Chapter 14 #2
I hurry toward the back office before this conversation can get any more embarrassing. “I need to finish installing that inventory system before I get pulled into festival chaos.”
“Take your time,” Mom says, shooting Dad a warning look. “We’re managing fine out here.”
I settle at the computer and dive into the code I’ve been writing. The database architecture is solid, and the user interface is clean enough that Mom and Dad won’t struggle with it. I spend an hour testing every function, making sure the integration with their point-of-sale system is seamless.
“Done,” I announce, emerging from the office to find both parents hovering nearby with obvious curiosity.
“Show us,” Mom says eagerly.
I walk them through the system—how to track inventory levels, set automatic reorder points, manage vendor information, and generate reports. Dad’s eyes light up when he sees how everything connects to their daily sales data.
“This is incredible, Hazel,” he says, shaking his head in amazement. “You built this whole thing from scratch?”
“It’s just basic database management.” I shrug, but I’m pleased with how user-friendly I managed to make it. “This should save you hours of paperwork every week.”
By noon, I’m staring up at the gazebo with Sophie and Molly, realizing we’ve bitten off more than we can chew. The structure needs to be wrapped in garland and lights, and our rickety stepladder looks about as safe as a death trap.
“There’s no way we’re doing this without proper equipment,” Sophie says, hands on her hips.
I pull out my phone and call Luke. “We need help. Bring your strongest guys and actual ladders.”
“On our way.”
Twenty minutes later, the cavalry arrives.
Luke leads a parade of firefighters carrying extension ladders, rope, and enough equipment to renovate half the town.
Gabe, Mason, Declan, and several others I recognize from the station spread out across the Town Green like they’re responding to an emergency.
“Ladies,” Declan announces with a theatrical bow, “your knights in shining turnout gear have arrived.”
“Just put the banners where we tell you,” I call back, trying not to laugh at their obvious enthusiasm for manual labor.
What follows is controlled chaos. The firefighters scale ladders and climb trees with the kind of fearless efficiency that comes from running into burning buildings for a living.
Meanwhile, Sophie coordinates from the ground with military precision, Molly paints last-minute touch-ups on signs, and I try to keep track of approximately fifteen different moving parts.
“Higher on the left!” I shout to Mason, who’s hanging lights around the gazebo.
“How’s this?” he calls back.
“Perfect!”
By the end of the first day, Main Street looks like something out of a fairy tale. Orange and gold garland drapes between every lamp post, banners welcome visitors to the Harvest Festival, and tiny white lights twinkle from every tree and building.
That night, I follow Luke back to his cabin, too exhausted to drive myself home. We eat leftover Chinese food on his couch while Max and Scout compete for lap space, and I fall asleep with my head on his shoulder.
The second day is even more intensive. We move on to the vendor booths, the main stage, and the elaborate pumpkin displays that will line the festival perimeter. By evening, my back aches and my hands are scratched from wrestling with corn stalks, but the Town Green looks magical.
“I can’t believe we pulled this off,” Sophie says, surveying our work with satisfaction.
“It’s beautiful,” Molly adds softly, and for once she sounds confident instead of uncertain.
Luke finds me as the sun sets, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “Ready to go home?”
Home. The word settles in my chest like it belongs there.
* * *
The night before the festival, we’re having dinner at my parents’ house—all four of us around the familiar kitchen table, sharing Mom’s famous pot roast and catching up on the day’s preparations.
The autumn evening is perfect, cool enough for the windows to be open and the scent of burning leaves to drift through the screens.
“The weather forecast looks perfect for tomorrow,” Dad says, carving seconds for everyone whether they want them or not. “Sunny, sixty-five degrees, no chance of rain.”
“Good thing,” Sam says around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “After all the work you ladies put in, it would be a shame if—”
My phone buzzes on the table. The caller ID makes my stomach drop.
Derek Sullivan.
I decline the call and try to rejoin the conversation, but my phone immediately starts buzzing again.
“Popular tonight,” Luke observes, though his tone is casual.
“Just work stuff,” I lie, declining the call again.
The third time it rings, I can see everyone’s curious glances. “I should take this. I’ll be right back.”
I step outside onto the front porch, pulling the door closed behind me. The autumn air is cold against my skin, and I can hear the distant sound of kids playing in a yard down the street.
“What do you want, Derek?” I answer on the fourth ring.
“Hazel, thank God.” His voice has that familiar entitled tone that used to make me jump to attention. “I need you to come back immediately. The Morrison project is falling apart, and the client is threatening to pull their contract.”
“Not my problem.”
“Of course it’s your problem! You designed the entire system architecture. You’re the only one who understands how it works.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Funny how suddenly I’m indispensable when things go wrong. Where was that attitude when you were firing me?”
“Hazel, be reasonable. This is business. Personal feelings aside, the company needs you.”
