guy standing outside the storm, watching it tear through everything.
Everything is moving in slow motion, but my chest feels like it’s about to rip open. I’m not even angry. I’m just… I don’t know, maybe heartbroken.
Maybe it’s just seeing the way she’s always danced just out of reach. Because I’ve always known she wouldn’t pick me. Why would an Omega want some basic Beta? But damn if it doesn’t hurt to hear the whispers.
It’s worse than I thought it’d be. The little shitheads are probably eating it up.
Ford Maddox and Lo Marsh.
Hell, I can’t even be mad at Ford. He’s just doing what any guy would do, taking what he wants, and Lo… Lo’s the kind of woman you don’t just have, you survive.
But I guess I’ve never been the guy who survives. I’m just the guy who watches, wondering what it would be like to survive.
I take a breath, letting the cool air sting my lungs. I can’t shake this feeling. The feeling that Lo won’t be here for long. That she’s already getting ready to run again.
I know the signs. It’s what she does. What she’s always done. And I’m standing here, watching the clock tick down, knowing I can’t stop it.
She’s back in Honeysuckle Grove, but not for me. Not for any of us. She’s here because she has nowhere else to go, and she’ll leave again when it gets too real, when the past comes clawing at her heels.
And if there has been a connection with me, Ford, and Beck, where the hell will that leave our pack at the end of all of this? Will we all simply be… broken? Casualties of her trying to figure out what in the hell is going on with her life?
My phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me out of my thoughts. My father.
I take one last look at the mess of the square, the quiet after the festival’s roar, and make my way toward the one place I know I can always find my father: Whitlock Enterprises.
It’s a few blocks away, and I know the second I step through those doors, I’ll be swallowed up by the weight of expectations.
My father’s footsteps echo in the hall before I even see him.
Thomas Whitlock. Alpha. Business tycoon. The man who built this town from the ground up and expects everyone to respect him for it.
Charming as hell when he wants something from you, but the kind of guy who can size you up and make you feel like you’re already failing before you even open your mouth.
I walk into his office without knocking, which is never a good idea, but it’s the only way to get a reaction out of him.
“Hayes,” he says, looking up from the papers he’s pretending to read. He’s sitting behind his desk, hands folded, his perfectly tailored suit making him look like he’s about to give a speech. Not a wrinkle in sight. “Good to see you’ve made it in. I trust you’re staying on top of everything?”
“Yeah, Dad. I’ve got it handled.”
My voice is tight. He hasn’t even asked me how I’m doing. Just the usual, the same routine. He only notices me when I’m useful.
When I’m doing what pleases him and brings respect to the family name.
He leans back in his chair, fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk, eyes narrowing, sizing up the latest threat to his empire.
“You’ve done well in your role with the mayor’s office. The connections you’re making are good for the Whitlock name.”
He doesn’t even need to say it. He never does. It’s all about appearances, about making sure the Whitlock name stays at the top, untouchable.
But even as he speaks, I feel the shift. I know exactly what’s coming. He’s seen the same rumors I’ve heard. The town is buzzing again, and Lo Marsh is at the center of it.
He straightens, his hands steepled in front of him as he focuses on me, but it’s clear he’s already playing a few steps ahead. “You’re doing well, but you can do better. The next step, Hayes, is to make sure your personal life is in line with that ambition.”
I can almost hear the script he’s running through his head. He’s said it a thousand times, in his own way.
“Find someone respectable. Someone who makes sense. Someone who matches your status.”
There it is. The pressure. The expectations.
All for a crowd of spectators he wishes would clap every time he breathes.
His sharp voice rips me out of my head. “Someone who won’t drag our name through the mud.”
The steel of his tone is unmistakable. He doesn’t need to say her name. We both know who he means. It’s not subtle.
It’s Lo.
I clench my jaw to keep the frustration from spilling out. My mind goes a thousand miles an hour, but all I can manage is, “I’m not sure I’m looking for that, Dad.”
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he pushes forward; he’s already won the battle.
