32. Bethany
Chapter thirty-two
Bethany
Grant’s house looks warm from the outside.
Every window glows gold against the dark, the porch light spilling across the front steps. There is a wreath on the door that my mother probably hung because Grant would have left the hook empty.
I sit in my truck at the curb with both hands wrapped around the steering wheel.
The engine is off.
The keys are still in the ignition.
I have been here long enough for the windshield to start fogging around the edges.
I drove straight here after what happened with Timothy. It made sense.
My mother is in there.
Grant is in there.
I have a completely reasonable business matter to discuss. I need temporary coverage for Hockey House.
Simple.
Professional.
Nothing about this requires sitting in the dark while my chest feels like someone packed it full of broken glass.
My phone rests faceup in the cupholder.
No messages from Timothy.
I checked after I parked.
Nothing.
Space. That is what we agreed to. Or what he suggested and I accepted.
I grab my bag and force myself out of the truck. The cold hits hard enough to make my eyes water. Or maybe my eyes were watering before.
By the time I reach the porch, I can blame the weather for almost anything.
I knock even though I have been told repeatedly that I do not need to.
The door opens before my hand drops.
Mom takes one look at me. “Oh, honey.”
I drop into her arms and accept her hug. “I need to talk to Grant.”
Her expression changes, worry folding itself behind something gentler.
“Okay.”
I step inside and close the door behind me.
Grant appears at the end of the hallway with Major beside him.
The dog stays close to Grant’s leg. Major’s eyes flick toward me, then back to Grant.
Grant does not ask why I am here.
He takes in the coat I have not removed, the bag clutched against my side, and my mother hovering one step behind me.
“Office?” he asks.
I nod.
Mom touches my arm. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Part of me wants to ask her to come with me. I do not.
This is business.
I can handle business.
Grant leads me down the hall. Major follows, then settles beside the desk while Grant takes his chair.
I sit across from him.
His home office is clean and warm. Dark wood. Team photographs.
I set my bag beside my feet and fold my hands in my lap.
“I need to step back from the Lestor Lodge maintenance schedule for a little while.”
His expression barely changes.
“How long?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Is there a problem with the work?”
“No.”
The answer comes out too quickly.
I slow down.
“The work is fine. The lodge is fine. Everything is current.”
“I know.”
“Mom can cover the twice-weekly checks. Temporarily.”
“Have you asked her?”
“Not yet.”
Grant glances toward the open doorway.
“She will say yes.”
“I know.”
Major shifts beside the desk, pressing closer to Grant’s chair. Grant’s hand drops automatically to the dog’s head.
“I can prepare a full schedule,” I say. “Maintenance notes, contractor numbers, anything still pending. It's almost autopilot now that the rink is finished.”
For weeks, finishing it was the goal.
Now it feels like someone closed a door and locked it from the other side.
“I don’t want anyone thinking I’m abandoning the contract," I say.
Grant leans back slightly.
“Take whatever time you need.”
The kindness catches me off guard. I was prepared for questions. For a reminder that commitments matter. I was prepared to defend myself.
I almost don't know what to say next.
“Thank you.”
I look at the framed team photograph behind him. Timothy stands in the second row.
I stand. Grant rises with me.
“Bethany.”
I stop.
He glances toward Major before looking back at me.
“I don’t know what happened.”
My throat tightens.
“But stepping away from a difficult situation and solving it are not always the same thing.”
Heat climbs into my face.
“I’m not asking for advice.”
“No.”
His voice remains calm.
“You’re asking for coverage.”
“Yes.”
“And you have it.”
I pick up my bag. Major watches me walk toward the door. For one ridiculous second, I think about the puppy. His folded ear. His nose pressed to the passenger window as Jenna drove away. How Timothy’s face emptied when I told him the puppy was gone.
I leave the office before the memory can finish.
Mom is waiting in the kitchen.
She has two mugs on the table.
Tea for her. Hot chocolate for me.
I set my bag on the floor and take the chair across from her. She slides the mug toward me. I wrap my hands around it. The heat sinks into my palms.
For a minute, neither of us speaks.
Grant’s house settles around us, warm and quiet and completely unaware that my entire life has cracked open.
“I told Grant I need a break from the lodge,” I say. "I hope you don't mind stepping in for a while."
Mom nods.
“I’ll cover it.”
I stare into the hot chocolate.
“You don’t even know for how long.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Her certainty should comfort me.
Instead, it presses against the part of me already keeping a list of everything I have made harder for everyone else.
I grip the mug tighter.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For making this your problem.”
Mom’s expression changes.
“Bethany.”
“I should have handled it better.”
“The lodge schedule?”
“All of it.”
The words fall out before I can organize them. I set the mug down before I spill it.
I stare at the steam rising between us.
“Timothy and I broke up.”
Saying it aloud makes the kitchen tilt.
Mom’s hand moves across the table, but she stops before touching mine.
“When?”
“Today.”
“What happened?”
I laugh once. It comes out thin.
“I gave away a dog.”
Mom blinks.
