Chapter 7 Em #2
That familiar frustration rose in me—the one that always came when someone decided what I needed without asking.
I crossed my arms, trying to hide the way my throat ached.
“You know, everyone in my life thinks I can’t handle myself.
My parents. My brother. Half my professors didn’t think so either.
They saw ‘creative’ and immediately thought ‘irresponsible.’ I’m sick of proving I’m not. ”
He stepped closer again, slowly, deliberately. “I’ve never thought that,” he said, his voice low and tight. Almost like he was angry at me for suggesting it. “Not once.”
The words hit harder than they should have. I looked away before he could see how much I needed to hear them. “Good,” I said, voice steady. “Then you’ll let me rebuild my work life my way.”
He smiled faintly. “You always did like getting the last word.”
“I’m right,” I said, but the tension between us felt different now—familiar, maybe even comfortable. Miles had wandered off into the kitchen area, rifling through the cupboards and making loud noises.
“Miles, come on, bud, knock it off. Could be unsafe.”
“Fine,” the kid whined, joining us.
Noah rubbed the back of his neck, eyes scanning the half-empty room as he tugged Miles toward his side in a half-hug. “Okay, so, tomorrow we go by your place, meet the mitigation team, grab what’s salvageable, and start building your workspace.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“And until then,” he said, tilting his head toward the hallway, “you and Sassy stay put. No hotels. No sleeping in your car. You’re staying at my place. That’s not a question. And yes, it would be amazing if you could help with Miles next weekend.”
I slipped my phone out and opened Notes. I wrote three headers: Materials to reorder. Tasks for insurance. Rampage deadlines. Seeing the lists pull apart into columns helped. I could see where to start without spiraling.
We worked another hour. I photographed every ruined roll and every bin we pulled to the dry zone.
Noah stayed out of my way unless something was heavy or awkward.
Miles handed us bags like a pro and announced each label before passing it through the plastic.
Sassy sat with her chin on his knee and watched like she had a job too.
The ServPro tech returned with a new stack of fans. “We’re setting negative air this afternoon,” he said. “You’ll want to keep out while they’re running. We’ll text when demo starts.” He pointed to a taped square by the entry. “Anything you want to save goes there.”
I nodded and checked my lists again. “Okay. I’ll be back later to meet the crew. If I’m late, you can start without me.” He wrote my name on the schedule sheet and moved to the next unit.
Noah lifted the last bin into the safe zone. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” I took one more photo of the bedroom wall and forced myself to put the phone away. “Let’s go.”
In the hallway, I texted my family group chat with my parents and siblings: Pipe burst. Building is handling demo and dry-out. I am safe. Staying with a friend for a bit. Will update when I have a timeline. I stared at the screen and hit send before I regretted it.
I didn’t want them worrying or telling me “come home, sweetie.”
Theo replied first. Proud of you for handling it. Call if you want me there.
I smiled and typed a quick later.
My dad’s text came next.
Dad: Are you sure you want to stay in the city while this is going on? You could come home. It would be easier. We have space.
I typed I’m set here!
I didn’t want them thinking I couldn’t handle myself.
The drive back went fast and was filled with a wild-child playlist with songs I had never heard. Techno chicken wings and fast-paced wheels on the bus. I couldn’t help but laugh, and at one point, I caught Noah’s eye.
“Who would’ve thought we’d be in a car singing this with a five-year-old in the back?” I smiled, hoping my question landed.
He chuckled as he turned left. “Sure has hell didn’t have this on my bingo card.”
“Hell is a bad word, Uncle Noah. Mom says—” Miles stopped. His little voice cracked, and he sighed, the sound somehow weighing a thousand pounds in the car. I froze, my stomach bottoming out at the sadness in his voice.
“What did Mom say, bud?” Noah’s grip on the wheel tightened.
“That I can’t use bad words until I’m older. I miss my mom. I know she is dead, but I miss her so much.” Miles sniffed, and just then, Sassy whined, wiggled closer to him, and rested her head on his lap.
God, my girl was the best. My eyes prickled with emotions at watching Sassy comfort Miles. The kid smiled, then closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. She wasted no time licking his face, and just like that, he bounced back.
Noah exhaled, long and slow, and I couldn’t imagine how hard this was for him. My chest ached even more, and without overthinking it, I grabbed his knee and patted him. “Breathe, Noah.”
He relaxed from my touch, and that filled me with a bit of pride. He helped me so much, and being able to bring him some relief too felt damn good.
Back at the condo, we lined my bags along the wall and set the machine on the guest room desk.
I measured the surface and wrote the dimensions in my notes.
I listed what I could do from a laptop and what needed a cutting surface.
Noah brought in a folding table from storage without asking and set it where the light was good.
He did not say anything about the way my shoulders dropped when it clicked into place.
I opened my laptop to drop the desk measurements into a doc. Two new emails jumped to the top. The first was from building management with the non-habitable letter attached and a contents spreadsheet template. I dragged both into a folder and closed it before my chest could get tight again.
All my things. My dreams. My life.
No. I swallowed the panic away.
The second was from Rampage Brand. Subject line: FITTINGS MOVED UP – WED 8:00 AM – PLAYER LEADS CONFIRMED. I clicked and read twice. They wanted two sample sizes ready to try on camera for socials, plus a quick walkthrough for the owner. Player leads listed: Abbott, James, Porter.
I stared at Noah’s last name on the screen, and my stomach did a slow, annoyed flip. Forty-eight hours. New workspace. Half my materials gone. No margin for error. I was also now living with a player.
“Everything okay?” Noah asked from the doorway.
“Fittings got moved up to Wednesday at eight,” I said. “You’re one of the leads.”
He went still. “We’ll make it work,” he said, like it was a fact and not a wish.
I typed one word back to Brand and hit send. Confirmed.