“Personal feelings aside?” My voice rises. “You cheated on me, Derek. You used my ideas to get yourself promoted, had an affair with that woman from marketing, then fired me so you could give her my position. And now you want me to come running back to fix your mess?”
“The board is breathing down my neck—”
“Good! I hope they fire you.” I’m pacing now, anger making my hands shake. “You stole credit for my work. You stole the condo I paid for, and you’re living in it with your mistress. How dare you call me and demand I come back to fix problems you created?”
“Hazel, the Morrison contract alone is worth twelve million dollars—”
“I don’t care if it’s worth a hundred million dollars. You made your bed when you decided to screw me over. Now lie in it.” My voice is cold, final. “Fuck off, Derek. Lose my number.”
I end the call and turn around, only to find Sam standing in the doorway. His face is granite, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“How long has he been calling you?” His voice is deadly quiet.
“Sam—”
“How long, Hazel?”
“This is the first time since I got here.”
“He stole your home?” Sam’s voice gets lower, more dangerous. “The one you paid for?”
I nod, suddenly feeling small and exposed under my brother’s furious gaze.
“And you never told us.” It’s not a question.
“What was I supposed to say? That I was an idiot who let my boyfriend put a condo in his name even though I was making the payments?”
Sam takes a step toward me, and I’ve never seen him look this angry in my entire life. Not when we were kids fighting over toys, not when I accidentally crashed his bike, not even when I left town without explaining why.
“You were supposed to say that you needed help,” he says, his voice shaking with rage. “You were supposed to trust your family to have your back.”
“Sam—”
“Give me his number.”
“What? No.”
“Give me his fucking number, Hazel.”
“Sam, stop. It’s over. He’s in California, I’m here. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
But Sam isn’t listening. He’s staring at my phone like he wants to rip it apart with his bare hands. “He used you. He stole from you. He threw you away like garbage. And now he has the balls to call you and demand you come fix his problems?”
“I’m not going back,” I say firmly. “I told him to fuck off. It’s done.”
“It’s not done.” Sam’s voice is ice cold. “Not until he understands what happens when someone hurts my sister.”
The front door opens behind us, and Luke steps onto the porch, his expression immediately shifting from casual concern to alarm as he takes in Sam’s furious posture and my obvious distress.
“What’s going on?” he asks, moving closer to us.
Sam turns on him, his face twisted with rage. “Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“Did you know that her ex-boyfriend cheated on her? That he stole her condo—the one she paid for? That she’s been out of a job and homeless?” Sam’s voice rises with each word. “Did you know all of that and not tell me?”
Luke’s silence is answer enough.
“Jesus Christ!” Sam explodes, stepping forward and driving his fist into Luke’s jaw with a sickening crack.
Luke staggers backward, blood immediately appearing at the corner of his mouth, but before he can recover, I throw myself between them.
“Don’t touch him!” I snarl, my back pressed against Luke’s chest, my arms spread wide to protect him. “He wanted to tell you, and I didn’t let him. It’s not his fault!”
“He’s my brother!” Sam shouts, his face red with fury. “He should have told me!”
Luke straightens behind me, wiping blood from his split lip. When he speaks, his voice is deadly calm, his blue eyes locked on Sam’s.
“She comes before you,” he says quietly. “Before anyone. If she asks me to keep her secrets, I keep them. That’s what loving someone means.”
His confession makes my heart tighten unwillingly. He chose me. Over his best friend, over his brother in everything but blood, he chose my wishes, my privacy, my right to handle my own problems.
I turn to look at him, shocked by the fierce loyalty in his voice, touched by his unwavering protection of me even when it cost him.
Sam stares at both of us for a long moment, then shakes his head in disgust. “You’re both idiots,” he spits, then turns and storms off toward the woods behind the house.
“Sam!” I call after him, starting to follow.
Luke’s hand closes around my wrist, stopping me. “Let me handle this.”
“But—”
“Hazel.” His voice is gentle but firm. “Let me handle it. He’s angry at me, not you. This is between us now.”
I want to argue, want to fix this mess I’ve created between the two most important men in my life. But Luke’s eyes are steady, certain, and I find myself nodding.
“Go inside,” he says softly, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be back.”
He heads toward the woods, following the path Sam took, leaving me standing alone on the front porch with the autumn evening closing in around me. I sink onto the porch steps, wrapping my arms around my knees, and catch sight of movement at the kitchen window.
Mom and Dad are standing there, watching me with matching expressions of concern and heartbreak.
They heard everything—the shouting, the fight, probably even Derek’s call that started it all.
Dad’s jaw is tight with barely controlled anger, while Mom’s hand is pressed to her mouth like she’s trying to hold back tears.
I look away quickly, unable to bear the weight of their worry on top of everything else. The autumn air is getting colder, and somewhere in the distance I can hear the muffled sounds of angry voices carrying through the trees.
I’ve just destroyed everything good in my life with one phone call I should never have answered.