"I'm sorry," I said. "I should have called you back. Or texted. Or?—"
"Liv." She held up a hand. "Can we not do this on the porch? I've been sitting out here for forty minutes and I can't feel my ass."
I fumbled for my keys, hands clumsy with cold and exhaustion. The lock stuck—it always did in winter—and I had to jiggle it twice before the door finally gave.
The house was dark. I flipped on the hallway light and the familiar space materialized around us, exactly as I'd left it this morning. The living room couch still had the blanket I'd thrownover it last week. The kitchen counter had a coffee mug I'd rinsed but not put away. Everything looked normal, like a life was being lived here.
It was a lie.
Chloe followed me in, closing the door behind her. She walked past me into the kitchen, and I saw her eyes land on the dining room table.
I'd been using it for the paperwork I couldn't bring to the site. Mortgage documents, loan agreements, bank correspondence. Legal folders stacked next to a coffee mug I'd left there this morning.
Shit.
I moved quickly, reaching for the nearest folder. "Sorry, it's a mess. Let me just?—"
"Liv." Chloe's voice was gentle. "You don't have to clean up for me."
"I know, I just—" I grabbed another stack, trying to organize it into something less incriminating. "I've been busy, and I haven't had time to?—"
"Is this why Mom can't reach you?" She picked up my dirty coffee mug, moved it aside. "Because you're busy with... whatever this is?"
"It's just work stuff." The lie tasted sour. "Estate stuff. You know, after—" I couldn't finish the sentence.
Chloe watched me shuffle papers, her expression unreadable. Then she reached out and plucked a document from my hands before I could stop her.
She scanned it and her face changed.
"Liv," she said slowly. "This is a construction loan. Abigconstruction loan."
"It's just—" I reached for it, but she held it away. "It's some stuff of Ryan's. I'm trying to untangle it."
"Untangle it?" She looked at me like I'd just told her the sky was green. "This is aloan, Liv. Are you in money trouble? Because if you need?—"
"I'm fine."
"You're clearly not fine. You're covered in construction dust, you won't answer Mom's calls, and you have a six-figure loan document on your kitchen table." She set the paper down. "What's going on?"
I could feel it building in my chest, the whole ugly story pressing against my ribs like something that wanted out. But this was Ryan's sister, the woman who'd introduced us. The one who’d loved him even before I knew his name.
How was I supposed to tell her that her brother had been a liar?
"Olivia." Chloe's voice was quiet now. "Whatever it is, just tell me."
I looked at her standing in my kitchen—her lavender hair and her leather jacket and her patient, worried face. She'd flown across the country because her mom had been scared. She'd waited on my porch in the February cold. She deserved the truth.
And I was so tired of carrying it alone.
"You should probably sit down," I said.
"Ryan," Chloe said quietly, staring at the ceiling. "You absolute fucking asshole."
We were on the couch. She had a glass of wine in her hand that she hadn't touched. I had nothing. My hands were empty, resting in my lap, the left one still pale where the ring used to be.
I'd told her everything. The affair, Lucia, the house on Route 9, and the fact that I was now trying to finish what Ryan andhis mistress had started just so I wouldn't lose everything. She'd listened without interrupting. Now she was processing, and I could see the anger and grief warring on her face.
"I have savings," she said suddenly, turning to look at me. "Not a lot, mind you… LA bleeds you dry. But I can help. And if we tell Mom… she has Dad's life insurance, and the house is paid off. She'd want to help, Liv. We can figure this out together."