I pick at the edge of a paper napkin.
“We found a puppy near the outdoor rink.”
Mom waits.
“He was cold and scared. Timothy got him to come out.”
My voice catches on Timothy’s name.
I keep going. “I found him a permanent home, but everybody got attached.”
“That sounds hard.”
“It was.”
Mom’s eyes stay on mine.
“Who took him?”
“Jenna.”
Her eyebrows rise.
“Timothy’s sister?”
Mom reaches for her tea.
“And Timothy disagreed?”
I grip the napkin harder. “He was trying to get more time with the puppy.”
I look up.
Mom sets her mug down. “Oh.”
Mom waits.
“What was the point? Why make it harder on him and me and the puppy?”
Mom looks down at her hands.
“The point may have been that it mattered to him.”
I push back from the table.
I scheduled the pickup while Timothy was gone because if I had watched him hold the puppy one last time, I might have changed my mind.
I might have asked Grant for more time as well.
I might have let Timothy convince me that temporary was worth having, even if it ended.
I might have admitted that I wanted the puppy too.
That I wanted all of it.
I could not bear to want it when I knew I could not keep it. So I ended it cleanly. Before it could hurt worse.
Except it hurt Timothy.
It hurt me.
I cover my face.
The first sob catches against my palms.
Then another.
Mom moves around the table. Her arms come around me from behind, warm and solid.
“I ruined it.”
Her cheek rests against my hair.
“You made a mistake.”
“No.” The word comes out against my hands. “I ruined it.”
I sit up and wipe at my face.
“I gave away his dog without telling him.” Mom’s hand tightens on my shoulder. I keep going, “I told him feelings did not change facts.”
I can barely force the words out. “And he thought I was talking about us.”
“Were you?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer tears through me.
Mom lowers herself into the chair beside mine.
I stare down at the table.
“I said we could not keep pretending we could make it work."
I press both hands to my chest as though I can hold everything inside.
Mom brushes a strand of hair away from my wet cheek.
“He told me he did not want to hold me back.”
I laugh through the tears.
“He was trying to give me space to take Grant’s job offer.”
“The one you declined?”
“Yes. I did not even let Grant finish explaining it.”
Mom’s mouth twitches despite everything.
A broken laugh escapes me. "It's not funny."
Her expression softens.
“Oh, Bethany.”
“It sounded big. Too big. Properties in other towns. A title. More responsibility.”
“You were scared.”
“I was practical.”
Mom says nothing.
I look at her.
“Fine. I was scared.”
The admission sits between us.
“I was scared I would fail. Scared Grant would realize I was not as capable as he thought. Scared people would think I got the job because you are with him.”
“All understandable.”
“And I was scared Timothy would think I was leaving.”
Mom’s eyes hold mine.
I think about Timothy on the porch. His gift of concert tickets. The lemon cake. How he told me he wanted me and that it was not about an old promise.
He kissed me. The way his hand found mine over the console. How he looked at me like I mattered. Like I was precious.
“I'm an idiot." I press my fingers against my mouth.
Every moment rearranges itself. Every careful question Timothy asked. Every time he stepped back because he thought he was giving me freedom. Every time I saw distance instead of fear.
“I kept thinking once the project ended, he would stop needing me.”
My voice cracks.
“But he told me he wanted me. He said it.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “And I did not believe him. I kept waiting for proof that it was temporary.”
My breath shakes.
“So I gave away the puppy. I made every decision without him.”
The truth settles fully.
“I made it temporary.”
Mom’s thumb brushes across my knuckles.
“You were afraid.”
“I told myself I was helping,” I whisper.
“I know.”
Mom’s forehead creases.
“I fix things before anyone can ask. I make plans. I solve problems. I leave before I become one.”
Mom’s grip on my hand tightens. Her eyes close for a moment. When she opens them, she looks heartbroken.
“You do not have to earn your place with people who love you.”
“I'm not sure I can believe that.”
Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
I ruined it.
Of course something that good could not last in my hands.
I always knew there would be an ending.
I just did not know I would be the catalyst for it.
Mom pulls me against her.
I cry into her shoulder until my face hurts and the kitchen blurs and the hot chocolate goes cold on the table.
Eventually, the tears slow.
My body feels hollowed out.
Mom rubs one hand over my back. Outside, the wind taps something against the house.
For one instant, the sound reminds me of the puppy whining behind the rink boards.
Timothy waited for the puppy to trust him.
He waited for me too. I was the one who ran away.
Mom gets up to reheat the hot chocolate.
I stare at my phone on the table.
Thinking back on my actions, all I can see is the wreckage. The puppy is gone. Timothy is gone. Hockey House is gone from my schedule. The empty spaces I feared have arrived. I created every one of them.
Mom sets the warm mug in front of me again.
I wrap my hands around it and stare into the dark surface.
“I dug the pit,” I say.
She sits beside me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
But it is not nothing.
I spent weeks standing near the edge, terrified Timothy would push me in.
He never did.
I climbed down by myself, one careful, practical decision at a time.