2. Chapter 2
Heath moved through the house in slow, measured steps, taking it all in—not just the structure, but the story inside it.
Three bedrooms. Smaller than he expected, though well-built, solid. The craftsmanship in older La Jolla homes like this was different—individualized, not mass-produced. Everything was done by hand. That kind of quality still held, but it was easy to see where time had worn it down.
There were dust outlines on the floor, places where furniture used to sit.
Someone—Maddie—had been purging, clearing out the space, stripping the house of anything nonessential.
There were boxes stacked along the walls, half-labeled, a mix of heirlooms and junk being sorted through.
A woman in transition. A woman trying to erase something while holding onto the things she couldn’t bear to lose.
Heath glanced down the hallway and caught sight of one of the bedrooms.
The master bedroom—the largest one at the end of the hall—was empty. Completely abandoned. But another room, a smaller one, had a double bed neatly made in the center.
He stepped in, scanning the space.
The walls were faded pink, the trim still lined with remnants of once-bright stickers, the edges of the closet door bearing the faintest marks—height lines.
A kid’s room.
His gaze drifted back to the bed. Maddie was sleeping here.
Not in the master bedroom. Not in the space that once belonged to her parents.
She had gone back to where she started.
Heath let out a slow breath, running a hand along the wooden doorframe.
She was hanging on by her fingertips.
A voice carried down the hallway, sharp but quiet.
He turned, realizing Maddie was still in the kitchen, speaking into her phone. He wasn’t trying to listen, but the house was mostly empty, and sound traveled.
“…no, that’s not what we agreed to,” she was saying, her voice tight. A pause. A slow inhale, controlled, like she was fighting to keep her composure. “I don’t care what he wants. This isn’t negotiable.”
A long silence.
Then, softer, “I don’t have anything else to give.”
Heath’s jaw tensed.
His sister, Natalie, hadn’t told him much—just that Maddie was a friend who needed help. That had been enough for him. People’s business was their own. If Maddie wanted him to know, she’d tell him.
But standing here, hearing the edge of something raw and unraveling in her voice, he couldn’t help but wonder: who had screwed her over?
And how badly?
He glanced back at the bed one last time before heading downstairs.
Maddie was at the kitchen counter, phone gone, but her posture was telling.
She was leaning over the marble surface, her hands pressed flat against it, her head bowed slightly. She wasn’t crying—not exactly—but she was doing that thing people did when they were trying very hard not to.
Her breath was slow, controlled. Her fingers curled slightly against the counter.
Heath stopped in the doorway, watching her.
It was the first time he’d had a real moment to see her.
She was beautiful—striking, in a way that almost didn’t seem real. Ethereal, with that long, sun-kissed blonde hair and those big, blue eyes that didn’t need makeup to look dramatic. The high cheekbones, the feminine jawline, the kind of bone structure that made people do double takes.
But beneath all that?
She looked fragile.
Not weak. Not delicate. Just… like someone who had been running on empty for too long and was ready to crack.
His gaze flicked to her left hand, to the thin silver wedding band that still sat on her ring finger. No diamonds, no embellishments. Just a plain, unassuming band.
Where is he?
Why are you here alone?
Heath exhaled through his nose, slow, quiet.
Everything in him itched to say something, do something—fix whatever had just unraveled in her—but he knew better. Some wounds weren’t meant to be touched.
So instead, he took another slow step forward and spoke, his voice even, steady.
“Kitchen’s solid,” he said casually. “A couple of minor fixes, but nothing life-threatening.”
Maddie startled, head snapping up. She hadn’t heard him come in.
Heath watched her blink rapidly, masking whatever had been on her face a second ago. Her posture straightened, her shoulders tightening like she was pulling everything back inside.
Good at hiding.
Too good.
“Right,” she said, clearing her throat, voice polite but stiff again. “That’s… good.”
Heath didn’t move, just kept his gaze on her.
There it was again—that thing she seemed to do when someone got too close. That slow, subtle retreat.
He had met a lot of people in his life. Had seen a lot of broken things.
Maddie was holding herself together with both hands.
Heath leaned back against the counter, arms loosely crossed as he studied Maddie.
She had composed herself, at least outwardly, but he could still see the tension in her shoulders, the way she folded her arms like armor, the wary look in her eyes that told him she wasn’t used to people helping without an angle.
