Chapter 41 #2
I blink. “She called you. On your phone. Which you didn’t hear or didn’t pick up. She said she’d been on the floor and couldn’t get up. What would you like me to have done—send positive affirmations?”
“You call me,” he snaps, low and lethal. “You call Ezra. You call the doorman. You do not show up to her place.”
“I did call you,” I fire back. “Try answering the device you keep ignoring. Ezra? Voicemail. And the doorman? Seriously?”
His lips purse. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me,” I snap. “Because from where I’m standing, a woman called for help, and I showed up. That’s it.”
His jaw tightens. “She spirals,” he says.
“When strangers cross into the safe parts of her life, she spirals. She doesn’t sleep.
She’ll be cooped up here even more, and I’ll have to up her meds.
And then I spend a month pulling her back.
” His face tightens with anger as he leans closer.
“The Newside project is for her. But it’s useless if you set her back. ”
“If I set her back?” I croak.
“Yes, you.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Because I’m a stranger?”
“Yes. You are to her,” he bites back. “And now she’s going to ask me a hundred questions about why my assistant was in her bathroom and what it means and whether I’m—” He breaks off, rakes a hand through his hair. “You can’t be here.”
The words land like a slap with a long-lived echo inside my head. I feel it even in my ribs. “I didn’t come for a social call, Noah. I came because she fell in the bathroom and was scared. And you didn’t answer your phone.”
His mouth goes hard. “You came because you don’t know how to stay out of things that aren’t your job.”
That does it. “My job?” I spit out each word. “My job is you. Which includes answering your phone when you forget it and triaging your emergencies when you vanish into meetings. This was an emergency.”
“Not to you.”
“Because I’m what—staff?” My laugh comes out sharp and ugly.
“Don’t twist this.”
“Then stop making it twistable because you don’t like where the truth lands.” My voice shakes, but I try anchoring it with my spine and meet his nonsense with a straight back. “You’re mad at me because I got here first.”
He flinches as if I hit him right in the healing cut above his eye, then doubles down the pressure on his jaw. “I’m mad because you crossed a line I’ve been drawing with everyone for years.”
“Your mother needed help,” I repeat stubbornly.
“My mother needs stability,” he grinds out. “Predictability. I have routines for a reason.”
“And those routines failed today,” I snap back. “You didn’t answer your phone. Ezra didn’t answer. She called the only number she had that got a human. I showed up. That’s it. You are making a big deal out of nothing.”
His eyes flash. “You don’t show up where she lives.”
“You gave me no other option.”
He looks past me as if I wasn’t standing right in front of him. “You don’t know what happens after. You don’t sit through the fallout. I do.”
I rear back, feeling genuinely hurt. “And I’m supposed to what—pretend she didn’t ask for help because your system can’t accommodate it?”
“You’re supposed to listen when I tell you what my limits are,” he hisses back. “And this is my limit. You don’t get to decide what’s best for my family.”
That one lands low and hot, and if I thought I was hurt before, the meaning takes on a whole new level. I stare at him, splitting words into sharp pieces behind my teeth.
“Got it,” I laugh. “Message received. I’m the help.”
“Bea—”
“I’ll—” My voice splinters and I force it steady. “I’ll elevate her ankle and get out of your way.”
He rubs a hand over his face. For a second he looks like the man from my apartment—unsure and vulnerable. Then he puts the armor back on. “Just—don’t engage. Keep it surface. Please.”
I bite back the urge to say something I’ll definitely regret later and nod sharply. Once. Then turn on my heel. His ‘please’ did nothing to soothe the wound in my chest.
His mom watches me drag myself back into the hall with her kind and horribly perceptive eyes. “I’m sorry he scolded you,” she says gently. “He’s very good at it.”
“I’ll survive.” I force a tight smile, trying to keep Noah’s words in mind. To be fair, I don’t know anything about her condition. Until one hour ago, I didn’t even know about her existence.
Carefully, I help her to a couch in the living room, then lift her leg, slide a throw pillow under her calf, and resettle the ice pack. “Better?”
She nods as the corners of her lips tilt up in a small, grateful smile. “Much, thank you. You’re very kind, Beatrice.”
I wince at the praise that feels rather heavy at the moment. “Just doing what seems right.” I glance at the hallway, half expecting Noah to round the corner with his face dark as a storm cloud. But the space remains empty, and the silence becomes too stretched.
“You and Noah,” she starts, her voice soft, curious. “You’re close?”
The question catches me off guard. This is what he warned me about.
“I… we work together. He’s my boss.” The words feel inadequate and hollow compared to the complexity of whatever is growing—or has been growing—between Noah and me.
She studies me for a moment with a thoughtful gaze and nods as if confirming something to herself. “He needs good people around him. He always has. Keeps too much to himself, that boy.”
My throat tightens, because my mind screams that I agree with her while my heart weeps from betrayal. “Yeah.”
“Don’t let his storms drag you down, dear. You seem like a girl who could bring some light into his life.”
My laugh is short and humorless. “I might be closer to causing a blackout.”
“He can cause one himself just fine.” She sighs, then her hand reaches out, resting lightly over mine. Her touch is featherlight, but it anchors me somehow. “He’s been taking care of me for many years. It’s about time someone takes care of him.”
Despite how much I want to say, I clamp my mouth shut.
