“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 madbecause 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.”
