Chapter 42
Hayes
I’ve never been good at standing still. Not really. I’m the guy who fills silence with work, repairs, errands, and meetings about meetings that could have been emails, because it’s easier than figuring out what I actually want. But now?
Now, everything’s different.
I’ve got Lo. The girl I never stopped wanting. The girl who makes the whole damn world feel like spring after a long winter. And yet, here’s the thing I didn’t expect—being happy with her doesn’t erase the question that’s been chewing at me for weeks.
What the hell do I do with the rest of my life?
I’ve never had the luxury of choosing before. Every path I’ve walked was laid out by Dad. Stay in line. Keep the peace. Do what’s needed. And I did, because it mattered. Because it kept people safe. But now… no one’s holding the leash. Which is good, right? Freedom and all that.
Except freedom comes with this annoying side effect called possibility.
So I’m pacing through town like some cliché midlife crisis case.
Main Street smells of coffee and sawdust. The diner windows are fogged up, probably full of Beck and Ford planning the wedding that’s apparently going to feature seventeen distinct kinds of pie.
Sylvia Hammond’s already on the steps of Town Hall, shrieking about someone moving her geraniums six inches to the left.
And me?
I’ve got no plan.
I stop at the overlook because that’s what you do when you’re spiraling existentially.
You look at the view and hope it talks back.
The river cuts through the valley below, silver bright under the sun.
Pines stretch for miles, stitched with trails I could hike blindfolded.
I know every inch of these woods. Every creek bend. Every old miner’s path.
And it hits me, just like that.
Not a whisper. A roar.
This is what I know. This land. This history. These stories we’ve kept alive in porch talk and campfires. And if I’ve got a shot at something that’s mine, shouldn’t it be built on that?
An idea sparks, and then it’s burning.
Heritage and Eco Tourism.
Not the glossy, “trash the trails” kind. The real thing. Guided hikes, history walks, local farms. Teaching people why this place matters, and making sure it stays that way long after I’m gone.
And damn, it feels good.
Something slides into place in my chest, a gear finally catching. Next thing I know, I’m halfway to Dad’s place before I can talk myself out of it. Because if I sit on this, I’ll chicken out, and then it’ll just rot in the back of my skull like every other thing I wanted and never said out loud.
And despite everything, I still want him to know.
The Whitlock house looms. Big, square, judgmental. Porch boards creak under my boots, and for a second, I’m twelve again, dragging mud in after baseball and catching hell for it.
Dad’s in his chair when I step in, the same damn chair he’s been parked in my whole life. Beer in one hand, paper in the other, boots planted like he owns the earth under them. Which, technically, he kinda does. Or used to.
He looks up, one brow ticking up. “You’re supposed to be with that girl.”
Not a question. A statement.
Classic Dad.
“I know.” I shove my hands in my jacket pockets before they can start fidgeting. “But I want to talk to you about something. About my future.”
That gets his attention. He folds the paper, sets it down slow. A man about to deliver a verdict. “Go on.”
My pulse is stupid loud. But I just say it. Rip the bandage off clean.
“I want to start a business. Heritage and Eco Tourism. Guided hikes, history tours, local producers, all of it done right. Sustainable and honest. Something that shows people why Honeysuckle Grove matters.”
The silence after could swallow me whole. Dad just stares, and I swear the clock on the mantel mocks me with every tick.
Finally, he leans back, rubs his jaw. “Huh.”
I blink. “Huh?” That’s all I get?
“Yeah. Huh.” He eyes me like I grew a second head, then shrugs. “About damn time you thought for yourself.”
I blink. “You… you like it?”
“I didn’t say I liked it.” His mouth twitches. Close to a smile, but not quite. “But it beats you sitting around waiting for somebody else to tell you what to do. And it’s smart. Uses what you know. What we’ve built.”
I just stand there, dumb as a post, because I’d geared up for a fight. For lectures about responsibility and staying in line.
Not this.
Not my father… agreeing with me.
Dad tips his beer toward me. “You figure out the details, we’ll talk. But don’t half-ass it, Hayes. If you’re gonna do this, do it all the way.”
And just like that, the floor feels solid again.
I did not expect that.
I leave Dad’s place breathing much easier. For once, I’m not just a guy holding the town together with duct tape and late nights. I’ve got a plan. A damn good one. So, yeah, I’m grinning like an idiot as I cut across Main Street, phone out, already opening the group text thread.
Big news. Meet at the diner. My treat.
By the time I get to the diner, the plan’s practically bursting out of me. I’ve already picked the perfect opener in my head. Something smooth, confident, like “Hope you’re all hungry, because I’m about to serve a big idea with your fries.”
