I watch her sunshine dim. Watch the light go out of her eyes as she realizes what I’ve just said. What I’ve just done.
“Maybe it was,” she whispers.
And then she’s walking away, disappearing into the storm, and I’m standing alone in the wreckage of both the festival setup and whatever we had together.
Half the town just watched me break the heart of the woman who believed in me.
Good job, Lennox. Really stellar crisis management.
I sit in the empty fire station, surrounded by equipment that can’t fix what I’ve broken.
The storm’s passed, leaving behind the kind of crystalline quiet that only comes after nature throws a tantrum. Everything’s covered in pristine snow that makes the world look innocent and new.
Too bad I feel like I deserve to be scraped off the bottom of someone’s boot.
My phone’s been buzzing for the past hour. Mom. My partner. Ellen, who somehow convinced someone to let her use their phone. All wanting to know what happened at the festival site.
What happened is I turned into exactly what Mads was afraid of—someone who makes her feel small when she’s scared.
I replay the fight in my head, looking for the moment where everything went wrong. Was it when I snapped about the decorations? When I grabbed her arm? When I let Spencer’s ghost stand between us?
Or was it earlier? When I decided I wasn’t good enough for her sunshine? When I started pulling away instead of fighting for us?
My phone rings. Mom.
“Asher Michael Lennox, what did you do?”
“I messed up.” No point in dancing around it.
“I figured that much from the way Mads looked when she left.”
“She’ll be fine. Spencer’s here. He’ll take care of her.”
“Spencer?” Mom’s voice goes arctic. “That spineless weasel who convinced her she was too much trouble? That Spencer?”
“He knows what he’s getting into with her. I don’t.”
“What you’re getting into? Asher, you’re talking about love, not a science experiment.”
“Same level of potential casualties.”
The silence stretches so long I wonder if the call dropped. Then: “Your father really did a number on you, didn’t he?”
The observation hits hard. “This has nothing to do with Dad.”
“Doesn’t it? He taught you that loving someone means eventually disappointing them. That people leave when things get difficult.”
“People do leave.”
“Some people. Not everyone.” Her voice softens. “Not the right people, honey.”
Before I can respond, there’s a knock on the station door. I look up to see Ellen Cooper’s face pressed against the glass, breath fogging the window. Her sister, Lila, is with her.
I let them in, and Ellen stands there in her pink snow boots and serious expression, studying me.
“You made Mads cry,” she announces.
“I know.”
