CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ally
I roll over in the early morning light. The cabin is quiet. My eyes are puffy from crying, and they’re dry. So dry. Last night, I think I cried my very last tear, ever.
I blink my eyes a few times to focus and the pile of suitcases by the front door comes into view. After I hastily booked a flight back to the city, I spent the rest of the evening packing everything that I had brought with me. I sat on the floor, an entire bottle of wine in my system, belting out angsty songs from my teenage years between sobs. I had only ever intended for this to be a one-way trip, but here we are.
I reach over and pick up my phone off the nightstand. There’s an unread text message from Spencer that I click open. I texted her last night, though the memory of typing out the message is foggy.
Ally : Not feeling so good about Dr. Dickbag anymore. Coming home tomorrow.
Spencer: Lucky for you, I just got back last night. I’ll be at the airport to pick you up. Send me your flight info. xx
I text her the flight number and decide to get up and get myself somewhat cleaned up. It’s nearing eight o’clock. I have two hours before my flight. Two hours before I can leave Heartwood and try to forget that any of this ever happened. Until I land in Vancouver, the city that I was trying to escape in the first place. So much for my clean slate.
The air is just warming up by the time I’m heading out the door. I didn’t take the time to put on any makeup. I hardly even brushed through my hair, throwing it into a pile at the back of my head held together by a large claw clip. I’m wearing my old hoodie and leggings. I can’t be bothered to put on anything nicer. No one will even see me today. I’m doubtful that I’ll see Mason. He’ll be so absorbed in the clinic this morning that he won’t even register that I haven’t shown up for work. The plan is to get to the airport, beeline straight to Spencer’s car once she picks me up, and head back to her apartment to hide under a pile of covers for the next week.
I haul the last of six suitcases into the back of the Jeep that Mason had forced on me. I have to say it has served me much better than the old rattle trap I got. Resentment quickly replaces my sadness thinking of him.
If Mason doesn’t want my help, so be it. I’m done being used and then tossed aside once I’m no longer needed. God, does it hurt, though. It’s been a long time since I felt this invested because I care, like my life’s work means something. And now, it doesn’t mean anything because the clinic could be shut down, anyway. It doesn’t matter what I do because that ship had already left the harbour when I arrived.
Mason kept it from me. All this time, all the vulnerable moments we’ve shared, and Mason had forgotten to tell me that my job, my entire livelihood, was in jeopardy. I moved my entire life here, made friends and connections, and he’s prepared to just let me have it all taken away.
Tires crunch on the driveway behind me and squeal to a stop. I wipe the remnants of tears from my face as the dust cloud settles, and Mason emerges from his truck. What is this asshole doing here? I just want to leave in peace and never turn back.
Mason walks over to the Jeep and eyes the pile of suitcases in the back.
“You’re leaving?” Mason says as he approaches. It’s worded like a question, but he says it more like a statement. “I say something you don’t like, and you just decide to run away again?” Mason shakes his head, incredulous. His tone isn’t mean, but it strikes a chord with me. Maybe it bothers me so much because I know there’s a grain of truth in it. And maybe it’s cowardly, but I don’t care at this point. “Ally, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t let you help me yesterday. I thought I needed to handle it on my own. I thought I could handle it on my own.”
“You need me to help you stop the clinic from shutting down, is what you mean.” A look of shock crosses Mason’s expression as I spit out the words. “Yeah. I met Simone. She told me all about the clinic. When were you going to tell me I moved my entire life here for nothing?”
“Ally, I—” Mason stammers. I know the excuse he would give. He didn’t bring me here, Winnie did, and blah-dee-fucking-blah. He’ll sound like every other guy when they try to weasel their way out of a mess. The old we were never official plot. Mason stops, realizing that I’m beyond listening to explanations. It hurts too much, being pushed out over and over again and only wanted when I’m needed for his own benefit.
I’m struggling to hold back tears, and I can hear my voice wobble. “I think I could have gotten over the fact that you repeatedly denied my offers to help you. At least, I’d like to think we could have talked about it and I could have gotten it through your thick skull that you need people, a partner, a team, whatever. You can’t do this alone. And it’s not a weakness, accepting help, Mason. It’s a strength. But what I can’t get over is the fact that you used me once you found out about the funding being pulled. You didn’t want me here when I first started, but you sure did once you thought I would help you convince the government to line your pockets again.”
“I never told you, Ally, because I wouldn’t have told any of my employees. I never even told Winnie about the ministry funding. It wasn’t your problem to deal with. I am the boss, and I was taking care of it. I believed in you, too. I believed that the Harvest Festival, the prenatal program, would work,” he pleads.
“Save it, Mason.” I don’t want whatever explanation he has to give me, anyway. Looking at Mason now, hearing him speak his side would cause me to second-guess my decision to leave. I love him, and I would give him a chance if I heard him out. How many chances had I given Nate? Too many to count. He took those chances and ran with them, give an inch, and they’ll take a mile.
