The accusation shreds something raw inside me. I whirl, shove him, hard. He doesn’t budge an inch. My palms sting, my chest heaves, and before I can stop it, hot tears spill over.
“Unbelievable,” I choke. “You’d really think that of me after everything?”
His rage falters. I see it in the way his face changes, horror sliding under the anger. He panics at the sight of me breaking, his hand hovering like he wants to reach for me but doesn’t dare.
I don’t care that he doesn’t like to see me cry. I don’t particularly like it, either. Hate the way it cracks me open in front of someone else, makes my pain a shared thing when I never mean to share it.
So, let him panic. Let him look stricken. Let him wish he could take it back.
He doesn’t get to make wild accusations and then flinch from the fallout.
“You have kept things from me before,” he says in a low, grumbling voice.
“So have you.” I turn away, wiping furiously at my eyes. “I wasn’t going to sell to Beau. Yes, I asked him to send me the information, and yes, I read it. But that was it. That’s all it was.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to have everything laid out in front of me, all my ducks in a row, before I made my final choice. Because I know this isn’t just about me anymore, Wells. It’s about the house, and the town, and every single person who’s ever set foot inside those walls.”
The snow hisses against the hood of the truck.
He stays silent, shoulders taut.
“I was going to tell you tonight,” I whisper. “That I don’t want to sell. That I don’t want the trust, either. That I want tostay.” My voice cracks. “But how can I now? How can I, when you don’t even have faith in me? When at the first sign of a crack, you let your whole trust in me crumble?”
He drags a hand down his face, groaning. “Elsie ...”
“No.” I step back, shake my head hard. “To stay, I’d have to lean on others. Do you get that? I’ve spent my whole life refusing to lean on anyone, and if I stayed here, it would mean learning how. It would mean choosing to trust, even when it’s scary. And now?” My tears freeze on my cheeks. “Now I don’t know if I can lean on you, either.”
He stumbles back half a step.
I press a fist to my chest, trying to hold myself together. “I was ready, Wells. Ready to stay rooted, ready to believe this place could hold me without swallowing me whole. But if you can’t believe in me—if you think the second I look at a piece of paper from Beau Langford, it means I wanthiminstead of you—then maybe we’re already finished.”
His jaw works, eyes wild. “That’s not what I—”
“Yes, it is!” My voice cracks, sharp as the night air. “That’s exactly what you said. That I’d betray you. That I’d choose him over you. That, after everything, I’d sell the house without even saying a word.”
Snow swirls between us, catching in his hair, his lashes. He looks furious and broken all at once, fists still curled but useless at his sides.
“I’m sorry for that. I really fuckin’ am.” He breathes hard through his nose. “But the rest of it still doesn’t make sense, Els. Youhavebeen talking to him. You broke the committee’s holding agreement.”
I throw up my hands. “Okay, officer. Take me to jail, then, if that’s what this is about? Put me in irons for wanting to be thorough, for reading a packet of paperwork. You’re crucifying me on a technicality.”
His teeth grind audibly. “It wasn’t just paperwork. It was him. You went to him. The man who thinks money fixes everything. Who’d bulldoze half the ridge if it meant doubling his return. Who believes in honoring the past—as long as it doesn’t get in the way of progress. What am I supposed to think?”
“Who else was I meant to go to?” I shout, my breath fogging between us like smoke. “I didn’t want him or his ideals or his messy past with the Hollow. I wanted clarity.”
“Clarity,” Wells repeats bitterly, like it’s a curse. “You think I wouldn’t have given you that? You think I wouldn’t have sat down with you and gone through every goddamn line until you felt steady? I told you when you were ready to talk that I’d be there.”
His words slam into me harder than the snow. My stomach knots. He’s right, in a way. I hadn’t allowed him the chance. Not because I thought he’d lie, but because I thought it would hurt him too much to see me even entertain a seller’s offer.
I was terrified of disappointing him. Of losing him.
“You said we shouldn’t talk about the sale.”
He scoffs. “Now who’s the one hanging their whole defense on a technicality?”
I shake my head. “Do you know how hard it is for me to lean on people? To admit I don’t have all the answers? I thought I was sparing you the frustration, Wells. The disappointment. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
