Chapter 32 #2
"I'll cut to the chase. We want you back. Not just back—we want to promote you. Senior analyst. Your own team. Twenty percent raise. Full benefits package. Corner office if you want it."
The words hit like punches.
"Lauren—"
"I know what you're going to say. You're helping your aunt. Family stuff. I get it. But Hazel, this is a huge opportunity. We've got projects lined up that need someone with your skill set, and honestly? You're the only one I trust to handle them."
My throat feels tight. "That's—that's really generous. I just—"
"There's more." She's talking fast now, the way she does when she's closing a deal. "We're partnering with three new firms next quarter. International clients. The kind of portfolio that could set you up for VP track in two years. Two years, Hazel. You'd be one of the youngest VPs in the company."
VP track.
The thing I used to daydream about. The goal that kept me working late nights and weekends. The reason I convinced myself leaving here five years ago was the right choice.
"When would you need an answer?" I ask, hating how weak my voice sounds.
"That's the thing." She pauses, and I hear papers shuffling on her end.
"I need to know by end of week. Thursday night at the latest. We're restructuring the whole department, and if you're not coming back, I need to move forward without you.
It's not personal—it's just logistics. I have to fill the position one way or another. "
Thursday.
Three days from now.
Two days before Fall Classic.
"I need to think about it," I say.
"Of course. Take your time. Well—three days." She laughs like it's a joke. "But seriously, Hazel. This is real. This is the kind of position people wait years for. The kind that doesn't come around twice. Don't let it slip away because you're stuck mucking stalls in Montana."
Something sharp twists in my chest. The way she says "mucking stalls"—like I'm wasting time. Like none of this matters.
"I'll call you by Thursday," I say, keeping my voice level.
"Perfect. I'll send over the formal offer letter this afternoon. Salary breakdown, benefits package, start date—the whole nine yards. Look it over and let me know if you have questions."
"Okay."
"Great. Talk soon. And Hazel?" Her tone shifts, more serious now. "I really hope you say yes. You're too talented to waste it."
She hangs up.
I stand there, phone still pressed to my ear, hands shaking.
Senior analyst. My own team. VP track.
Everything I worked for before I came back here.
Everything I told myself I wanted.
The sun beats down on my shoulders. Sweat drips down my spine. In the distance, I can hear the rhythmic sound of Eli hammering staples into fence posts.
My chest feels too tight.
I force myself to turn around. To walk back to the fence line. To pretend my hands aren't trembling.
Eli's moved to the next post. Still working. Still not looking at me.
I pick up the wire cutters and get back to work, my movements mechanical.
"Everything okay?" he asks after a minute. His voice is careful. Neutral.
"Yeah. Just work stuff."
He nods. Doesn't ask what kind of work stuff. Doesn't ask if it's important. Doesn't ask if I'm okay.
Just nods and goes back to the fence.
We finish the section in silence, the sun climbing higher, the temperature rising until the heat feels oppressive.
We head back to the barn.
The afternoon work needs doing. Feed. Water. Stalls. Normal things.
Eli's in the feed room when I walk past. I see him through the door—back to me, scooping grain—and I keep walking. Head to the tack room instead. Find something that needs organizing.
When I come out ten minutes later, he's gone.
I check my phone. Nothing. No messages from him.
I should go to the house.
Instead I stand in the barn aisle, breathing in hay and leather and the faint smell of horses, and try to remember what it felt like yesterday when everything was easy.
By late afternoon, I'm helping Mae in the garden when I see Eli's truck pull out of the drive.
He doesn't come say goodbye. Doesn't stop at the house.
Just leaves.
Mae notices. "That boy left without a word."
"He's probably tired."
"Probably." She doesn't look at me, just keeps pulling weeds. "You two fighting?"
"No."
"Feels like it."
I don't respond. Don't trust my voice.
"Reminds me of when you two were younger," Mae says after a minute. "How you'd tiptoe around each other after some petty argument. Both too stubborn to just say what you meant."
My chest tightens. "It's not like that."
"Isn't it?"
I meet her eyes. She's not accusing. Just observing. Waiting.
"I don't know," I admit quietly.
She nods, satisfied. "Well. You'll figure it out or you won't. But don't wait too long. That kind of careful turns into distance real quick."
She goes back to the garden, leaving me sitting there with dirt on my hands and doubt in my chest.
By evening, I'm alone in my room, staring at my phone.
Email notification from Lauren. Subject: Time Sensitive - Need Response
I open it.
Hazel, just checking in. Thursday deadline still stands. This is a great opportunity but I need to move forward either way. Let me know.
Thursday.
Three days from now.
I close the email and set the phone on the nightstand.
Then pick it up again.
Open my texts with Eli.
The last message is from yesterday morning. Him asking if I wanted coffee before we left. Me saying yes.
Normal. Easy.
Before everything shifted.
I type: Can we talk?
Stare at it. Delete it.
Type: I'm sorry.
Delete that too.
I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling.
Senior analyst. My own team. VP track. Everything I spent five years building.
But all I can see is Eli's face this morning. The careful distance. The resignation in his eyes when he said "We're fine."
We're not fine.
And I can't keep pretending we are.
I can't keep avoiding this conversation just because I don't have the right answer yet.
I grab my keys and head out.
The drive to his cabin is short. Too short.
My hands shake on the wheel. I don't know what I'm going to say when he opens the door. Don't know if I have an answer yet.
But I can't keep running from this.
Can't keep letting him think I've already decided to leave.
His truck is there when I pull up. Lights on inside.
I sit for a long moment, engine ticking as it cools, trying to find the words.
I don't have them.
But I get out anyway.
And knock.