“I didn’t get to where I am by playing small, Hayes.
And neither should you. You’re well connected now, but the Whitlock name is about more than that.
People need to see that you have control.
That you’re stable. If you want to continue advancing, you need to start acting the part.
” His voice goes even colder. “That means no more distractions. No more… complications.”
I bite down on my tongue, the words burning at the back of my throat, but I keep them inside. What I want to say is: “You don’t get to tell me who I love or what’s worth my time, you selfish bastard.” But that won’t change anything.
I’ve known my whole life that my father deals in order, not chaos. And Lo is chaos. She always has been.
“I understand,” I manage, as cold as I can. It’s the only response he’ll accept. “I’ll take care of it.”
His face breaks into that perfect smile of his. “Good. I’m counting on you, Hayes. We need to be at the top, and to stay there, we need everything in place. That includes your personal life.”
His words press down on me like a vise. He’s not asking for my approval. He’s telling me what needs to happen. And worse, he’s probably right.
I stand up and turn to leave. But before I step out, I glance back at him. He’s already back to his paperwork, as though I’m just another task he’s checked off his list.
Another thing that must be handled.
And me? I’m still stuck, caught between who I am, what I want, and who they want me to be, trying to figure out where I even belong anymore.
I step out of my father’s office, my head buzzing. I don’t even know where I’m going, just moving for the sake of it, trying to outrun the tightness in my chest. This town, my family, the endless parade of expectations, it all swirls around in my mind until I’m drowning in it.
My phone buzzes again, breaking through the fog. I pull it out of my pocket without thinking, expecting another text from my father. Instead, it’s from her.
Lo.
My stomach does a somersault as I read her message:
Lo: Hey, how are you? Do you want to meet up for another coffee?
That’s all it says.
All these years, she’s had my number. All these years, I never once changed it, hoping and praying that she’d use it.
It feels like a slap in the face now.
She’s back in town, and it’s a damn magnet, pulling me right back into the gravity of everything I’ve tried to avoid.
Everything that could tarnish the family name.
I close my eyes for a second, my grip tightening around the phone. Trust. She needs someone to trust.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? She never stays long enough to make anything stick.
She’s always the storm that comes in, sweeps you up, and leaves before you have a chance to breathe.
I read it again. I should be excited, right? Lo wants to talk to me. She wants to spend time with me. In my presence.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard, ready to message back.
But the reality settles in fast.
I can’t do this.
Not with everything on the line. Not when I’m already teetering on the edge of a scandal that’ll blow back on me, on my family.
Lo doesn’t care about that. She’s reckless, unpredictable, and goddamn it, she’s always been the one thing I’ve never been able to shake.
But my father’s words echo in my head in a constant drum beat: No more distractions. No more complications.
If I don’t handle this right, if I let myself get caught up in Lo’s mess, it could bring everything crashing down once she leaves again. Because if there’s one thing I know about Lo, it’s that she never stays.
The business. The connections. My whole life. All of it could be gone within seconds.
I can’t afford to be the guy who throws it all away for someone who doesn’t even stick around.
With a heavy sigh, I decide to put the phone down. I stare at it for a moment, my heart hammering in my chest. I can’t—no, I won’t let her pull me in like this again.
But even as the thoughts spill forward, I know the truth: I’m going to ignore her.
I press my thumb over the message and let my finger hover over the screen, my pulse racing. I should tell her I’m busy. Tell her I’ll be around. Give her something.
It doesn’t even have to be definitive. Just an open-ended message.
But the truth is, there’s nothing I can say that won’t leave me wanting more. That won’t drag me into the very mess I’ve been trying to avoid.
So, I don’t reply. I don’t say anything.
I just leave her hanging there, a damn ghost in my inbox.
I pocket my phone. My father was right; this is about control. It’s about being the man people expect me to be.
And Lo… she’s never been anything but a reminder that I’m not in control of anything when she’s around.
Which means I walk away from it. From her. From the chaos she brings.
Because I have no other choice.