Chapter 24 #2
He clicked the phone off, standing so fast his chair rolled back.
He gathered a handful of papers, grabbing his keys and the plan tube he’d brought in two hours ago.
“Sorry, I need to run. Another fire to put out on a different job. We’ll sync up later.
” His hand brushed mine as he walked by, a light tangling of fingers that was all he could give.
It was deliberate, a gesture that he understood what still lay between us.
A gesture that he was doing the best he could.
For a moment, I stayed where I was, staring at the crater left by his absence.
The crisis hadn’t changed—the money was still short, the beams still gnawed, the future still sharp-edged and uncertain.
But the thing I feared most wasn’t the collapse of a wall or a building.
It was this, the way he could withdraw so completely, the way he made me feel like my support was something he couldn’t afford.
He chose to carry all of it alone. The structural load and the emotional one.
He chose not to trust me with the weight, even though I’d all but begged him to let me help shoulder it.
And wasn’t that what I’d told myself I wanted?
Partnership. Someone who could meet me in the hard places and say, Let’s do this together.
I looked down at the mug I’d brought him. Still three-quarters full, cooling fast. Was this what it would be, loving a man who turned inward when things got tough? Because I couldn’t even lie to myself anymore.
I was in love with Chase Ashworth, and there was no going back.
The door clicked shut behind him, and with that simple hush of wood against frame, every last scrap of composure I’d been clinging to evaporated. I stood in the center of the mess and waited for the next breath to feel less impossible.
It didn’t.
The relief of no eyes on me was almost as sharp as the ache in my throat. I pressed my palms to my eyes, felt the hot, gritty pressure building, my nose stinging in that prelude-to-ugly-cry way I hadn’t allowed in years, never at work, not with anyone but Finn safely asleep in the next room.
The conference table was cold and unyielding under my hands as I braced myself, sucking in one useless breath, then another.
My vision blurred. I sagged into the nearest chair, folded forward, elbows on knees, and let my face fall into my hands.
A sob slipped out, ugly and relieved and raw.
The sound didn’t bounce off these walls the way laughter did.
It seemed to sink straight into the carpet, private as a wound.
I sat there and let it go—frustration at the resort’s fragility, anger at Chase for shutting me out, the old, stubborn pain that whispered maybe I was always destined to carry things alone.
Somewhere between breaths, I wiped my nose on the inside of my wrist, suddenly aware of a sticky ring of dried coffee on the table beside my elbow.
I focused on that, weirdly grateful for its existence, a reminder that I was still in the realm of the physical, the solvable.
If only the human heart wiped clean as easily as old coffee.
The door opened with the soft creak of hinges, and I didn’t even have time to hide the evidence before Eli slipped in. No sunglasses, no bright-lipped joke ready, just his own tired shadow painted by the door. He paused to take in the carnage—documents, plans, Harper-shaped misery.
“Hey.” The word was small. Genuine.
I sniffed, straightened as best I could, and swiped under both eyes, trying to reassemble my manager face. “Hi. It’s just… stress. The termite beam situation…” My voice warbled and collapsed. I was mortified and too wrung out to fake it.
He crossed the room in those lazy-long strides of his, not stopping until he leaned his hip against the table beside me. He didn’t try a joke. Didn’t even smile. “This looks like more than termite stress.”
I tried to pull myself back together. Swallowed and pressed my lips in a line.
But the tears slipped out anyway, more stubborn than I was.
“He won’t let me in, Eli! He says he’s fine, but he’s clearly drowning, and then he just…
leaves. On to the next crisis.” It felt childish and dangerous to say it, like wishing for something I couldn’t have.
Eli found a half-crumpled napkin in his pocket and offered it. I took it, the little ordinary gesture gutting me more than the situation itself.
“I don’t get it,” I said, staring at the floor. “I know we’re all tired. I know he’s under more pressure than anyone, but he keeps shutting me out. Like every time I try to help, it’s just another brick in whatever wall he’s building between us.”
Eli dropped into a chair next to me to meet my eye, his own concern in full view.
“I get why you’re upset. It sucks feeling shut out.
” He draped his arm over my shoulders, steadying, and I leaned in.
My big brother. “Chase has always had this weird default setting. Whenever things get overwhelming—especially the emotional kind—he retreats into his architect cave. You know, like a turtle pulling its head into its shell.” He paused, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“It’s a terrible look. Honestly, he kind of resembles a constipated turtle. ”
That broke something inside me, but not in a bad way. The sound that came out was a laugh chopped in half by tears. I swiped at my eyes again, a fresh burst of gratitude and pain all tangled up.
Eli leaned in. “But here’s the thing about Chase, the thing I’ve known since we were both dumb enough to think pizza rolls were a food group.
He always sticks his head back out. He needs time to process.
Maybe kicks a few metaphorical wastebaskets in private, curses at the world a bit, draws an angry floor plan no one’ll ever see.
But he doesn’t run. He just… turtles.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Give him a minute. He’ll be back.”
I wanted so badly to believe it. “You really think so?”
Eli nodded, no hesitation now. “Yeah. He’s an idiot sometimes, but he’s a loyal idiot. He cares about you, Harper. You two will figure it out.”
His certainty was balm—clumsy, homemade, dangerously reassuring. I leaned into him for a second, just letting myself be someone’s little sister instead of the manager, the mom, the everything-holder. “Thanks.”
After Eli gave my shoulder a solid, comforting squeeze, I straightened. He stood, stretching with exaggerated slowness, clearly trying to lighten the moment. “If you need anything else, I do offer distraction services—bad impressions, interpretive dance, whatever gets you through to happy hour.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “Maybe hold off on the dance. For now.”
“Suit yourself.” He grinned, ruffling my hair just enough to be annoying and comforting at the same time. “I’m around. Yell if you need anything. Or if you want to burn the termite beam in effigy, I’ll bring marshmallows.”
I rose to my feet, and he pulled me into a hug, tall and solid, like an anchor. He was warm, his chin brushing the top of my head. “You got this, Harper.”
I hugged him tightly. “You give pretty good pep talks. Who knew?”
A few seconds passed before he let go, backing toward the door with a wink. “Don’t cry too long. It’s bad for your complexion.”
“Get out of here,” I said, not bothering to hide the affection in my smile. “Thanks, Eli.”
The door closed behind him, leaving me alone with the mess and the hurt but also with a sliver of hope I hadn’t had before. Eli knew Chase better than anyone. I sat there for a few minutes more, letting my brother’s words sink in and loosen something knotted inside me.
Maybe Chase was turtling. Maybe he needed time to work through whatever storm was raging beneath that controlled exterior. And maybe—hopefully—he would come back once he’d done it, and we could work things out.
Eli’s words hadn’t magically fixed the crumbling walls or the budget, but they’d cracked open a window in my self-made fallout shelter and let in a ray of light.
The mountain ahead was still immense. But as I wiped my face and picked up my clipboard, the climb looked a little less like a desperate scrabble in the dark and more like ascending toward a distant, possible dawn.