“I know you’ve seen the bruises,” she continues.
I slowly look up at her as she keeps talking.
“They are there because of me. He’s angry with me, so he fights. He can’t yell at me, he never does, but I’m a bother. I know that. So he goes there to fight.” Her eyes turn watery, and I feel like a bird caught in a net with no escape. “Because he’s stuck here with me.”
I wasn’t prepared to find this here—the missing piece of Noah’s puzzle. I wasn’t sure I could be one of his missing pieces, but after seeing his reaction about me meeting his mom, I realize we are from two different puzzle boards.
Her hand on me starts shaking, and I cover it with mine.
“You are not a bother. You’ve never been,” I state firmly, locking my eyes with hers. “You are his mother. And you worrying about his well-being tells me more than anything else. You love your son.”
“I do.” Her voice trembles with each word. “But he is stuck here with me. Because of me.” Her grip on me tightens. “He can’t move on. He needs a life without me.”
I kneel in front of her, take both her hands, and wait for her to focus on me rather than whatever bad memories she’s revisiting. Her eyes are glassy, and now I see what Noah meant—she is very fragile.
“Mrs. King,” I start; I realize I don’t even know her name, “I think Noah is a very complicated man. I won’t argue there. But I truly believe you are extremely important to him, and his life would be so much worse without you in it.”
“But he’s stuck here with me,” she protests again.
“If I had a mom like you who really cared,” a giant lump in my throat makes me pause and cough it out before I can speak again, “I’d be happy to be stuck with her.”
“And you don’t?”
I shake my head. “My mother was… Let’s just say she was never a mom. So I’m jealous that Noah’s got you.”
The color slowly returns to her cheeks. She places her free hand on my cheek. “You are a good girl, Beatrice.”
I smile back weakly and rise to my feet.
When I turn toward the door, I find Noah standing in the hallway watching us.
Who knows how long he’s been there and how much he heard, but I don’t care at this point.
I’ve done everything I could. Including finding out that I might never be part of his life.
Outside, the corridor feels cold, like all the warmth is locked behind the door with Noah and his mother. I lean back against the cool wall, feeling the weight of the day press down on me. Noah follows soon after, keeping his expression unreadable.
“I’m driving you home,” he states, more a command than an offer.
I shake my head. “I’m good. I’ll take a cab.”
He frowns, and a deep line appears between his brows, making him appear older. “It’s not a problem. I want to make sure you’re safe.”
“It’s not about safety,” I snap, because the thread he’s been pulling has finally reached its breaking point. My emotions are raw, too close to the surface, and I don’t want to process them around him. “It’s about space. I think we could both use some right now.”
Noah looks as if I’ve slapped him. Welcome to the club, buddy.
He steps closer. “Is this because of what happened earlier? Because I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant,” I cut him off with a trembling voice despite my best efforts to control it. “You meant to protect your mother. But you also made it clear where I stand in all of this.”
“That’s not fair, Bea. You know how much you mean to me—”
“Do I?” The question slips out, pitiful but needed.
“You know how much I care about you,” he continues, sounding strained. “Today was a mess, okay? I was out of line. You were just… you were just doing what you thought was right.”
“But it wasn’t right, was it?” My sharp words are slicing through the muggy air of the hallway.
“Not for you. Not for her.” I motion vaguely toward the door behind him, where his mother remains a silent reminder of the complexities between us.
Just when I thought we’d untangled most of it, Noah King threw a royal curveball.
He passes a hand over his face, dragging the skin with frustration.
“It’s complicated, Bea.” It comes out more like a plea than an explanation, but I’m in no mood for more revelations tonight.
“It always is with you.” The bitter accusation slips out before I can shut my mouth. I’m exhausted—by the day, by him, by the relentless tug-of-war between us.
He steps closer, enveloping me in his presence, and I have to fight the instinct to lean into the comfort he offers. “I don’t want to fight,” he murmurs, and his hand reaches out, hovering just short of touching me. “Not with you.”
My breath hitches, and I take a step back, needing the distance to breathe. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“This.” I gesture between us, at the tiny space that seems to stretch wider with each heartbeat. Our words, our choices—they’re pulling us apart even as something indefinable tries desperately to hold us together.
Noah’s jaw clenches. “Is that what you want?” His voice is a low rumble, the sort of sound that usually makes my knees weak. But today, it just makes my heart ache.
“I don’t know what I want,” I admit, my voice cracking.
The truth is, I’m as lost in this as he is.
“Or, I thought I knew before you told me about your limits. I don’t want to be with someone who limits me from their family because I don’t fit in the picture.
My parents have been doing that all my life, reminding me that I’m just a guest and never a part of them. ”
“Bea—” His voice is pleading, but I’ve already started. He should have let me go and process my feelings on my own before I was ready to talk. And now, I might say too much but there’s no stopping the train wreck. “We can figure this out. We’ve been through worse.”
“Can we?” I pull away gently, regretting the loss of his warmth instantly but fighting my senses with all my might. “Because it feels like we’re trying to force something that isn’t meant to be.”
“No.” His protest is immediate and fierce. “Don’t say that. What we have—it’s worth fighting for.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Noah,” I find his gaze and hold it. “You’ve just told me this is as close as you let people get. I like you, Noah, but I have to like me more. Someone has to.”