Lo’s already grabbed a booth in the back. Beck and Ford slide in across from her, arguing about wedding playlist stuff like their lives depend on whether “Sweet Caroline” makes the cut.
Sylvia Hammond’s voice echoes from two tables over. Apparently, someone is still moving her geraniums, and she’s ready to call the FBI about it.
Classic Honeysuckle Grove chaos.
I slide in next to Lo, heart pounding like I’m about to pitch a billion-dollar deal instead of, you know, the rest of my life. “Okay, everyone, listen up. I—”
“Actually…” Lo cuts through me, enough to make me sit back.
Her fingers are laced together on the table, knuckles white. She looks like someone about to deliver a eulogy, and my stomach does this nosedive that no seatbelt could save.
“Lo?” I lean in. “You good?”
She nods. Too fast. Not good at all. Then she glances at Beck and Ford, then at me, and says it.
The two words that bring my world to a grinding halt.
“I’m pregnant.”
Forks freeze midair. Ford’s mouth hangs open like a cartoon. Beck blinks so slow it’s almost a time-lapse. And me? I gasp as the whole diner goes quiet. Even Sylvia Hammond stops mid-rant. The words ricochet off the walls and stun everybody.
Pregnant.
It echoes like a church bell in my skull.
Beck’s the first to recover. “Uh… like, pregnant pregnant?”
Lo shoots him a look that could curdle cream. “Yes, Beck. Pregnant pregnant. There’s not a different kind.”
Ford chokes on his water. “Holy…” He cuts himself off when Lo raises one brow. “Cow. Holy cow.”
I can’t stop staring at her, because my brain’s trying to reboot, but the hard drive’s fried.
Finally, I find words. Sort of. “Are you… sure?”
Lo glares. “No, Hayes. I just thought it’d be fun to spice up dinner.”
Fair.
Dumb question.
Moving on.
Beck’s eyes dart between us. Ford’s grinning now.
Beneath the shock, the panic, the “holy shit we need a plan,” there’s this pressure in my chest. Something wild and warm that says, “family forever.”
I lean forward. “Wow, this is amazing news.”
Lo’s shoulders drop just a fraction. Relief, maybe. Or exhaustion. She meets my eyes, and for a second, the noise fades. Just her and me, and this impossible, incredible thing between us.
Pregnant.
Damn.
And here I was thinking tonight’s big news was about eco-tourism.
Ford leans back, still grinning. “A wedding and a baby. Damn, Lo, you don’t mess around.”
She smirks. “Guess not.”
I reach for her, covering her hands with mine, and say the only thing that matters. “This is the best news ever, Lo. You’re going to be an amazing mother.”
Her shoulders ease. Just a fraction, but it’s enough. Because whatever comes next, cribs and bottles and all the chaos…
This is our future.
Ford is the first to move. He slides out of his side of the booth and pulls Lo into his arms. She melts into him, her scent blooming. Sweet and warm and so damn grounding it almost knocks me flat.
Beck’s next, crowding in from the other side, one arm wrapping around her shoulders, the other threading into her hair. His breath shakes against her temple. I quickly shuffle out and stand, heart pounding, and fold myself around all of them.
Lo laughs into Ford’s chest, breathless and a little teary. “You guys are suffocating me.”
“Good,” Beck mutters. “Get used to it. You’re not going anywhere alone for the next… hell, ever.”
Ford presses a kiss to her hair, tone softer now. “He’s right. You need anything at all, we’re there.”
Her throat works like she’s swallowing emotion, and when she looks up at us, it’s pure fire and trust and that Omega steel that could level mountains. “You guys are too much.”
“Yeah,” I rasp, holding her tighter. “And you love it.”
Eventually, Lo tips her head back with a wry smile. “So. Wedding. Baby. What else do you guys wanna throw on my plate?”
That’s my cue.
I ease back just enough to meet her eyes, then glance at the other two. “Actually… I had something to tell you all before someone decided to blow up our entire universe.”
Her brow arches, teasing. “Oh? What could possibly top this?”
I grin, the excitement bubbling back now that the shock haze is lifting. “I’m starting something new. A business of my own. Heritage and eco-tourism. Teach people why this land matters and how to make sure it stays that way.”
Lo’s face softens, pride sparking, like sunlight through the clouds. “Hayes… that’s incredible.”
Ford whistles low. “Look at you, mountain man with a business plan.”
Beck smirks, clapping me on the shoulder. “About time you did something that wasn’t fixing everyone else’s messes.”
And just like that, the future isn’t some terrifying blank slate anymore. It’s right here, wrapped around me in this cramped diner booth, smelling of coffee and Christmas and the woman who changed everything for us.
This is the life.