“No,” I say, finding my voice. “Let her finish.” I meet Bea’s eyes, and there’s something there—understanding, maybe even pride—that makes my chest do something weird.
“Your brother,” she says, turning back to Ezra but keeping her voice pitched so I can hear every word, “is a brilliant architect who’s under enormous pressure. He’s allowed to have bad days without everyone acting like he’s lost his mind.”
My jaw drops. She’s not just defending me—she’s defending my work, my talent. When’s the last time someone did thatwithout wanting something in return? She’s doing exactly what I should have done a year ago on the island when her pieces of shit for parents were being dicks to her. The thought lands in the pit of my stomach with an uncomfortable weight.
“Look,” Ezra says, clearly trying to salvage what’s left of his dignity, “I was just checking?—”
“You were just assuming,” Bea cuts him off. “And you know what they say about assuming.”
I can’t help it—I snort, watching Ezra’s face turn an even deeper shade of red. It’s about time someone called him out on his knight-in-shining-armor complex. The fact that it’s Bea—tiny, fierce Bea who’s been making my life hell and somehow keeping me sane—makes it even better.
“I think what my brother is trying to say,” I cut in, enjoying this too much to let it end, “is that he’s terrified I might corrupt his wife’s baby sister.”
Bea’s eyes flash to mine, that fire I can’t get enough of burning bright. “I’m nobody’s baby anything,” she barks back, making my brow jump in surprise. “And I don’t need protecting from you or anyone else.”
“Clearly,” I reply, letting my gaze travel over her—the straight spine, the lifted chin, the eyes that never back down. I shouldn’t look at her like this, especially not with Ezra standing right there, but I can’t seem to help myself.
Ezra clears his throat, looking between us with narrowed eyes. I know that look—it’s the same one he gave me when we were kids and he caught me stealing his baseball cards. Suspicion, irritation, and the dawning realization that he’s been missing something important until this very moment.
“Fine,” Ezra mutters, finally accepting defeat. “I’ll leave you to… whatever this is.” He gestures vaguely at the chaos of my office before heading to the door, but not before giving me one last pointed look that screamswe’ll talk about this later.
As soon as he’s gone, Martin erupts into full-blown laughter. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he wheezes, wiping actual tears from his eyes. “Bea, you’re officially my hero.”
“You have to go too,” she orders in a stern voice.
“Me?” Martin blinks, looking surprised.
“Yes, you. Antagonizing my boss right now is not a good idea.”
Martin, still chuckling, heads for the door. “Then, I’m going to leave you two to figure this out. Try not to destroy any more furniture while I’m gone. Or do,” he adds with a wink before disappearing.
When the door clicks shut, I’m left alone with Bea, and the air between us quickly picks up the same charge from before. She’s still standing there, looking right through my bullshit.
“You didn’t have to do that.” My words sound like gravel, feeling itchy in my throat.
“Do what?” She tilts her head, sounding curious.
Did I misread everything?
“Defend you from your family when they teamed up against you?” shesuggests, eyebrows arched like I’m an idiot for not getting it. And just like that, I’m slammed with guilt. Despite everything, this tiny woman defended me against my family when I had sat there and watched her get devoured by hers.
“Why?” I ask, the word coming out more vulnerable than I intend. “Why did you do that?” It’s the same question she asked me a year ago, and I replied with half the truth.
She shrugs, glancing at the ruined plans. “Because he was treating you like you’re broken. And you’re not.”
19
Bea
I regretthe words the moment they leave my lips.
My original plan, if one can call it that, was to sweep in, bandage whatever metaphorical wound Noah had gouged into himself this time, and then promptly retreat before anyone noticed. Maybe give him a pep talk. Maybe tell him to stop being a jackass to people who are just trying to help him. Maybe throw a chair too if he pushed me that far.
But none of that happened, because the second I saw Noah standing in the middle of his office, surrounded by mess, with his hand bleeding, I knew my plan was shit. I couldn’t walk away, not after seeing him so lost and so wounded. And so alone.
And when Ezra showed up and started giving Noah that look—like he was an overgrown, rabid animal in need of a muzzle—something inside me snapped. I’d spent my entire childhood being the problem child, the liability, the ticking bomb in the corner. I know that look. I know it better than the back of my own hand, and I know exactly what it does to a person.
And now, standing here in the ruins of his office, I’m caught in the aftermath of my own impulsive rescue mission. The silence between us is heavy enough to compress my lungs, but I refuse to be the first to break it.
