27. Balancing Act
Chapter twenty-seven
Balancing Act
Chloe
“Remember how we used to come tearing through here on Saturday mornings to pick you up for our weekend shenanigans? Your dad shaking his fists at us because of his precious driveway gravel.” Harper grins, unbothered by the decades of Dad’s fist-shaking trauma.
“Eli using us for catapult target practice from his roof next door,” Laney adds, still eyeing the roof like Eli’s about to pop up with a slingshot. I’d put money on her keeping the grudge alive.
Honestly, that little shit could throw with scary accuracy.
“And yet, you kept coming.” I laugh, soft and low, warming up to the comfort of it all. “I’d be shoveling down my breakfast, listening to you two declare war on Eli, wishing I could be out here instead of inhaling pancakes.”
“Not before you finish your pancakes!” Harper wags her finger at me, and damn if that didn’t sound exactly like my Mom. She’s that good.
We joke and laugh as we make our way to the house. I’ve missed this. I haven’t laughed in days. Real, gut-deep laughter. It feels strange and familiar all at once. Like finding a part of myself that got buried under Brody-induced emotional bullshit.
“Ah, you’ve brought reinforcements, I see.” My dad narrows his eyes at my friends as he opens the door. “Don’t think it’ll do you much good after the stunt you pulled on Wednesday. You know your mother.”
Harper pushes ahead and takes the hit for me. “I take full responsibility at the stunt in question, sir. I’m sure she’ll understand the absolute significance of a friend in need. What’s for breakfast?”
She pats his arm and strolls right in. Yup. Letting my friends fight my parental battles now.
They’re basically family anyway. We all grew up in each other’s homes, stealing snacks and trading secrets and knowing which creaky floorboards to avoid.
With Laney close behind, we head for the back patio. That’s when it hits me. The smell.
Blueberry pancakes. Crispy bacon. Fresh-baked scones. It’s like walking into a Southern comfort cookbook. There’s also scrambled eggs, toast, fruit salad, and at least three jars of Mom’s homemade jam, because she’s not subtle when she’s guilt-cooking.
This is her version of you never come around anymore, served hot and passive-aggressively delicious.
"I was telling Harper what a nice surprise this is." Mom beams, sweeping Laney and me into a hug that smells like vanilla and strawberries. “It’s been so long since I’ve had you all together like this.”
“They’re not kids anymore, Claire.” Dad grumbles, already eyeballing the bacon. Typical Dad. More bacon, less sentimentality.
“Family is part of life,” Mom says, smacking his hand away. “And you can wait until everyone’s seated.”
“Well then, get on with it.” He waves us over, grumbling about the food going cold.
Mom has that look in her eye. Chloe, you’re not off the hook. The guilt storm’s brewing.
I sit, but not without a sinking feeling in my gut. Luckily, my human shields are here. Harper on one side, Laney on the other.
“You can’t disappear when life gets busy,” Mom starts, zeroing in on me like I’m about to confess to a felony. She pours her orange juice with controlled menace.
I groan internally. “I didn’t disappear, Mom. I told you, I—”
“It’s my fault!” Harper jumps in, sugary sweet. Timing, charm, and strategic lying, Harper to the rescue. “I needed her help Wednesday night. You know, matters of the heart.”
Mom's eyes narrow, sweeping between the three of us. "Whose heart?" she asks, her voice deceptively casual.
“Your jam is a chef’s kiss, Claire,” Dad says through a mouthful of scone, throwing out a desperate Hail Mary.
It flops. Mom has her radar on, and flattery isn’t cutting it.
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Chloe.” She says, sipping her orange juice. “Don’t think I can’t put two and two together.”
I look to my friends, silently begging for help. SOS. Derail this train. I do not need to unpack Brody with my mother. Not here. Not now. Not ever, ideally.
“Uncle Norm’s right,” Laney says, licking the strawberry jam off her thumb. God bless her for that pivot. “This tastes like Nanna’s. Try it, Harp.”
