Chapter 44
Forty-Four
Liz
Once Evie has been escorted out, the crowd in the tent loosens. Chairs scrape. People shift, craning toward the opening as rain drums harder against the canvas overhead.
Someone mutters that she’s finally gone too far. Someone else insists she didn’t mean half of it, that she’s under pressure. The voices overlap and tangle.
When people start leaving the cover of the tent, they do it in clusters, hesitating at the edge before stepping into the rain. Umbrellas snap open. Jackets are pulled tighter.
When it’s my turn, rain slicks the pavement, reflecting the harsh white of the temporary lights. I catch fragments of conversation as I move through the scattering crowd.
“She snapped.”
“She’s not dangerous. She’s dramatic.”
“If Black Bear goes under, we’re finished.”
This wasn’t just a publicity disaster. It’s one that could ripple through every system in town. If Evie loses her grip on the valley, the fallout lands on businesses, and on paychecks. Whatever else she is, she’s also a lot of people’s employer.
I turn to Alaric and pull him around the corner, away from prying eyes.
“I’m really sorry,” I say. “Is there anything I can do? Or maybe help with?”
He lifts his eyes to mine, and something in his expression eases. I can see how much he’s been carrying alone.
“I don’t want to put pressure on you,” he says. “I’m just glad you’re here with me. Thank you.”
I nod. In the middle of everything breaking apart today, and despite the uncertainty of my footing with Alaric, I feel remarkably steady. Whatever conversation he wanted to have the other night when he came by can wait until he’s standing on more solid ground.
Someone taps Alaric’s shoulder, and I step back, giving them privacy to talk.
People drift toward their cars, shaking their heads as rain darkens the gravel beneath their feet. A few glance back toward the tent like they’re waiting for someone to step out and say it was all just a show, an elaborate hoax. No one does.
Officers speak quietly near the entrance of the tent, rain beading on their jackets. The flashing blue lights on their cars wash the parking lot in cold color, breaking and reforming against the wet pavement.
I stand at the edge of the crowd, breathing slowly, watching the valley absorb the blow. Paradise doesn’t feel quiet anymore.
I spot Sera and Josie near the side of one of the buildings, just beyond the reach of the tent lights.
They’ve taken shelter close to a line of trees, half hidden from the crowd.
Sera’s shoulders shake in small, tight movements, and Josie keeps one hand over her face, like she’s holding herself together by sheer will.
My feet move before I think through anything.
The instinct is simple. Human. They didn’t deserve any of what happened in there.
As I approach them, I slow. I don’t want to startle them or make this feel like another invasion.
When I get close enough, Sera lifts her head.
Her eyes are glassy. She looks exhausted.
“Hey,” I say softly. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that in front of everyone.”
Josie wipes her face with the back of her sleeve. She nods, but her voice doesn’t come. Sera swallows hard and looks toward the parking lot, trying to pretend she isn’t shaking.
I pull a small pack of tissues from my coat pocket and offer it without a word. Sera takes one with a tiny, strained nod. Josie takes the pack. For a moment, we stand in a quiet bubble, cut off from the noise. People walk past, glancing over with pity or curiosity, but none of that touches us here.
Sera drags in a rough breath. “She wasn’t supposed to do that,” she whispers.
I don’t say anything. I know better than to offer quick answers or excuses. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is let someone fall apart without rushing them back to their feet.
Josie leans into her sister. “It’s never been this public,” she says. Her voice cracks. “Not like that.”
I nod. “I know.”
We stand together for another moment, just three women trying to steady ourselves under the cold sky.
And I find I don’t feel like an outsider watching a disaster.
I feel like someone who belongs here because I care enough to stand with the people caught in the crossfire.
Even if everything about today is messy, this part feels right.
I’m still with Sera and Josie when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn, and Alaric is there. He looks like he walked through fire and hasn’t checked for burns yet. His eyes are raw, but there’s no anger in them. No walls. Just a man holding himself together for the people he loves.
And I am not his focus. He checks Sera from head to toe with a look only an older brother could manage. She gives him a broken nod. Josie steps to his side, and he wraps an arm around her.
“I’m here,” he murmurs into her hair. “You’re okay.”
There’s something almost reverent in the way he stands with them, despite the wreckage of the meeting still clinging to him.
He looks tired in every line of his face but not defeated.
He’s carrying more than he ever planned to and still choosing to shield the people around him. I stay quiet. This isn’t my moment.
Josie pulls back a little, wiping her eyes. “We should go home,” she says.
Sera nods but doesn’t move. She looks at me instead, her gratitude soft and unguarded. It makes my throat tight.
