Chapter 57Avery
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Avery
I'm staring at the wall, lost in a mess of thoughts, when Olivia bursts into the room. Her brows are stitched together in that way that means business. She's got her little hands on her hips, mirroring me when I mean business.
"Mom, why aren't you dressed yet?" she demands, eyes scanning the room like she's looking for hidden clues to my inaction.
I sigh and shake my head. "I'm not going, Liv."
Olivia's mouth drops open, and then snaps shut so fast I can almost hear it. "But you have to! You've been fighting this development forever, and now you're just gonna bail?" Her voice rises with each word, hitting me like sharp pebbles .
"Sweetie, it's complicated," I try, but even as I say it, I know it sounds like I’m making excuses.
"Complicated? Mom, this is our home! And what about everyone else? What sort of example does that set if you don't show up?" Her arms flail, punctuating each question, her passion a fiery echo of my own—once upon a time.
"Olivia..." I start, but what do I even say? My girl's right. She's so right it hurts.
"Olivia, I can't go. Victor and I..." I trail off, unable to find the right words. "It's just too complicated now. My feelings—they're messing with my judgment. It wouldn't be fair to the community."
"Mom," she says, her tone stern, hands back on her hips. "You've got to go. This isn't about you and Victor, it's about us—everyone in Worcester. You've always told me to stand up for what I believe in. So now, I'm telling you. You have to fight."
She's glaring at me with such intensity, those little embers of determination burning bright in her eyes. I see so much of myself in her, or maybe it's the other way around now.
"Fine," I relent, finally breaking under her gaze. "I'll do it. But since when did you become the parent here?"
"Since you started acting like a scaredy-cat," Olivia teases with a small, victorious smile. "Now hurry up, we don't have all day! "
"Okay, okay." I stand up, suddenly feeling the weight of responsibility settle back on my shoulders. A horn honking outside startles me and I remember that I had originally arranged for Samantha’s husband to pick up Olivia for a sleepover with Sophia.
“Mom, go!" Olivia pushes gently at my back, steering me toward the bedroom where my crumpled suit is waiting. “There isn’t much time!”
"Right," I concede, grabbing the suit and darting into the bathroom to change. As I button up my blouse, I can't help but chuckle. When did my little girl get so grown up?
"Remember, Mom," Olivia calls from the other side of the door, "you're doing this for all of us. We believe in you."
"Thanks, Liv," I say, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. She's right. I've got this. For her, for our community, and even for myself.
I give her a kiss and a wave as she climbs into Sam’s minivan, her and Sophia already laughing and high-fiving together.
The steering wheel is cold under my palms as I start my own car and drive off. I drum my fingers on the leather, trying to sync with the steady beat of a song playing low on the radio. It's a futile attempt to distract myself from the knot of anxiety in my stomach. Victor's face keeps flashing in my mind, those piercing blue eyes and the way they softened when he talked about skating on that frozen pond.
"Come on, Avery, what are you doing?" I mutter to myself. This isn't just about Victor; it's about the community, about standing up for what's right. But my heart is a traitor, fluttering at the thought of him.
I pull into the parking lot, squeezing the car into a spot that's a little too tight. With a sigh, I kill the engine and sit for a moment, watching families stroll by. They're all oblivious to the turmoil inside me. I should be inside already, but my feet feel like they're encased in concrete.
"Hey, you made it!" Samantha's voice cuts through my reverie as I finally step out of the car. She's waiting by the entrance. Emily and Jessica are there too.
"Wasn't sure you'd show," Jessica says, her voice gentle. "You look... torn."
Emily gives me a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "We've got your back, Avery. No matter what happens."
"Thanks, guys." The gratitude feels thick in my throat. "Really."
"Any word from Victor?" Samantha asks as we head inside together.
I shake my head, keeping my gaze fixed ahead. "Nope. Radio silence."
We find seats towards the back of the meeting room, the chatter around us a dull roar. I slide into the chair, feeling the cool press of the metal against my back through the thin fabric of my blazer .
"Any idea what's going to happen today?" Emily whispers, leaning close.
"None," I admit, fiddling with the hem of my sleeve. "With Victor, who knows? After everything that's happened..."
"Whatever he's planning, you'll handle it," Jessica says firmly. "You always do."
I nod, more to convince myself than them. The chairman's voice slices through the hum of conversations like a knife, clear and authoritative. "Order, please. This special meeting is now called to order for the sole purpose of discussing and voting on the Greystone Development project." A hush blankets the room, the weight of the words settling on each of us like snow.
"Let's welcome Mr. Victor Stone to the podium," the chairman continues, gesturing toward the front.
I can't help it; my eyes dart up, following Victor as he rises from his seat with that composed, almost regal demeanor he carries like a shield. He's all sharp lines and confidence. My chest tightens, breath hitching in an awkward rhythm.