Harper, ever the team player, obediently follows along. I could cry with gratitude; my friends are the best.
But no, Mom’s not done. “You’ve been mopey ever since Brody Stirling left town. Not hard to connect the dots.”
Boom. There it is. The Brody bomb.
My stomach twists. Not hunger. Not guilt. The ache. I hear his name and everything inside me scrunches up tight. Not that I haven’t whispered it into my pillow like a lovesick idiot at 3 a.m., but those don’t count.
If he comes back. When he comes back. If.
“There’s no doom and gloom, Mom.” I load my plate with pancakes and bacon like that’ll prove my point. Carbs. My trusty emotional buffer. “Amelia’s been ramping up the protests. She needs all hands, so things have been... hectic.”
Two weeks. Two full weeks since I saw Brody. Since I heard from him. And yet here I am, sitting at brunch, talking about him like he’s a casual mention instead of the reason I feel like I’ve been hollowed out and repackaged as someone pretending to be fine.
“I have to go.” I push back from the table, not waiting for anyone’s response .
They call after me, but Harper steps in. I hear her telling my dad to let me go. At least someone understands. Guilt sets in for leaving, but I keep moving. At least knowing the girls have my back makes it bearable.
Outside, I breathe deep, trying to slow my heartbeat. Why is she talking about Brody like he’s nothing? Like I’m supposed to pretend it’s nothing? My mom’s constant questions are suffocating.
There’s a huge town hall meeting in a few hours, and I can’t afford to have my head filled with his stupid face.
I grab my bike, pushing it into the street. Work. Focus on work. Except I’ve been trying that for two weeks and it’s not cutting it. I need a new strategy.
And I know exactly who can help.
Three minutes later, I roll up to the community garden. At least here I can pretend to be productive while I wallow in Brody-related misery. A few people are already milling around, tending to the beds.
Vince is going to love how much is ready to harvest.
“You’re just in time to check out our new toy.” Eli swings the gate open like he’s unveiling a red carpet.
“We need to talk,” I don’t mean to interrupt his excitement, but I’m not here for garden games.
He links his arm through mine, leading me through the rows of raised beds like I’m his special guest at a garden party and not mid-crisis.
“Chloe! Wait, let me get this picture.” Molly, Bluepeak’s unofficial paparazzi slash florist, pops up with her camera.
Goddamnit. I’ve walked right into a setup.
Before I can get away, Eli pulls me in, grinning. I’m baring teeth.
“What’s happening?” I ask through clenched lips, keeping the smile on for the lens.
The flash goes off. I blink, trying to clear away the spots dancing in my eyes. She does a quick review on her camera screen, then we’re repositioned. Apparently, one isn’t enough. My question goes unanswered until she finally shoots us a thumbs up.
“I think we have a winner,” she says, finally backing off.
Eli claps his hands. “Can you believe they pulled this off in such a short time? Stirling really does put his money where his mouth is.”
I flinch at the name. Brody Brody Brody. He’s everywhere. Even when he’s not here.
“What did they pull off?” I ask, mostly to stop him from saying that name again.
Eli checks his watch, then lights up. “Come see for yourself.”
It’s not until I reach the flower bed that I spot Mayor Dawson, with Mason by his side. I acknowledge them with a glance but keep my mouth shut. I’ll talk at the meeting, not here.
“I’ve done the checks. Everything’s running,” Mason says, fiddling with some sensor.
“T-minus ten seconds,” Eli announces, like we’re launching a rocket. His enthusiasm almost makes me smile.
He elbows me. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
Mason starts explaining. Something about EcoSense. Beds. Apps. Data. I catch about half .
Then the machine sputters to life. Sprinklers rise from the soil, letting out a gentle mist of water and fertilizer. The small crowd lets out impressed oohs and aahs. Fancy tech watering plants. Big deal.
“Made from one hundred percent sustainable materials, this system gives the plant bed exactly what it needs, when it needs it.” Mason says proudly.
