Chapter 29 Thatcher
THATCHER
The paint fumes are probably toxic at this point, but I can’t bring myself to care.
I’m balanced precariously on my kitchen stool, which definitely wasn’t designed for this purpose, trying to reach the corner above the shower where I somehow managed to get more paint on the ceiling than on the actual walls.
How did I even get paint up there? The laws of physics should have prevented this.
The paintbrush drips Calming Sea Blue onto my already paint-splattered face as I stretch toward a particularly stubborn white patch.
The stool wobbles. I grab the shower curtain rod for balance, which is clearly a mistake because it’s not designed to support the weight of a grown man having an artistic crisis.
The rod comes loose with a metallic screech, sending me stumbling backward. I windmill my arms, paintbrush flying, as I try to regain balance. The brush hits the opposite wall, leaving a perfect blue arc across the white tiles like some abstract art statement.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter, finally steadying myself. The bathroom now looks like a crime scene, where the victim was a can of paint and the perpetrator was someone with no understanding of basic home improvement.
There’s blue paint on surfaces that shouldn’t even be reachable. The mirror has splashes across it. My reflection looks like I’ve been attacked by a very artistic Smurf.
The worst part? I’ve been at this for three hours, and I’ve covered maybe two square feet of actual wall.
It’s been a month since Pierce and I ended things, and every day at work feels like walking through quicksand with a smile plastered on my face.
For two of the four weeks, Lior and Noah went away on vacation, so Pierce was in charge of VSE.
Those were two blissful weeks when we had so much work there was barely any time to breathe, let alone mope or waste time with secret glances.
But then they returned, and everything went back to as it was.
Still, weekends are the worst. Endless hours with nothing but my thoughts and an empty apartment that still feels his presence, even though it’s been weeks since he was last here.
The bad news? Jennifer’s publisher decided not to pick up my story.
The good news? The agent I found through Jennifer’s recommendation believes in my work so much that she said she won’t rest until we have a deal. So now it’s just a waiting game while she shops it around to publishers.
The problem is having nothing to do while I wait except stare at my walls and think about Pierce’s hands, Pierce’s smile, Pierce’s voice saying my name like it meant something.
Hence, the bathroom renovation project that’s clearly beyond my skill level.
I didn’t start out by renovating my apartment. This is all Alli’s fault because she banned me from her pet store.
Apparently, I made three different dogs depressed just by existing near them.
So I decided to paint my bathroom. How hard could it be?
Turns out, very hard.
I’m trying to figure out how to clean paint off the light fixture when I hear the front door burst open.
“Meatball! Emergency family meeting!” Noah’s voice carries through the apartment, followed by the sound of multiple footsteps until my three cousins appear by the bathroom door.
“We brought Chinese food and— Oh my god, what happened in here?” Adam says.
“It looks like a paint bomb exploded,” Lex adds helpfully.
I twist to look at them, paintbrush still in hand, and realize what they’re seeing.
“I’m redecorating,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster while dripping paint onto my already ruined T-shirt.
“You’re having a breakdown,” Noah corrects, setting down bags of takeout. “Get down from there before you break your neck.”
“I’m fine,” I protest, but the stool chooses that moment to wobble dangerously again. Strong hands steady me, Adam on one side, Lex on the other, as they help me down.
“You’re not fine,” Adam says gently. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
“And you smell like a hardware store,” Lex adds, wrinkling his nose. “When’s the last time you showered?”
“This morning,” I defend. “The paint smell is new.”
Noah surveys the bathroom disaster with the expression of someone trying very hard not to laugh. “Meatball, why is there blue paint on the ceiling?”
“Artistic vision?”
“Artistic vision, my ass. You’re having a Pierce Dellcourt breakdown and taking it out on innocent bathroom walls.” Lex crosses his arms. “This intervention is long overdue.”
They drag me to the kitchen sink and proceed to clean paint off me like I’m five years old, which honestly feels about right for my current emotional maturity level. The warm water and their gentle fussing loosen the grip on my chest a little for the first time in weeks.
“Better,” Adam declares, handing me a clean towel. “Now, food. Then we’re solving this Pierce situation once and for all.”
“There’s no Pierce situation to solve,” I say, but I let them lead me to the couch, where they’ve spread out enough Chinese food to feed a small army.
“Bullshit,” Noah says cheerfully, loading a plate with fried rice and shoving it into my hands. “You’re miserable, he’s miserable, and we’re tired of watching you both suffer.”
“Pierce isn’t miserable. He’s—”
“Pierce,” Lex says, stealing a spring roll, “looks like someone killed his dog. Lior says he barely speaks in meetings anymore.”
“That’s not because of me. He asked me to send everyone all the reports ahead of the meetings so they know—”
“It’s absolutely because of you,” Adam corrects. “So we’re here to fix it.”