Alaric follows her gaze and finally turns to me. Something moves across his face. Surprise. Relief. A question he isn’t ready to ask. He doesn’t step toward me, and I don’t move either, but the thread between us pulls tight.
Then Sera and Josie are pulled aside by one of their employees, something about coordinating with the police before they leave the event. When they step away, the space between Alaric and me opens like a clearing, not empty, but charged.
The cold air lifts a strand of hair across my cheek. “You didn’t stop her,” I say. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
He exhales and shakes his head. “It was overdue.”
“Overdue doesn’t mean painless,” I tell him. “I saw what it cost you.”
He looks down. “It felt like tearing out a piece of myself. And also like the only way to protect them.” He looks in the direction his sisters have gone. “They’re the ones continually in the line of fire.”
I step a little closer. Not touching him or inviting more. But letting him know I understand what he has been wrestling with in a way I couldn’t before.
“You did the right thing,” I say.
He gives a rough almost-laugh. “I’m not totally sure how to tell anymore.”
“Maybe. But it’s still true.”
His gaze holds mine. There’s a question there, maybe a hope he doesn’t trust enough to voice. But something about the way he looks at me makes the cold around us feel less sharp. My heart kicks hard, not from old wounds, but from the way the understanding between us is shifting. Carefully. Slowly.
He exhales. “I think I could see what needed to happen because I’m not in the middle of it. Everyone else is too close.”
I nod, and we stand there in the glow of the police lights, two people who have hurt each other and still can’t look away.
In his face, I see the man I fell for, but also the man who couldn’t show up when it mattered. And then the man who today did something he’d never dared to before. All these truths exist at once, shaping the way my heart reacts now.
“I used to think you walked away from me because you didn’t care enough,” I say. “Today made it clear your choice wasn’t that simple.”
His eyes fill with relief and shame. “I wanted to tell you everything back then. I wanted to be honest. But wanting and doing aren’t the same. I didn’t know how, and I was so afraid. Now, you know what Evelyn can be like, what dealing with her requires. You saw it today.”
“I did.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I was drowning in all of it. Her expectations. The pressure. Keeping Sera and Josie safe. I didn’t know how to hold on to you without breaking everything else, and I didn’t want her to break you in the process.”
I don’t know what to say to that. As much as I understand, it wasn’t his decision to make alone.
He closes his eyes a moment. “I’m not saying it was right,” he adds, as if sensing my thoughts. “It wasn’t. It was cowardly, and I underestimated you.”
That should make me angry. It should scratch at the part of me that remembers being in Vancouver alone, looking for a future that never happened. Instead, all I feel is a soft ache. Not forgiveness, but empathy, enough to change the shape of the hurt without erasing it.
“You were conditioned to pick her,” I tell him. “Even when it hurt you.”
He lifts his gaze. “It hurt to let you go—every time.”
That softens my heart further. “I’m not saying everything makes sense now,” I whisper. “But tonight showed me something. All this time, you weren’t choosing her over me. You didn’t know another way.”
His shoulders ease slightly. “I’m trying,” he says. “To be different. To be better—whether you’re in my life or not.”
I nod. He isn’t just a man who abandoned me.
He’s a man who never learned how to stand up for himself until now.
He deserves one more chance, a chance to create a version of the story that could finally let both of us move forward, whether that ends in a future together or a goodbye that makes sense.
I take a slow breath. “I’m listening, Ric. I’m not promising anything. But I’m listening now.”
He nods. “Thanks. I won’t waste the opportunity.”
The afternoon has thinned into something colder and deeper.
The parking lot has emptied until the noise is just scattered murmurs near the police cars.
I stand with Ric in the quiet space between our lives.
The wind shifts, and I pull my coat closer, not just from the cold, but because everything inside me feels newly uncovered.
“I don’t know where this leaves us,” I say quietly.
“I don’t either,” he admits. “But you’re here. And I’m here. That’s a start.”
A car door slams in the distance. He glances toward the sound, then back at me. The look on his face makes my breath catch. I hold his gaze and let myself believe that seeing this through is the right choice.
Sera calls his name from across the lot, and the moment breaks. He looks toward her, then back at me. There’s hesitation in his eyes, and I give him a small nod. He needs to go to them.
“If you ever want to talk about her,” I say, “or any of this, I’m not on anyone’s side but the truth.”
“Thank you,” he says.
I nod. “I’ll catch a ride home. Go be with your sisters.”
“Thank you,” he says again, looking at them across the parking lot. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Goodnight, Ric.”
I turn toward the gift shop building and call a rideshare. The cold settles around me as I wait, but my mind feels clear. Heavy from the day, yes, but not whirling. And as Trinity and Ginny wave me over, I smile. This place isn’t quiet, simple, or easy. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it.