11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Brody
Things at Thorne and Thorne Construction are in full throttle by mid-November.
The unmistakable crispness of fall turning to winter bites at the air, the sharp edge of cold mingling with the constant hum of machinery as we close in on the final stages of three major projects.
The rhythmic sounds of power tools, the low rumble of delivery trucks backing into position, and the melodic clang of metal and stone echo through the work site. They serve as a relentless backdrop to our efforts.
Josh and I have been stretched thin with all of our projects, keeping every moving part in sync, trying to ensure that each project wraps up on time, and ideally, under budget.
Our biggest undertaking has been the Crosswinds Shopping Center in the suburbs, a massive $12.3 million development. With permits, multiple suppliers, and a team of subcontractors working simultaneously on interiors and exteriors, it’s been an intricate job from the start.
Finally, we’re at the finishing stages.
I can see teams working on everything from laying the final tiles to installing custom lighting fixtures. The air around the site smells of fresh paint and newly cut wood. The numbers look promising, and that’s something to look forward to as the holiday season rolls in.
We’re counting on a solid profit from this project, and the city developers have hinted at a substantial bonus if we deliver by the first of December.
Then there’s the Madison High renovation, a $4.5 million contract dedicated to overhauling the sports facilities. It’s a complex job with tight deadlines and high expectations from the school district.
I’ve put Josh in charge of managing the suppliers for this one. He’s one of the only people I can trust to execute it properly.
He’s been coordinating with concrete vendors, steel suppliers, and specialty companies for sports flooring. I can see him getting more comfortable in his role. He’s learning the art of balancing quality with budget, and every time he updates me on his progress, I find myself impressed with what he says.
It’s so satisfying watching him handle something this big on his own, seeing him take charge.
The Madison High job is a critical piece of our fall portfolio, and Josh’s success with it will be a key step in his growth as a leader within the company.
Finally, we’re working on a smaller, but still prestigious project downtown, the historic Haverly Hotel. Balancing modern updates with the preservation of the original architecture, we are transforming the building into luxury suites. It has been a delicate task.
The building is steeped in local history, and keeping those classic touches intact requires a level of finesse and care from our crew. There’s an elegance to the design: ornate moldings, antique fixtures, stained glass accents, all which demand attention to detail.
If we hit our incentive markers for this project, it could bring in another $3 million.
That’s not even mentioning the reputation boost from working on such a notable landmark.
It’s a very busy season, and the pressure’s on while we’re closing out late-fall projects while still prepping bids for winter contracts.
My days have been long and rough, and normally I’d be feeling every bit of that exhaustion settle into my bones, but lately, it’s not just the work that’s keeping me up.
My late nights with Tasha linger in my mind, and I’d be lying if I said it’s only deadlines and deliverables wearing me down. She’s been a warm presence in my life.
She somehow understands me in ways I didn’t think were possible. She’s like this surprising constant that I didn’t realize I needed.
At the office, she’s been indispensable; there’s a newfound calm in the way things run now that she’s here. No more scrambling to remember meetings or catching mistakes in vendor contracts at the last minute.
Her attention to detail frees me up to focus on the bigger picture. She has it all covered and the way she anticipates needs, manages schedules, and even smooths out small conflicts within the team is seamless.
I feel more aware of the little things that used to pass me by and more grounded with her around.
In the past, I’d always prided myself on being a hands-on boss, someone respected by my staff, but maybe a bit too focused on getting things done over everything else.
But lately, I’ve started noticing things I never did before.
Tasha has this effect of slowing me down, of making me more mindful of the people around me.
I’m learning to listen better, to appreciate the nuances in the work and the relationships that keep this company running smoothly.
She’s made me a better manager and maybe, even in some ways, a better man.
Work has always been my first priority. I’ve never had much time or energy to think beyond the walls of Thorne and Thorne.
But now, with Tasha in my life, I’m starting to understand the value of more than just project deadlines and profit margins.
The balance she’s brought to my life has been something I never saw coming.
There’s a richness in these small, quiet moments, a sense of fulfillment that goes beyond anything money or career achievements could bring.
With her, I feel a comfort I haven’t felt in years: a rare, grounding kind of peace that reminds me I’m more than just a CEO.
These thoughts float through my mind as I’m on my way home from the office, watching the sun dip low on the horizon, casting that rich, orange glow across the fields.
Tasha hasn’t been feeling well the past two days, and she’s been working from home today.
I find myself wondering if Dana has put something light together for dinner that Tasha might feel up to eating. Dinner will probably be soup if I had to guess.
Dana’s got an eye for knowing what everyone needs before they even ask. It’s a talent that I admire.
I can’t help but feel a bit of pride as I pull into the long gravel drive that winds up to the ranch. With the mansion centered in a way that overlooks both the lake and the rolling pastureland, the ranch sprawls over hundreds of acres.
It’s quiet out here, peaceful in a way the office never is, and it makes me appreciate this life I’ve built even more.
I head over to the big red barn in the back after parking. We keep a small herd of cattle, mostly a hobby, but it feels good to be close to the land and the animals. Inside, I check on their feed, making sure everything’s stocked up for the night.
The cattle are quiet, some already settling down for the evening, and there’s a soft breeze stirring through the open barn doors, sending the smell of hay into my nose.
Standing here, surrounded by the quiet sounds of the animals and the hum of the evening, it feels like a different world from the work site chaos and the boardroom.
Soon, I’ll be back inside, checking on Tasha, and that thought alone makes me want to wrap things up here and head in.
As I walk into the house, my gut tightens, and I stop, listening, trying to pinpoint where the distraught noise is coming from.
Immediately, I notice the soft, uneven sound of someone crying.
