Chapter 27 #2
The morning air was thick with pine and humidity—the forest too alive for the storm brewing inside me.
I breathed deep, attempting to calm frayed nerves, as I made my way toward the lodge, to await the conversation that could change everything.
Gravel crunched under my feet, guiding me toward breakfast—but then I saw it.
A small wooden sign that read Business Center, with an arrow pointing toward a narrow path off to the right.
I should have kept walking. Gone to breakfast like I promised. Pretended that last night hadn’t changed every thought in my head.
But my feet slowed… then turned, as if they belonged to someone else entirely.
I’d practiced my speech until my voice cracked, mumbled all the way to the steps like a crazy person, but as soon as I found myself on the landing, every thought, every word I’d planned to say, evaporated on my tongue.
“…I want this,” Dean said, the strain in his voice impossible to miss. “I’ve worked for it. For years. You know I have.”
Mr. McHenry exhaled—a long, heavy breath that sounded like it carried decades.
“Dean… you’re too young to know what you want. Not when it comes to something this big.”
Dean’s jaw flexed. “I’m not a kid.”
“No,” his grandfather agreed softly. “You’re a man. A good one. A hardworking one. But hard work is a double-edged sword. One that cuts deeper than you realize.”
The room went quiet, but the tension pressed through the walls.
I should have turned away. Walked back down the steps. But I couldn’t move.
“The firm is more than work for me, and you know it,” Dean said, his voice tight, trembling at the edges. “It’s your legacy, Grandpa. It’s something I want to protect… a piece of you that will last long after you’re gone—” his voice cracked.
The words slid together.
Long after you’re gone.
A cold wave ran down my spine.
He wasn’t talking about retirement.
He wasn’t talking about slowing down.
There was a weight behind his voice—an ache that made the truth feel inevitable.
Mr. McHenry didn’t respond right away, but when he did, his voice was soft. “How long have you known?”
Dean’s footsteps crossed the room—slow, measured, unbearably heavy—“When you started talking about selling a firm you once swore you’d die in. You wouldn’t do that unless something was wrong.”
Mr. McHenry gave a soft, tired laugh—the kind that wasn’t really laughter at all.
“You sound like your grandmother.”
Dean’s breath caught. “What does she think about all of this?”
Mr. McHenry was quiet for a beat. “She’s reluctant but willing. She knows my only wish is to spend the rest of my life with clarity, not worrying about what happens once I’m gone.”
My hand found the porch railing, attempting to steady myself, trying to understand what was going on.
“This decision didn’t come easily, Dean. I—”
“What if this isn’t what we want?” Dean cut him off. “You can’t just turn your back on the firm without giving us a chance to prove—”
“I’m not turning my back,” his grandfather shouted, the words rough with emotion.
“I’m doing this for you! Can’t you see that?
Everyone will be taken care of. Your sister.
Your cousins. The McHenrys, the Westons…
and even though you’re too bullheaded to admit it, this deal will take care of you too.
This offer won’t come again. Not in my lifetime. Not in yours.”
Dean’s voice cracked when he stepped closer.
“Don’t sign it. I know you think you’re doing what’s best for us, but it’s not. Let me show you I can handle it—that we can have it all. The work, the life, the family—”
“Oh, Dean…” Mr. McHenry’s voice dipped, cutting him off.
“Have you signed the papers yet?” Dean asked.
A beat of silence, then Mr. McHenry’s voice came soft and small. “No.”
“When?” Dean asked,
“Sunday morning,” Mr. McHenry answered. “After the farewell breakfast.”
Dean made a low sound—half restraint, half heartbreak. “It’s not too late, then” he said fiercely. “We still have time to change your mind.”
A soft scrape of a chair shifted across the floor—closer now. Too close.
An urge to run flared in my chest—I took a step back.
“Please don’t do this,” Dean said, “Not yet.”
Footsteps came next—slow, approaching. “I’ll think on it.”
The doorknob clicked, and I stumbled backward, breath catching in my throat, as I slipped into the narrow strip of shade.
Morning sunlight flickered through the branches as I ducked beneath the railing and hurried away from the building, my shoes skidding over mud—but I didn’t slow down, and I didn’t look back.
None of the questions I’d come with were answered, yet everything made sense now.
Why I was here.
Why this weekend mattered so much to Dean.
This wasn’t about me. And every question I’d brought felt like dust on my tongue.
I couldn’t pile my heart onto his shoulders when he was already holding up so much.
And I wouldn’t ruin what could be his last retreat with his grandfather by dragging my insecurities where they didn’t belong.
I needed to be steady for him.
To be the one thing he didn’t have to worry about.
If all I could give him was support… then that’s what I’d do.
Even if it meant silencing the part of me that wanted more.
So, I straightened my shoulders, drew a trembling breath, and kept walking toward the lodge.