“So what, you’re going to go running back to Vancouver and back to Nate?” That was a low blow. My eyes sting as I fail miserably to contain my tears, which are now lining my eyelashes. I try to blink them away, but a singular tear runs down my cheek and gives me away. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”
I cut Mason off again.
“Well, you said it. And if running away is leaving a place that I know I’m not appreciated, then fine. Yes. I’m running away.” I don’t bother clarifying that there is no way in hell that I would go back to Nate. I won’t coddle Mason anymore. Let him wonder if I’ve chosen someone else. Mason made his bed when he showed me I wasn’t a priority to him. He can put on his big boy pants and deal with it.
“I appreciate you, Ally. More than you realize. The whole town does. I’ve been a fool not to make sure you know every single day how much I value you.”
“Do you value me? Or do you value how much work I’ve poured into your crumbling clinic?” I cross my arms over my chest, guarding my heart behind my ribs. “Because those are two very different things.”
“You, Ally. It’s you. I want you, I need you.” Mason is saying what I want to hear. Unfortunately, his actions over the last few weeks speak louder.
“I don’t buy it, Mason. I won’t buy it until you start showing me that you prioritize me. No, that you prioritize yourself enough to let people into your life, to live your life for you instead of for everyone else around you.” I walk around the side of the truck and reach for the driver's door handle, but Mason cuts in front of me, just as I did a few weeks earlier, convincing him to let me work with him. I’m tired of trying to convince him.
“Tell me what I need to do to show you that I’m ready. That I care about you more than anything else? Tell me, and I’ll do it.” Mason’s eyes are pleading and my chest heaves as I prepare to say the words that will sever this thing between Mason and me for good.
“You’ll let me go.” I see the words land on Mason, the way they crash into his chest like a wrecking ball, pushing him backward, away from me.
“Is that what you want, Ally? Be honest with yourself. Is that what you want?” Mason is holding my stare intensely. “If you can stand here and tell me you want me to leave with your whole heart, I will. I can respect your wishes, unlike Nate. But I don’t think you do, Ally. I think you know that this thing between us is something more. I think you know that this has never been fake. It was never fake for me. Maybe it’s more than you bargained for, moving to Heartwood. But isn’t it worth staying and fighting for? Fight for something , Ally. For once in your life, fight for something.”
My breath catches in my throat. Fighting isn’t my style. What about fairy-tale romance? You don’t have to fight for things that are meant to be. Mason should understand that. His beloved ’90s rom-coms are the epitome of the relationship we both deserve.
“It’s too late, Mason. You could have told me what we were up against. I would have had your back. This whole time, I was on your team. You were just too pig-headed to realize that this was even a team sport,” I say. My eyes refuse to meet his.
“Okay.” He puts his hands up in surrender, hearing me. “Loud and clear, Honeybee.”
The way he says my nickname this time, with a hint of melancholy, cracks my heart in two. But if he will not prioritize me in his life or make enough space for me, then this is how it needs to be. The least he can do is respect my need to be far away from him right now.
I climb up into the driver’s seat, and Mason shuts the door for me. Our eyes meet through the window for a moment, only a moment, before mine flick away. Any longer and my decision to leave would become murky, my footing less solid in my choice. This is how it needs to be, at least for now. I’ve spent too long trying to bend and fit into a box that other people have made for me. A box that allows them to use me to their own ends.
Besides, what’s left for me in Heartwood now? Even if the clinic survived, I can’t say that I would choose to go back to the status quo of working for Mason, of never feeling like I quite measure up.
I manoeuvre the Jeep in a tight turn, driving over the front lawn and steering it away from a dumbfounded Mason. I don’t look in the rear-view mirror as I continue on down the drive. I don’t look back because I know what I would find there. My heart, standing in the driveway, completely and utterly broken. Just as I am.
I don’t stop the car until I’ve passed the colourful ‘Welcome to Heartwood’ sign, and it’s no longer in view in my mirror. I’ve held myself together by a thread, and it’s only once I’m outside of the city limits that I pull the Jeep over to the side of the road and come undone. I allow the sobs to consume me until I can no longer draw in air. It took every ounce of effort to go against what my heart wanted and leave. I wanted to hear Mason out. To give him a chance. That’s my problem, though. I want to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and until I stop assuming that everyone has good intentions, I’m going to bleed myself dry of empathy.
Going back to Vancouver is my only option. It’s the only option that allows me to take back control, to choose what happens to me, where I go, and what I do. To not let other people make those decisions for me. When had I started allowing other people—men—to dictate what my life looks like?
Mason had been the exception. At least that’s what I thought. He had seen me for who I am and had realized the potential I have to make a real difference. But he had withheld a key piece of information that would have changed the trajectory of my life. I never would have uprooted my entire life and moved to Heartwood for some dead-end job. Heartwood was supposed to be my clean slate, my fresh start. I didn’t know that it had already been sullied before I even arrived, doomed to be a repeat of the same patterns I’ve already lived through.
When the final sob leaves my body, and I am able to come back up for air, I turn the car back on and finish the drive to the airport, where I board the plane and head back to Vancouver