I shrug. “So don’t. The house is spotless. You should rest.”
She scoffs. “I can’t rest until everything is perfect.”
I lean against the wall, crossing my arms, watching her. Her hair’s falling out of its ponytail, wisps framing her flushed face, and her body is slouched in a way that’s almost uncharacteristic. She’s so used to holding herself together that seeing her like this—vulnerable, tired—is a rare sight.
“Ellie, the house is already perfect,” I say softly. “You’ve done enough. You are enough.”
Her head dips toward me, eyes pinching, “You’re getting sappy on me. You know how I feel about feelings.”
I hold my hands up in mock surrender, a grin tugging at my lips. “Can’t have that, can we? But seriously, take a breath. Shane’s cooking, Marisa’s scrubbing tiles, and I’ve vacuumed the stairs so thoroughly they could star in a cleaning commercial. There’s nothing left.”
She stares at me, her lips pressing into a thin line. Finally, she exhales sharply. “Fine.”
For a moment, we fall into silence.
“I don’t know why you’re here,” she says suddenly, her voice quieter, almost unsure.
I’m not sure if she’s asking why I’m here in her family’s home, or why I moved back. I think it’s both.
I step closer, sitting on the arm of the couch, careful not to crowd her, and answer the simplest question. “You can thank Marisa for that one.”
She gives me a tight, resigned smile but remains quiet.
“You do too much, querida mía,” I tell her under my breath, lowso only she can hear me.
Her eyes lift up to meet mine. “I know,” she admits. “Normally, I’m not this anal about things, but lately it’s felt like everything is out of control. I can control this, though.”
“Want to talk about it?”
She blows out a breath. “Not really.”
I’ll let it go for now, but she’s not off the hook. Whatever it is that’s bothering her is clearly taking a toll. The shadows under her eyes, the worry in her gaze—it looks worse now than it did at the bar.
“You do everything for everyone—take care of your whole family, but who takes care of you?”
Ellie releases a weary sigh, pushing herself up from the couch with a groan. “I don’t let anyone take care of me.”
I stand as she does, watching her carefully. She’s good at deflecting—always has been—but I’m not letting her get away with it this time.
“Well, maybe you should start,” I say gently.
She scoffs, brushing past me toward the kitchen. I follow in step behind her.
“Shane and Marisa are here. You’re here. Clearly, I know how to accept help.”
As I’m about to respond, we enter the kitchen and Shane spots me, leveling me with a glare. He’s practically snarling as he removes his earbuds.
“The fuck’s he doing here?”
Shit.
I suspected he didn’t like me during dinner, but nowit’s confirmed.
Before moving back, the last time I saw Shane he was a teenager. Now he’s very much a grown man who could probably kick my ass if he tried. He’d have to try pretty hard, but it wouldn’t be a cakewalk.
“Be nice,” Ellie tells him as she grabs a stack of mail and puts it in a drawer.
Shaking his head, he stirs something in a pot. “No can do. I’m a grudge holder. Especially when it comes to pieces of shit who hurt my sisters.”
