Chapter 34 #2
Caleb barrels on. “Because Everett, my dude—she is married. Married. And not like happily. Like bored-rich-woman-married. And she is best friends with Tara. And she literally live-streamed her Botox appointment last month. If you touched her, the internet will know before breakfast.”
“No, Caleb. I didn’t decide to hang up my legacy to become an escort. But thanks for asking.”
“THANK GOD,” Caleb says. “Because she was already planning your wedding in the bar last night. I swear to God she told Nolan she ‘felt a connection.’”
Nolan lifts a shoulder. “She did say that.”
Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’re losing the thread.”
Caleb leans in. “So if it wasn’t Botox Barbie, who was it? One of the fitness influencers? Becky from the desk? The woman who keeps trying to buy Roman for lumberjack content?”
Roman elbows him. “Don’t bring me into this.”
I run a hand down my face. “I’m not discussing it.”
Caleb beams. “Which means it absolutely happened. And I want you to know, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart—I am proud and also deeply, profoundly jealous.”
“You don’t shut up long enough for a woman to get a word in. If you did, you might not be jealous.”
Caleb throws up his hands. “Talking isn’t exactly the priority when the pants drop, Everett.”
“Yeah, and that’s why yours go back on so fast,” I say. “Now, if you don’t mind, we have a lodge to manage.”
Roman snorts. Nolan covers a rare grin by scratching his chin.
By the time we hit the lobby, Tara’s already in full swing.
She’s perched on one of the leather chairs near the front windows, wrapped in a chic cream lounge set that probably costs more than my first snowmobile.
Her hair and makeup are camera-perfect, despite the hour.
One of her crew guys is filming her “candidly” staring out at the snowstorm with a mug of coffee she definitely isn’t drinking.
A group of guests near the fireplace falls quiet when she glances their way. The silence has a sharp edge. There’s side-eye. A lot of it.
Good.
I walk straight to her.
“Morning,” I say.
She startles, just a flicker before Professional Host face slides into place.
“Everett.” Her smile is smooth as glass. “Isn’t this wild? Our weather team didn’t see this coming at all. It’s going to make incredible television. I was just telling my crew we need to get some B-roll of the kids playing in the snow before we get on the road.”
“About that,” I say. “Nobody’s getting on the road.”
She blinks. “What?”
“The county issued a travel advisory. They’re asking everyone to stay put until they can clear the main roads.” I nod toward the buried parking lot. “We’re officially snowed in. That means no vehicles up or down the mountain unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Her smile slips. “You’re joking.”
Roman steps up beside me, all competent menace. “He’s not.”
“We’re fully staffed,” I say. “We have supplies, generators, and safety protocols for winter storms. We’ll keep the lodge comfortable. But unless it’s an emergency, there’s no getting on or off.”
Her jaw tightens. “Define emergency.”
“Fire, medical, or death.” I keep my tone even. Her eyes flash. For a second, I see the woman who stood on my deck and calmly aired my family’s worst night to the world.
Before she can launch into whatever argument she’s loading, Sierra sails through the lobby, a shoebox clutched to her chest and her camera perched on top.
“But if you want,” she says, not slowing, “I could kill—”
Tara blinks. “Excuse me?”
“—some time helping you pack,” Sierra finishes, tossing it over her shoulder as she heads for the stairs.
Her hot little ass disappears up the landing before my brain catches up.
Of course she timed that drive-by assassination perfectly.
But what grabs me is the way she moves—light, steady, no trace of yesterday’s hurt dragging behind her.
She looked at me in the darkroom and chose me.
And seeing her now, bright with purpose and not even a little bit sad…
Christ, it steadies something in my chest.
The wound from yesterday isn’t bleeding anymore.
Last night she told me she loved me, and seeing her like this…
It’s proof she meant it.
She’s healing.
We’re healing.
Roman coughs into his fist to hide a laugh. Nolan goes stone still. Caleb wheezes behind me like he’s dying.
Tara inhales sharply. “You can’t keep us here,” she says quietly. “We’re not your guests. We’re contracted talent.”