“You can’t fix this. It’s complicated.”
“Everything’s complicated until you make it simple,” Adam says. “I should know, after all, I used to be straight until being with my gay best friend felt easier and more natural than any relationship I’ve had before.”
Lex raises his chopsticks. “Option one: transfer to a different department at VSE.”
“There are no openings,” I reply automatically. “I checked.”
“Option two,” Lex continues, “we create an opening. I know people.”
“You can’t just make up jobs, Lex. You don’t even work there.”
“Watch me.”
“Option three,” Noah says, grinning, “we kidnap Pierce and hold him hostage until he quits his job to be with you.”
“That’s illegal.”
“Only if we get caught.”
“You’re all insane,” I say, but I’m laughing for the first time in weeks. “You can’t kidnap my ex-boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend who’s still in love with you,” Noah points out. “Lior says Pierce asks about you constantly. How you’re doing; if you’re happy; whether you’ve heard back from publishers.”
“He does? But we work together. He can ask me those questions any time.”
“He does. And before you ask, yes, Lior said you ask about Pierce just as much.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “I don’t ask that much.”
“You asked if Pierce was eating properly. Three times in one conversation.”
“He forgets to eat when he’s stressed.”
“See?” Lex gestures with his chopsticks. “You’re both idiots who are perfect for each other.”
“It doesn’t matter. The workplace thing is still a problem.”
“So we fix the workplace thing,” Noah says simply. “Pierce has enough money to buy his own small country. He doesn’t need to work at VSE.”
“You want him to quit his job for me? That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Adam asks.
“Pierce’s job isn’t just about money,” I say, frustration creeping into my voice. “It’s about who he is, what he’s meant to be. He belongs in the business world. He’s brilliant at what he does, and Lior needs him at VSE.”
“So what’s the solution?” Lex asks.
“There isn’t one. That’s why we ended things.” I pick at my rice, appetite gone. “We’re stuck.”
But even as I say it, something occurs to me. Something I’ve been trying not to think about for weeks because, at the time, I didn’t need it.
“Actually,” I say slowly, “there might be…another option.”
Three sets of eyes focus on me with laser intensity.
“My father mentioned that Tobias’s company has a position available. Junior analyst or something.” The words feel strange in my mouth. “It’s not at VSE, obviously. Different company entirely.”
“Working with Tobi?” Lex makes a face. “That sounds like torture.”
“It would be,” I admit. “Listening to Tobias be smug about everything, dealing with my father’s constant ‘I told you so’ comments about finally choosing a sensible career path…”
“But?” Noah prompts, sensing there’s more.
“But I never considered it before because I was so focused on proving myself at VSE. On showing my dad I could succeed on my own terms.” I look up at them, the realization hitting me fully. “But if I weren’t working at VSE anymore, there wouldn’t be any workplace conflict. Pierce and I could…”
“You could be together,” Adam finishes softly.
“Maybe. If he still wants me after everything.” I set down my chopsticks, my hands trembling slightly.
“I never thought about it as an option because I was so determined not to need my family’s help.
But knowing I could see him anytime I want, kiss him, be with him openly…
? It would be worth putting up with Tobias.
Worth listening to my father gloat. Worth anything. ”
“Meatball,” Noah says gently, “are you going to talk to Pierce about this?”
“No?”
Adam and Lex look at each other and then back at me before saying “Why?” in synchrony.
“Because if anyone knows what it’s like having a difficult brother, that’s Pierce. He’ll never let me do it.”
“We could ask him,” Lex suggests. “Hypothetically.”
“You’re not asking Pierce anything,” I say quickly. “Promise me. No cousin interference.”
“But—”
“Promise.”
They exchange looks that clearly communicate they’re making no such promise, but Noah nods. “Fine. No direct interference.”
“Thank you.”
“But if he happens to hear about this idea through completely unrelated channels…” Adam grins. “Well, that’s just a coincidence.”
“You’re terrible.”
“We’re helpful,” Lex corrects. “There’s a difference.”
We spend the next hour eating too much Chinese food and brainstorming increasingly ridiculous plans to get Pierce and me back together without me having to work with my brother. By the time they leave, my sides hurt from laughing and my apartment smells like sesame oil instead of paint fumes.
“Clean up that bathroom disaster,” Noah calls from the door.
After they’re gone, I look around my paint-splattered bathroom and realize they’re right about one thing: I was having a breakdown. The evidence is literally dripping from my ceiling.
But for the first time in weeks, the crushing weight on my chest feels a little lighter. Maybe there is hope. I believe Pierce is just as miserable as I am.
But maybe, just maybe, our love will find a way.
I pick up my paintbrush and get back to work, this time with something that might actually be hope instead of a desperate distraction.