“Watch me.”
I turn away from his desk, my heartbeat thundering as loud as a stadium of applause in my ears.
“You’ll regret this!” he barks behind me.
“Maybe,” I say without even looking back at him. “But at least it’ll be my mistake.”
Then I open his office door and walk out, leaving the smell of stale whiskey and self-importance behind me for good.
My father’s voice is still ringing in my skull when the door crashes closed behind me. The hall outside feels cooler, lighter. Oxygen has finally seeped back into my lungs.
My legs carry me before I’ve even decided where I’m going. Past the portraits of past mayors, past the framed proclamations about “community values” that never felt likemine. My heartbeat’s still thunder in my ears, every step a drumbeat counting down to something inevitable.
Peter Holloway’s office.
The mayor of Honeysuckle Grove.
I don’t knock. I just push the door open, breath still ragged, tie askew from my father’s explosion.
Peter looks up from a stack of papers. His eyebrows lift, not in anger, but in concern. He’s got that expression, half calm, half bracing, for whatever disaster just walked in. He sets his pen down.
“Hayes,” he says carefully. “What’s happened?”
My tie’s crooked, collar askew. I barely even notice. Or maybe I just no longer care. My palms still tremble, little aftershocks of what just happened, but when Peter looks at me, there’s no judgment in his eyes.
I close the door behind me. “I’m resigning.”
The words hit the room hard.
Peter leans back in his chair, studying me. Not with my father’s suspicion or fury, but with something quieter. Sadder.
“You’re sure,” he says finally. Not a question so much as an opening.
“Yes.” My throat feels scraped raw, but I keep going. “I should’ve done it months ago. Maybe years. I’ve been pretending this job, this path, was mine. But it’s not. It never was.”
Peter’s silent for a beat. Then he exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I can’t say I didn’t see this coming.”
That throws me for a second. “You… what?”
His mouth quirks in a tired sort of smile. “You’ve been carrying yourself like a man on borrowed time for a while now. Bending to the whims of your father. You think I can’t hear the way he speaks to you in his office? We’re only two doors down from each other. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve done good work. Got sharp instincts. But your heart wasn’t here. Not really. And I’d be a fool to pretend I didn’t notice. I mean, Iwantto keep youaround, obviously. But I also won’t hold you back from what you want to do with your life, no matter what.”
The lump in my throat tightens. “I don’t want to let you down.”
That draws a wince out of him. He stands, rounds the desk, and rests a hand on my shoulder. Solid. Kind. Nothing like my father’s crushing grip. “Hayes. You never could.”
The words nearly undo me.
Peter’s gaze is steady, searching. “I’m disappointed, yes. I had hopes for you here. But I’m not angry. You’ve given this town a lot. More than most people know. If you’ve found something else that matters more? That’s not failure. That’s living.”
For a second, my vision blurs. I blink hard, drag in a breath, and nod. “Thank you. Really.”
Peter squeezes my shoulder once, then lets go. “So, what’s next?”
And here’s the thing: I don’t know. Not in the tidy, bullet-point way he probably expects. But I know it won’t be dictated by cigar smoke and oak desks any longer.
I know it’ll be mine.
I straighten my tie, more out of habit than anything else, and meet his eyes. “Whatever it is, it won’t be in this office.”