"Look at him," I mutter under my breath, not sure if I'm talking to myself or my friends.
"You don't have to," Jessica whispers back, her hand finding my knee in a soft pat.
But I do. It's like the pull of a magnet, that need to see what his blue eyes are betraying—if anything. I want to read his face, search for clues, for any sign of the man who'd once stepped onto the ice with kids and looked... alive.
"Deep breaths," Emily says, her fingers brushing against my arm in a soothing motion.
I take her advice, inhaling slowly, trying to fill my lungs with courage or indifference—anything but this tangled mess of nerves and feelings. Samantha squeezes my hand, a silent message of solidarity. I squeeze back, grateful.
Victor's voice fills the room, steady and unexpectedly gentle. "I could stand here today and list all the perks of Greystone," he begins, and I force myself to look at him. His eyes scan the crowd, but they don't linger on me. Not yet. "But the truth is," he continues, "I've spent the last month really seeing Worcester for the first time. And what I've seen has changed everything."
I squint at him, trying to decipher his game. This isn't the script of a man about to bulldoze our lives for profit.
"Greystone, as it was conceived, is wrong for this city," he admits, and a murmur ripples through the crowd. My heart skips. He gets it? Really?
"Because Worcester isn't some gray backdrop to our ambitions," Victor goes on, his gaze finally catching mine. It's like he's speaking directly to me, and my throat tightens. "This city pulses with creativity, from Main Street to The Muse where I shared unforgettable moments, to the quaint coffee shops brewing with local charm. "
He's talking about us—about that evening at The Muse, the laughter, the moments we shared. How did that flip his world upside down?
"Which is why I've not only tweaked major aspects of the design but also incorporated changes..." His voice trails off, and he looks almost vulnerable up there.
"Changes?" Samantha leans in, whispering. I barely hear her.
"Changes," I repeat, more to myself than anyone else. Because suddenly, it's not just about lines on blueprints. It's about him acknowledging the heartbeat of Worcester—and maybe understanding mine.
With a click, the room dims and the projector hums to life. Victor's figure casts a long shadow as the first images splash across the screen—renderings of buildings, green spaces, people.
"Here," he says, voice steady as steel but with an undercurrent of something else, "we see Greystone's future—an art center, right in the heart of our development."
The image on the screen morphs into a sleek, modern building, its glass facade reflecting the imaginary sky. The label beneath it reads 'Community Art Center.'
"Imagine this," he gestures towards the image, "as a cradle for creativity. A place where children can come after school to explore their talents, where they're safe to express themselves. "
I lean forward, my hands clasped so tight my knuckles blanch. It's like he's plucked the dreams straight from my head, given them form. I can almost hear the laughter of kids, smell the paint and clay.
"Furthermore," Victor continues, his piercing blue eyes scanning the crowd before resting momentarily on me, "we'll be inviting local artists to not only decorate the walls but to impart their knowledge, teaching classes, fostering a new generation of Worcester's talent."
My vision blurs, tears welling unbidden. This is more than just business for him; it's personal. He's seen the soul of our city through my eyes, felt its rhythm in his own heart.
Victor's voice grows stronger as he says, "To show just how committed we are to this city and its spirit, we're moving our permanent headquarters from Boston to Worcester."
Gasps and murmurs erupt around me. I sit there, stunned, as Victor explains that the new headquarters will occupy one of the office buildings to be constructed.
"He's really doing it," Emily breathes beside me. "He's changing everything."
I nod, a tear finally escaping down my cheek. "Yeah," I whisper. "He really is."
The crowd's murmurs grow louder, a mix of excitement and disbelief rippling through the room. I lean forward, straining to hear Victor's next words over the buzz .
"However," he says, his voice steady but loud enough to cut through the chatter, "all the blueprints and permits in the world can't infuse this project with what it truly needs—the heart of Worcester."
I blink, trying to clear the mist from my eyes. My friends, Samantha, Jessica, and Emily, are all looking at me, their expressions a mix of shock and awe.
"Because let's face it," Victor continues, his hands open and inviting, "we're builders, not creators. We can erect structures, lay foundations, but the soul... the soul comes from the community."
He pauses, a master conductor holding the room in suspense. I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. What is he playing at?
"And there's someone here who embodies that spirit. Someone who’s fought for this city's integrity every step of the way."
My breath catches. No, he wouldn’t...
"Which is why," Victor's voice booms now, commanding attention, "I'm entrusting the creative direction and oversight of the Greystone Development to Avery Bennett."
Gasps ripple through the crowd like a wave crashing onshore. My name echoes in my head, a surreal chant. I'm rooted to the spot, my heart thundering against my ribcage.
"Me?" The word slips out before I can stop it, barely a whisper .
"Yes, Avery," Victor says, and though he speaks to the room, those words are meant only for me. "You've shown us what Worcester truly is. It's only right you help us build it."