He could work with that.
“So,” he said, keeping his voice casual, steady, like he was talking about the weather. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”
Maddie straightened slightly, arms still locked around herself.
“I’ll start with the major stuff—checking the insulation and water damage, fixing that plumbing issue in the laundry room before you flood the house—”
Her mouth parted slightly, eyes widening. “It wasn’t— I wasn’t going to flood the house.”
Heath gave her a slow, deliberate look.
She exhaled, gaze dropping. “Fine. Maybe.”
“Yeah,” he said dryly. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Her expression flickered, something that might have been the start of a smile before she reeled it back in.
He pushed forward.
“I’ll work on this in the afternoons, evenings, weekends—whatever time I can carve out.”
Maddie’s brow furrowed slightly. “You do this on the side?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Keeps me busy.”
She absorbed that, like she wanted to ask what else he did, but didn’t.
Good. He wasn’t planning on telling her.
“I’ll get a supply list together, and we’ll tackle this in phases,” Heath continued. “No sense ripping everything apart at once. You got a budget in mind?”
She hesitated.
That told him what he needed to know.
“Tell you what,” he said, making the decision before she could protest. “Since you’re a friend of my sister’s, I can give you a family rate.”
Maddie blinked. “A… family rate?”
He nodded, keeping his expression easy. “No tax. Cash only. Won’t even have to file the paperwork.”
He wasn’t planning on charging her for labor at all. Just materials. But he had a feeling that offering it for free would set her off, make her feel like a charity case.
This was cleaner. Less obvious.
Maddie opened her mouth, then closed it, visibly fighting herself. He could see the internal war playing out on her face.
Finally, she exhaled. “That’s… really generous. Thank you.”
He shrugged like it was nothing. Because, to him, it was.
“You don’t have to be here when I work,” he said. “Totally your call.”
She shifted slightly, gaze flicking toward the floor. “I’m… off work for a bit.”
She didn’t explain.
He didn’t push.
But he knew.
Knew because he had seen people hit a breaking point before. Knew because everything about her—from the tightness in her posture to the exhaustion in her eyes—said she was holding on by a thread.
Instead of acknowledging it, he just nodded. “That makes things easier.”
Maddie nodded too, like she was relieved he didn’t pry. “So… when do you want to start?”
“I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “Bring my tools, pick up some materials. We’ll start with the walls.”
She nodded again, looking determined to be practical about all of this. Like if she treated it as just a project, just a checklist, it wouldn’t feel like her entire life was unraveling.
Then, just as he was heading for the door, she stopped him.
“I—could you look at the shower upstairs? Second floor. It’s leaking every time I use it. I think it’s the seal, but…”
He turned, nodding. “I’ll take a look. Might be something simple.”
“Thanks,” she said, then, quieter, “I’m just tired of cleaning up after it.”
Her voice cracked a little at the edges. Not enough to fall apart. Just enough to slip through.
He didn’t react, didn’t let on that it caught him.
They made their way upstairs and into the narrow bathroom. The space was cramped—just enough room for a tub, sink, and toilet—but clean. Lived-in. A towel hung neatly on the rack. Her shampoo smelled like coconut and something floral.
He knelt beside the tub and ran his hand along the sealant, checking the edges. Old silicone. Brittle and cracked in one spot. Water would’ve run straight through.
“This is probably it,” he said. “The caulking’s shot.”
“Can it be fixed today?”
He looked up. She was standing close, arms still crossed. Defensive posture, but hopeful eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “Quick job. I’ve got sealant in the truck.”
Maddie nodded once. “Thanks.”
He stood and faced her. They were close—too close for how small the space was. He didn’t move.
She didn’t either.
“I appreciate you coming,” she said, voice soft. “Natalie didn’t have to ask you.”
“She’s my sister,” he said. “You’re her friend.”
That was all the explanation she needed.
Still, something flickered in her eyes. A question she didn’t ask. Maybe about what he really thought of this place. Of her.
Heath turned slightly, giving her room. “I’ll grab what I need.”
She nodded again, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’ll make coffee.”
He paused in the doorway. Looked back.
“Don’t go waiting on me,” he said. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
“Oh?” she asked, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “And here I thought I was showing hospitality.”
He shrugged, deadpan. “All good. Don’t worry about me.” And with that, he was gone—back to the truck.