39. Timothy
Chapter thirty-nine
Timothy
Bethany makes it three steps up the lodge stairs before I hear Wesley whispering.
“You’re breathing directly into my ear.”
Jonah whispers back, “That sounds like a personal problem.”
I stop on the landing.
Bethany stops beside me.
The lodge is loud beneath us. Kids and parents have moved inside, leaving wet boots lined across the entry and mittens draped over every available surface.
The guys are supposed to be supervising the visitors. Apparently, they would rather be supervising us.
Bethany looks down through the railing.
Four heads disappear around the corner below.
She presses her lips together. “They are terrible at this.”
“They’ve had very little practice respecting privacy.”
We continue up the stairs.
Another creak follows.
I turn.
Shane, Jonah, Maxon, and Wesley stand halfway up the staircase in a line, each wearing the expression of a man who has been caught somewhere he has every right to be.
I fold my arms.
“Can I help you?”
Jonah gestures vaguely toward the second floor. “I need something from my room.”
Shane catches Jonah by the back of his coat and pulls him down the stairs.
“We will be in the kitchen,” Jonah calls.
“Do not come looking for us unless you want commentary.”
“I have never wanted commentary.”
Their voices fade.
Bethany watches them go.
“They really were rooting for us.”
“Against my wishes.”
“I think it’s sweet.”
“You have not lived with them.”
Her expression softens.
The joke settles between us, easy and familiar.
I lead her down the second-floor hall and open the balcony door.
Cold air meets us.
The balcony overlooks Bennett Rink. From here, the new lights cast wide circles over the ice, and the plaque on the bench catches a narrow strip of gold.
A handful of people still skate below.
Anne stands near the boards, taking pictures.
Grant and Laurie are beside the firepit. Major sits between them while Reggie runs circles around them with Jenna watching him.
Bethany steps to the railing.
“This is a good view.”
I close the door behind us.
The noise from inside becomes muted.
It is distant enough that the balcony feels separate from the rest of the lodge.
Bethany rests her forearms on the railing.
The wind catches one of her curls and blows it across her face.
I reach to move it, then hesitate. Her eyes meet mine. I brush the curl behind her ear.
“You’re cold,” I say.
“I just spent twenty minutes falling on ice.”
“You were improving.”
"Sure. If you say so." Her smile lingers.
Bethany turns toward the rink again. She traces one finger along the railing.
“You didn’t have to do all of this.”
“Yes, I did.”
Her gaze moves to me.
“I know I didn’t have to,” I say. “But it needed to be done.”
“For the rink?”
“For you and Laurie.”
She leans against the railing, close enough that her shoulder touches my arm.
For a minute, we watch the skaters below.
A little girl falls near the gate and immediately pops back up.
Her father claps as though she landed a triple jump.
Bethany exhales.
“I am sorry I gave Reggie away without you.”
The words hurt.
I lift her hand to my mouth and press a kiss to her fingers.
“I’m sorry I made you feel unwanted.”
She steps closer. "Promise me…"
"Oh-ho."
She smiles. "Don't worry. I'll start. I promise to communicate with you and not make decisions for you.”
I look at the woman in front of me.
The girl from the pantry exists inside her.
So does every version that came after.
The teenager who remembered my ridiculous promise.
The woman who built a business with her own hands.
The person who walked into Hockey House and saw a home hidden beneath the disaster.
I do not need to rescue any of them.
I only need to stand here and tell the truth.
“I can promise that,” I say.
Bethany’s eyes search mine.
“Even when the truth is ugly?”
“Especially then.”
“Even if you think I might leave?”
My chest tightens.
“That one may require practice.”
Her expression softens.
“But yes.”
I draw her closer.
I touch my forehead to hers.
“There is one more thing," Bethany says.
“I’m listening.”
Bethany’s hand tightens around mine.
“When I was thirteen, you gave me hope that boys might like me in the future,” she says.
For years, the pantry promise has lived between us.
A good memory.
A promise I made when I was too young to understand exactly what I was offering, but old enough to know I hated seeing her hurt.
“I was not very eloquent back then.”
A shout comes from below as Jenna chases Reggie, who has abandoned the rink and made a break for the tree line.
“You promised to marry me if everyone else stayed stupid. That was eloquent for sixteen.” She smiles through the tightness in her expression.
I look back at Bethany. “I did not make that promise because I thought we were destined to get married.”
Bethany shakes her head. Her smile fades slowly. “What did you mean, then?”
“I knew I could not make the party different. I couldn’t give you a better birthday or make those kids less awful.”
I look toward the rink.
“But I wanted you to believe the day was not proof of anything.”
“Proof of what?”
“That nobody would ever choose you.”
Her face tightens.
I continue before fear can convince me to stop.
“I didn’t have the words for that. I was sixteen. So I gave you a ridiculous deadline and promised to solve the problem myself if the rest of the world failed.”
“Twenty-four.”
“I gave the boys eleven years to improve.”
“Generous.”
“They wasted the opportunity.”
“And you were right.” She smiles.
My eyebrows lift.
“There were boys who liked me. There were men who wanted to date me,” she says. “A few probably thought they loved me.”
My jaw tightens.
“But none of them compared to my first choice.”
I go still.
Bethany steps close enough that only a breath of cold air remains between us.
“You.”
The word leaves her clearly.
“You were my first choice before I understood what that meant. You were the person I compared everyone else to.”
A tear slips down her cheek.
“You were the one who noticed when I was hurting. The one who sat beside me when nobody came. The one who made me laugh when I wanted to disappear.”
I close my eyes briefly.
“When we grew up, I told myself the promise was the reason you mattered so much,” she says.
“You do not owe me love because of something I said when we were kids.”
“I know.” Her fingers tighten around mine. “That’s what I’m trying to say. My choice has always been you.”