Ellery #2
Naomi looked over, her brow furrowing. “You need a break.”
“I need to stay ahead of this,” I said, too quickly. “If I stop, it gets worse.”
She didn’t argue. She just slid a cup of coffee toward me, eyes softening in quiet understanding.
As I lifted it to my lips, I caught the faint tremor in my hand.
Every time someone said his name—Beckett Mason—it landed like a bruise I couldn’t hide. They said it with judgment, with gossip, with satisfaction, as if his mistakes were their entertainment.
And every single time, I wanted to defend him.
I wanted to tell them he wasn’t what they thought—that he’d shown up when no one else had, that he’d been kind when he didn’t have to be. That the man they were tearing apart had been my safe place, even if only for a night.
But defending him would only make it worse.
So I swallowed it down. Every instinct, every truth.
And I went back to my script.
“The foundation remains focused on our programs,” I said again, my voice calm, even, unbreakable.
Inside, though, it felt like drowning in plain sight, especially with the looming Zoom call I had to attend for the board.
The Zoom window loaded, filling the screen with anxious faces in little digital boxes. Each board member wore the same expression—tight smiles, darting eyes, the kind of forced calm that meant everyone had already read the headlines.
“Good morning,” I said, keeping my voice even as I adjusted the camera. The foundation logo sat proudly behind me, a little too bright against the gray of the morning light streaming through the blinds. “Let’s get started.”
Mr. Walters, the oldest board member, cleared his throat first. He looked like he’d been up all night. “We’re… concerned, Ellery. The board’s worried about public trust. The optics of this situation—”
I didn’t let him finish. “Our mission hasn’t changed,” I said firmly. “We don’t trade impact for gossip. The work we do still matters. That hasn’t changed because of a headline.”
There was a pause—a quiet, uncertain one. The kind that said I was either winning them over or losing them completely.
Ms. Liu spoke next, her tone careful but clipped. “That’s admirable, but some of our sponsors may still pull funding. The rumor mill moves faster than reason, and people get skittish when their names are attached to controversy.”
“I understand,” I said, clasping my hands on the desk to hide the tremor in them.
“But our programs don’t exist because of gossip.
They exist because of commitment—to these kids, to this town, to the promise that we can make things better.
If sponsors want out, we’ll find new ones. Our kids come first.”
The line went quiet. Someone coughed. Someone else shifted in their chair.
I’d meant to sound composed, but the words came out sharper, fiercer than I intended. Maybe because I was tired of defending what should’ve been obvious.
Mr. Walters finally nodded, sighing. “You always did have fire, Ellery. Let’s just… try to keep this from escalating further, all right?”
“Of course,” I said, my smile professional and hollow. “We’ll release a statement by the end of the day reiterating our mission. I’ll take responsibility for the narrative.”
He smiled faintly, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you will.”
When the call ended, the sudden silence was deafening.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the black screen that still reflected my face. I looked put together—every hair in place, shirt crisp, expression unreadable. But my pulse was still hammering.
Naomi peeked around the doorway with her laptop balanced on one hand. “You sound terrifying,” she said, her voice somewhere between awe and concern. “I’m proud.”
I huffed a laugh, short and uneven. “Terrifying’s better than fragile.”
She walked in and dropped into the chair beside me, sliding a granola bar across the desk like it was a peace offering. “You know they all just realized who actually runs this place, right?”
“Yeah, well,” I said softly, peeling back the wrapper without appetite, “being in charge doesn’t mean being invincible.”
Naomi didn’t respond.
I looked back at the dark screen, my reflection fractured by faint smudges on the glass. The ache behind my ribs felt sharp, insistent—a reminder that poise came at a cost.
For everyone else, I was the calm center of the storm.
For me, it felt like standing in the eye of it, trying to remember how to breathe.
The phone started buzzing again, the same vibration I’d been trying to ignore all morning. I glanced down, saw Kyle Reynolds flashing across the screen, and exhaled slowly. Part of me wanted to let it ring out—to let silence speak for me. But I knew him well enough to know he’d just keep calling.
I swiped to answer.
“What the hell, El?” His voice came out sharp, already angry. “Do you know what this is doing to my image? Sponsors are furious.”
For a moment, I just stared at the wall. That was his first sentence—not Are you okay? Not I’m sorry. Just… optics. Always optics.
“They’re furious at me, Kyle,” I said quietly. “Not at you.”
“It’s the same thing!” he snapped.
That hit harder than it should have. Because maybe once, I would’ve agreed. When I thought we were a team—his world and mine intertwined enough that his success was mine too. But that wasn’t true anymore, and the realization hurt less than it used to.
“No,” I said, voice steady now. “You wanted freedom. Now you have it.”
He went quiet for a beat, then scoffed, disbelieving. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” I swallowed, the words rough but true. “We broke up. I'm sorry it's dragging you in it, but I can't… that's all I'm sorry for. Goodbye, Kyle.”
And then I ended the call.
For a second, I just sat there, the silence so complete it rang in my ears. I set the phone facedown on the desk like it might explode if I looked at it again. My breath caught somewhere between a sigh and a sob.
The door creaked open behind me, and Naomi appeared, holding two steaming mugs. She didn’t need to ask what had just happened—the tension probably carried through the walls. She set one cup in front of me and arched a brow.
“I heard yelling,” she said casually. “Should I start drafting his obit?”
A weak laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Just his apology. I’ll fill in the rest later.”
Naomi grinned faintly, satisfied with that answer, but her eyes softened as she took in my face. “You’re too calm. That’s scarier than the yelling.”
I looked down at the dark coffee swirling in the mug, fingers tight around the handle. “If I start crying, I won’t stop,” I admitted. “So calm it is.”
Naomi didn’t say anything for a moment. She just nodded and reached out, squeezing my shoulder—firm, grounding.
“Then we’ll do calm together,” she said finally. “But after this? Pizza. Nonnegotiable.”
I managed a real smile at that. “Deal.”
She squeezed once more, then went back to her desk, humming something under her breath, pretending everything was normal.
I watched her for a long moment, the warmth from the coffee finally seeping into my cold hands.
It was strange—the break with Kyle felt less like shattering and more like release. A weight I’d been carrying so long I’d forgotten how heavy it was.
Still, as the minutes ticked by and the phone stayed silent, a small ache lingered beneath the relief. Not for him, but for the version of me who’d once thought love meant endurance.
Now, I knew better. Love wasn’t supposed to feel like survival.