“What if it needs more than water or fertilizer?” Molly asks.
“That’s where the app comes in.” Mason lifts his phone. “You’ll get weekly updates per bed, with real-time alerts if something’s off.”
“Now anyone can join the gardening fun. Even without a trainer,” Eli says, eyes shining. “Cool right?”
“Can I talk to you?” I keep my voice low, wary of the others around us.
Eli picks up on the vibe and excuses himself from the group, leading me to a quiet corner.
The smell of manure is strong enough to make my eyes water. Flies buzz around us like they’ve been invited to a picnic, and one particularly bold one seems hell-bent on using my forehead as a landing strip.
“Is everything okay?”
Hell No. But I make sure we’re alone. The last thing I need is for my speech plans to become town gossip before I figure out what I’m going to say.
“It’s about my speech,” I finally manage. “I need help.”
Looking out from the podium, I’m relieved to see Eli nailed the turnout.
Like, nailed it. The town hall is packed.
People are standing where there aren’t seats, some spilling out of the doorways.
It’s a sea of expectant faces waiting for me to start.
A few squished into corners already look like they regret skipping their pre-meeting bathroom trip.
Good. This is exactly what I need, as many eyes on me as possible.
Especially after the nonstop barrage of ‘What’s going on with you?
’ and ‘Have you heard from Brody?’ these last two weeks.
Yeah, not great that everyone clocked my mood drop.
What’s worse? I miss him. Which I’ve been trying to bury under meetings, lodge responsibilities, and fake smiles.
But, like a stubborn zit, it keeps popping back up.
“Leave it to me,” Eli had said back at the garden. “I know how to get people there, despite their opinions on Stirling Tech.”
And I didn’t doubt him. Eli Cruz is one of those rare guys who actually does what he says. Unlike some people I could mention... Brody. But I’m not thinking about him. Not today. I have a town to save.
Harper and Laney are up front, seated like loyal soldiers. My mom’s nestled between them, and I’m trying not to picture the breakfast debrief that probably went down after I bailed. There had to be a showdown.
“You ready?” My dad’s voice cuts through the fog, his hand resting warm and solid on my back. “Doesn’t look like it’s going to get much busier than this.”
There’s been no mention of earlier, not from him anyway. That’s what I love about my dad. He doesn’t need everything spelled out. Doesn’t poke at wounds to feel helpful. Just stands beside you and waits for you to breathe again.
“Looks like the whole town showed up,” I murmur, scanning the crowd for the one face that isn’t here. The one I’d give anything to see.
My dad grins, leaning in. “Better make it good.”
Good? I let out a slow breath as he steps back. It’s going to be more than good. By the time I’m done, Stirling Tech won’t pack up, they’ll sprint out of town so fast, they’ll leave dust trails behind.
“Thanks for giving up part of your Saturday. I won’t take up too much of your time, especially since we all have so little of it now.
” I let that hang for a second, watching the awkward amusement spread through the crowd.
Got ’em. “Good to see we’re all in such high spirits while the town falls apart.
At least we have that going for us, right? ”
The laughter dies, exactly as I planned. People glance at each other. That oh shit, she’s serious energy settles over the room. Perfect. Let them squirm.
I sweep the room with my gaze, locking eyes with neighbor after neighbor. These are my people. And for too long, we’ve been tossing each other fluff. We’ll figure it out. We’ll rally. We’ll fight the good fight. But I’m done fluffing.
“I’m tired, Bluepeak,” I say, throat tight. “Too tired to keep smiling while a soulless corporation is…”
The words jam in my throat. Like I swallowed a rusty nail.
A murmur ripples from the back of the hall.
And damn it all to hell, I’d recognize that shit-eating smirk anywhere.
Brody.
What the actual fuck?
My heart does a weird flippity flop, like it’s torn between collapse or vaulting out of my chest to launch a full body drop kick on his ass.