Checking the living room, I then head down the hall, finally moving toward the den. It isn’t until I step into the kitchen that I find Tasha slumped over the kitchen table, face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
She’s sitting in front of her laptop, a notepad filled with scribbled notes beside her, and I can tell she’s been at this for hours.
The sight hits me hard, like a punch to the chest, and all I want to do is make this better for her. I cross the room quietly without thinking, pulling a chair up beside her, reaching a hand out to gently touch her shoulder.
“Hey,” I say softly, brushing a stray hair from her face as she lifts her head, eyes red and watery. “Tash, what’s wrong, babe?”
Pressing her lips together as if trying to keep herself from falling apart completely, she sighs heavily. I pull her into my arms, holding her close, letting her lean into me.
“It’s all right, I’m here. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out,” I murmur, my voice low, just for her ears.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her expression a mixture of frustration and sadness.
All I want to do is fix whatever’s hurting her so deeply right now.
Tasha takes a deep breath, staring at the laptop screen like it’s her worst enemy, her smooth brow furrowed in the white light. “I…I can’t figure this out, Brody,” she says, her voice trembling with frustration.
“This coursework…these assignments…I thought I’d be able to handle it, but everything just seems so far over my head. It’s like I’m not smart enough to do this.”
Her voice breaks, and she wipes at a tear on her cheek, embarrassed. “I just feel…like an imposter. Like I’m not cut out for this college stuff. I don’t belong here, not with you, not with any of this.”
The way her shoulders slump under the weight of her doubt, the way her words shake from her lips, it just kills me. This is Tasha: strong, determined, unstoppable, optimistic, at least in my eyes.
Right now, though, she looks so small, so unsure, and I can see how desperately she’s trying to live up to the standards she’s set for herself.
I reach out, taking her hands in my own, squeezing gently.
“Hey,” I say softly, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “You don’t have to do this alone, Tasha. This is hard. It’s normal to struggle, everyone goes through that, no matter how smart they are. You’re smart, you’re capable, and you’re more than enough. You’ve got this.”
Tasha doesn’t say anything for a moment and just shakes her head, biting her lip as if holding back another wave of emotions.
Looking over it all, I see it’s some kind of introductory business course with terms and concepts that are probably completely new to her. I can feel how badly she wants to believe me, and so pulling a chair beside her, I lean in, taking a closer look at the page that’s been giving her trouble.
“All right, let’s go over this together,” I suggest, keeping my voice steady and calm. “Let’s look at the assignment. Sometimes these things look overwhelming until you break them down piece by piece.”
I watch as she nods gently, tentatively following along as I go over the basics. She asks questions now and then, and after a while, I can see her start to relax, some of the tension easing from her shoulders.
“See?” I say, smiling as she finally gets a tricky part figured out. “You’re already getting the hang of it.”
But still, she lets out a heavy sigh, slumping back in her chair. I watch her, worried, not wanting to push her.
“I don’t know, Brody,” she murmurs, defeated. “I still feel like I’m failing.”
I can tell she’s more tired than anything, her frustration clouding her ability to think clearly.
Tasha’s got a fire, but right now, she looks too worn down to access it.
“Tasha, if you’re not feeling better tomorrow, or maybe in a day or two, you should go see someone. It could be an infection. You might need antibiotics.”
She nods, half-listening, and I sit with her for another hour, helping her slowly work through more of the assignment.
It’s then that Dana pokes her head in, letting us know that dinner is ready.
She gives me a sheepish look, muttering something about freshening up as she slips away from the kitchen. I chuckle, patting my stomach. “I’m going to start eating. I’m too hungry to wait!” I call after her, hoping the warm meal might do us both some good.
Dana’s made one of her classics: hearty chicken and rice soup with soft, golden biscuits fresh from the oven. The first spoonful warms me all the way through, and I realize just how much I needed this meal tonight.
The broth is rich and savory, with chunks of tender chicken, diced carrots, and celery mixed in with fluffy rice, just the way my mother used to make it. Each bite of the biscuit, buttery and crumbly, takes me right back to childhood, to cold nights and warm meals around the kitchen table.
Still, as I savor the comfort of the soup, I notice that Tasha still hasn’t returned.
I glance down the hall, the quiet lingering. I can only imagine how much weight she’s carrying right now, trying to balance work, college, and her own high expectations.
Part of me wants to check on her, but I give her her space, hoping a little time alone might help her gather herself.
Still, I can’t shake off my worry. She’s strong. I’ve seen that firsthand. But even the strongest people need a hand sometimes.
I finish my soup slowly, hoping she’ll return soon, if only to let me know she’s okay. But I’m alone, and once I’m done with dinner, I rinse out my bowl in the sink, glancing down the hall one last time.
Tasha’s bedroom door is still closed, no sign of movement, and a flicker of worry nags at me.
I walk back into the kitchen, noticing her laptop still open on the table, her notes scattered around it in a pile. She’s been pouring herself into these assignments, but I know the pressure is getting to her.
I take a seat in front of her laptop, scanning her notes. She’s trying hard, but some of it’s a mess, jumbled thoughts, and half-finished ideas, proof of how lost she feels right now.
The urge to help pulls me in as I find myself reaching for a pen. Flipping open her textbook, I begin going through the chapters, making notes for her to follow along with. I jot down key points, definitions, anything that might make this easier when she’s ready to tackle it again.
Tasha’s fighting so hard to make this work, and it makes me admire her even more.
I glance down the hall again, looking at her closed door, wondering if she’s resting or just hiding from her own frustration.
She’s a firecracker, determined and driven, but tonight, she looked so…fragile, like she’s carrying the world on her shoulders.
I write notes for nearly an hour, filling a couple of pages with clear, organized notes, and when I’m done, I leave them on top of her laptop, hoping it’ll help her find her footing.