BENEATH THE SCARS

~Richard Henshaw ~

Chapter Two: Betty Approaches Eli, He Refuses Outright

(Eli’s POV)

The knock came before dawn, sharp and insistent against the warped wood of my front door.

I was already awake, not because I wanted to be but because sleep had long since stopped being a reliable friend. The nightmares had done their job hours earlier, jerking me upright in a cold sweat and leaving me staring at the ceiling with Luke’s voice in my ears.

Stay back, Captain. I’ve got this.

The crackle of flames. The silence that followed.

I pressed my palms to my eyes, willing it all away, before dragging myself to my feet. Coffee had barely started to brew when the knocking started again.

“Elias Ward!”

Of course.

Only one woman in Iron Hollow had the gall to wake a man before six a.m. and sound like she owned the place.

I opened the door, squinting against the thin wash of sunrise. Mayor Betty Jensen stood there in her crimson blazer, hair already lacquered into perfection, lips painted a shade that could cut through steel. In one hand, she held a folder thick enough to pass for a brick.

“You look like hell,” she said without preamble, stepping past me into the house.

“Morning to you too,” I muttered, closing the door behind her.

She sniffed, surveying the bare living room like it offended her. “Coffee?”

“You woke me up. You don’t get coffee.”

“You were awake,” she shot back, dropping the folder onto my dining table. “I saw the light.”

I bit back a curse. The woman missed nothing.

The Confrontation Begins

“Sit down,” Betty ordered, sliding into the nearest chair.

“I didn’t invite you in.”

“Eli, we’re too old for dramatics. Sit.”

I considered ignoring her, but Betty Jensen wasn’t the kind of person you ignored unless you wanted the entire town to hear about it within the hour. With a sigh, I crossed the room and sat opposite her.

She pushed the folder toward me. “That’s the full grant package. Terms, timelines, obligations.”

“I already read the damn letter.”

“Then you know what I’m here to say.”

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “Save your breath. The answer’s no.”

Betty arched a brow. “You didn’t even let me speak.”

“I don’t need to. You want me to sign on. To play house with Lily Quinn because some government pencil-pusher thought it looked good on paper. Not happening.”

She studied me for a long moment, her painted nails drumming softly against the folder. “Do you hate her that much?”

The question hit harder than I expected. My jaw tightened. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then tell me what’s stopping you.”

“Everything.” I pushed back from the table. “You think it’s just about me and her? This isn’t a role I can fake, Betty. Not with her. Not after—” My voice caught, the words lodged in my throat. After Luke. After the mission. After the fire.

Betty’s gaze softened by a fraction, though her tone stayed sharp. “This isn’t about romance. It’s about survival—for Iron Hollow and for you.”

I laughed, but it was a bitter, humorless sound. “Don’t try to guilt me into this.”

She tilted her head. “Don’t you feel guilty enough already?”

The words sliced clean through me.

Flashback / Inner Struggle

For a second, I wasn’t in my house anymore. I was back there—dust choking my lungs, comms blaring in my ear, Luke’s silhouette disappearing through smoke as I gave the order. My chest constricted, the weight of five years crushing down like it was yesterday.

I dragged in a breath and forced myself to meet Betty’s eyes.

“You don’t get to use that,” I said low.

“I don’t need to,” she replied. “It’s written all over you.”

The silence between us stretched, filled only by the ticking of the old clock on the wall.

She opened the folder, spreading the paperwork across the table. Charts, deadlines, glossy photos of the inn in its half-restored state.

“You see this?” she tapped a picture of the burned-out ballroom. “That was our town’s heart. Weddings, dances, community fundraisers. We get this grant, and it beats again. Without it?” She closed the folder with a snap. “We flatline.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, staring at the wood grain of the table.

“And you,” Betty continued, softer now. “You get more than money for your troubles. You get purpose. You get a chance to put something good back into the world. Don’t you want that?”

“Not like this.”

“Then how?” she challenged. “Tell me what miracle will pay your medical bills, Eli. Tell me what miracle will stop the bank from seizing the Quinn family property if Lily doesn’t step up.”

I froze.

She’d gone there.

The Quinn property—Luke’s old family home, still in Lily’s name—was tied up in debt, just like my own. And Betty knew exactly which strings to pull.

“You’re playing dirty,” I muttered.

“I’m playing to win,” she corrected. “Because that’s what this town needs. Fighters. Survivors. People who will put pride aside and do the hard thing.”

I stood, pacing the length of the room. My pulse hammered, every muscle strung tight.

“No,” I said finally. “You don’t get it. I can’t stand in front of her and pretend. She’ll see right through me. Hell, she probably already hates me enough to spit in my face the second she steps off the plane.”

Betty rose too, squaring her shoulders. “So what? Let her spit. Let her glare. But then let her pick up a hammer, because that inn won’t rebuild itself.”

“Find someone else,” I snapped.

“There is no one else.”

“Then we lose the grant.”

“Then Iron Hollow dies.”

The words echoed through the room, stark and brutal.

I turned away, bracing my hands on the windowsill. Outside, the horizon was still scarred black from the fire years ago, patches of forest that had never grown back. The sight punched through me.

Betty’s voice came from behind, low and steady. “You think you’re protecting her by refusing. You think you’re protecting yourself. But what if you’re wrong, Eli? What if this—” I heard her tap the folder again. “—is the only shot either of you get at rebuilding something worth living for?”

I closed my eyes, jaw clenched so hard it ached.

Refuse. That was the only choice. I’d built my life around walls for a reason, and I wasn’t about to tear them down because the federal government liked symbolism.

But as Betty gathered her folder and moved to the door, her parting words stopped me cold.

“She said yes.”

The world tilted. “What?”

Betty glanced over her shoulder, eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Lily agreed to hear us out. She’s flying in tomorrow. You can either be the man who meets her at that table… or the man who lets her down again.”

The door closed with a snap, leaving me alone with the silence and the taste of ash in my mouth.

Tomorrow, Lily Quinn would walk back into Iron Hollow—and I had less than twenty-four hours to decide whether I’d face her, or run like a coward.