“You’re people,” I say. “And you’re on my mountain.
And since I haven’t sold out this legacy and run off with the cash just yet, you’re my responsibility and you’re going to adhere to my safety plan.
When the county opens the roads, your drivers can dig out their trucks and go. Until then, you’re stuck with us.”
The realization settles over her face in slow motion.
She thought she’d hit upload on my humiliation and drive away before the fallout hit.
Now she’s trapped smack in the center of it. With sixty-four witnesses.
Many of whom are still giving her that cutting, whisper-heavy stare.
Good.
“I understand your position,” Tara says, turning back to me with a brittle little smile. “But if we’re going to be stuck here, my crew has work to do in the meantime. We’ll need access to power, common areas, guest interviews—”
“You’ll get the same access everyone else has,” I say. “Public spaces, sure. Private rooms, no. No filming without explicit consent. No ambushing people during vulnerable moments. I’m done with that.”
Color rises in her cheeks. “Everett—”
“You made your choices,” I say, low enough that only she and the guys can hear it. “You turned my family into content. You blindsided my guests. You recorded a private moment when we were already hanging on by a thread. Now you get to sit here and live with it until that snow clears.”
She swallows.
For the first time since she drove up the mountain, she looks unsure.
“I’m not going to be cruel to you,” I add. “My grandmother would haunt me if I was. You’ll be fed. Warm. Comfortable. But you won’t get special treatment. And you sure as hell won’t get to dictate how this story ends.”
Something flickers across her expression. Maybe guilt. Maybe self-preservation. Maybe the dawning horror of realizing her edit isn’t the only narrative that exists anymore.
“Understood,” she says finally.
“Glad we’re on the same page.” I step back. “Enjoy the storm. Breakfast buffet starts in ten. Pajamas encouraged.”
I turn away before she can answer.
We’re halfway down the hallway to the back offices when Nolan glances at me. “You good?”
I exhale. “I’m not going to lie. Telling her ‘fire, medical, or death’ felt really good.”
Caleb snickers. “And Sierra offering to commit homicide on your behalf? That was next-level hospitality.”
“Don’t say homicide in the lobby,” Nolan mutters.
Roman looks toward the stairs where Charlie, Holly, and Dixie haul shoeboxes like they’re running an underground operation.
“They’re up to something.”
“Yeah,” I say carefully. “Sierra mentioned she needed a favor. Didn’t say what. Told me not to freak out.”
That earns me three identical looks: confusion, suspicion, and in Caleb’s case, delighted chaos.
We reach the doorway to the staff hall. I pause, glancing back at the great room as guests drift in—kids in fleece onesies, adults in flannel pajama pants, staff weaving through with carafes of coffee and trays of cinnamon rolls.
Outside, the storm growls against the glass.
Inside, the lodge glows—fireplaces roaring, garlands twinkling, sixty-four people settling into the kind of unexpected snow day they’ll talk about for years.
This is what I wanted the lodge to be.
A place people remember.
A place they come back to.
Tara tried to turn it into a spectacle.
Sierra’s about to turn it into something else entirely.
My phone buzzes.
SIERRA
About that favor… I need the great room tonight after dark.
Indoor heritage walk.
Can you make that happen?
My heart kicks, but my reply stays neutral.
ME
You’re hijacking my programming now?
SIERRA
I’m fixing your reputation. Try to keep up.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
Roman raises a brow. “Good news?”
“Depends,” I say. “Sierra wants the great room tonight for some kind of heritage walk.”
Caleb’s jaw drops. “She’s going to go to war with the network on your floor?”
Nolan’s eyes sharpen. “And you’re…okay with that?”
I keep my expression steady.
I don’t let anything from the darkroom show.
They don’t get that piece of me—not yet.
“Yeah,” I say simply. “If Sierra says it’s important, I trust her judgment.”
Roman nods once. “Then we’ll clear the room.”
The knot in my chest tightens, but not painfully.
The same old fear is still there.
The same what-ifs.
But for the first time in eleven years, the chaos doesn’t feel like it’s closing in.
It feels like the beginning of something new.