Chapter 22
Seth
The house was quiet when I walked in, the kind of quiet that echoed.
I dropped my keys on the counter, and the sharp clatter filled the space for a second before the silence swallowed it back up.
Sometimes I thought this place had grown too used to being empty.
The walls had no memory, no warmth, just clean lines and cold surfaces.
Everything was in its place. The fridge hummed. The clock ticked. But it wasn’t living.
Through the kitchen window, I could see the glow from the guesthouse across the lawn.
A warm square of yellow spilled onto the grass, softer than the harsh light I left on in my own house.
Madison’s shadow moved across the curtain, slow and steady, probably making sure Olive had her stuffed Bunny tucked against her cheek.
I told myself that was all this was. Just me checking to make sure they were settled, safe. I was a landlord, of sorts. Responsible. Nothing more.
But my chest tightened in a way that didn’t match the excuse.
I took a beer from the fridge, twisted the cap, and leaned against the counter.
The first sip was bitter. I stared out the window longer than I should have, my eyes drawn to the small motions of life inside that guesthouse, things I couldn’t hear but could almost imagine.
Madison’s low voice, Olive’s giggle, the soft rustle of a blanket. A home.
That word tasted foreign in my mouth.
I’d made sure the houses I built for other people felt like homes. Warm wood tones, big kitchens, and porches where families could sit at dusk. But me? I’d built myself a fortress instead. A place with walls so high nobody could climb them.
Because letting people in meant giving them the chance to walk out again. And I didn’t know how to survive that kind of loss twice.
It wasn’t that I was incapable of connection. I could sit across from a client, talk them through design choices, and reassure them that everything would come together on time. I could laugh with my crew at the end of a long day, buy the first round, make them feel like I was steady ground.
But those things were surface level. Practical. Controlled.
What I couldn’t do, what I hadn’t done in years, was let someone close enough to see the broken pieces.
The doubts that kept me up at night. The moments when I wondered if all my success was just smoke and mirrors.
The truth was that beneath all the rough edges, I wasn’t as unshakable as people thought.
And then there was Madison.
Madison Cole, with her sharp tongue and fierce loyalty, never let me get away with anything.
She looked at me differently. Not like the respected architect or the gruff town fixer.
She looked at me like she could see right through the walls I’d built.
And worse, like she wasn’t afraid of what she saw.
It unsettled me. Made me feel stripped bare. And yet I found myself wanting more of it. Wanting her to keep looking.
Olive complicated things even further. That kid didn’t hesitate to hand me a title I didn’t deserve.
Uncle Seth. She said it with such easy certainty, like it had always been true.
And the way it felt in my chest when she smiled at me, like I was safe, like I was steady ground, terrified me more than any storm ever could.
I pressed my palms flat to the counter, grounding myself. I had promised Madison she and Olive could stay in the guesthouse as long as they needed. I meant it. I could give them safety. I could fix what was broken in their house.
But I couldn’t fix what was broken in me.
And the part that scared me most was the way Madison’s presence made me want to try.
I turned away from the window, forcing myself to finish the beer even though it didn’t sit right. Upstairs, I showered and pulled on a clean shirt, but even in bed, the silence pressed in. I stared at the ceiling long after midnight, the glow from the guesthouse still flickering in my mind.
They were across the lawn, breathing steady, safe because I’d made it so. That should have been enough. That was the version of me I knew how to be, the protector, the fixer, the one who never let anything slip.
But the truth lingered anyway. Madison’s eyes were wet with frustration in the adjuster’s office. Olive’s little hand wrapped around my leg, trusting without hesitation. The way my chest had tightened when Madison whispered, “Thank you,” like it cost her something.
The walls I’d built weren’t indestructible. They were already cracking.
And I didn’t know if I had the strength, or the will, to hold them up anymore.