I climbed down the ladder, hands clumsy on the rungs. By the time I reached the ground, Olivia had already gone back into the garage, her phone pressed to her ear.
Chloe was leaning against her Tesla, arms crossed, watching me approach.
When I got close, she didn't say anything at first. Just looked at me in a way that made my chest tight.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For doing this. For all of it."
"You don't have to?—"
"Yeah, I do." She glanced back at the garage, where Olivia was visible through the opening, pacing as she talked. "My brother fucked up. Massively. And you didn't have to step in, but you did." She looked back at me. "So. Thank you."
I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything.
Chloe was quiet for a moment, studying my face.
"She's going through a lot," she said.
"I know."
"Yeah." She held my gaze for a beat longer. "I think you do."
She reached out and squeezed my arm once, her touch quick but firm.
"Take care of her, Ben. My brother was a dickhead, but at least he chose the right guy as a best friend."
She let go, climbed into the Tesla, and started the engine. Then she rolled down the window.
"Don't fuck this up," she said, grinning. "I'm scrappy as hell and I know where you live."
Chapter 25
Olivia
Iwatched Ben climb back up the ladder, his movements heavy and slower than usual, as if Chloe’s departure had added a weight to his shoulders. From the garage, I’d watched the whole silent play: Chloe pulling him aside, the sharp, assessing look she’d leveled at him, and that final, firm squeeze of his arm. I didn't need to hear the words to imagine what they were.
My phone buzzed, vibrating against my palm. It was the roofing supplier, finally returning my calls. I turned away from the garage opening, channeling my adrenaline into a professional argument about delivery windows. I was still mid-sentence, victorious but breathless, when I heard the rhythmic beep-beep-beep of a backup alarm.
The flatbed truck emerged from the gray haze, the white paneling encrusted with road salt. The roofing underlayment had finally arrived.
I grabbed my clipboard and met the driver in the mud. The membrane came in massive, plastic-wrapped rolls that looked like heavy black scrolls. Ben appeared beside me, sawdust clinging to his hair, looking at the delivery like a man who had just been handed a reprieve from a firing squad.
"They’re here," I said, a small spark of triumph in my chest.
"I see that." He squinted at the horizon, where the clouds were thickening into a bruised charcoal. "We’ve got maybe an hour before the sky opens up. Maybe less."
"Can you do it?"
"We’re going to have to." He didn't wait for a reply. He turned and shouted toward the rafters. "Collins! Frank! Membrane's here! Move!"
The atmosphere on the site shifted. The casual pace of the morning vanished, replaced by a frantic, synchronized gear. Ben and Collins rigged a pulley system, muscling the hundred-pound rolls up to the roof while Frank cleared the plywood deck above. I stood back, watching the black synthetic material catch the rising wind as they began to overlap the sheets.
I should have gone back to the garage, but I couldn't move. I stayed in the clearing, watching them race the weather, until Frank appeared at the edge of the roof, looking down at me.
"Olivia!" he barked. "You busy?"
"Not particularly."
"Good. Grab that roll of poly and the lath and start closing the holes on the first floor. If the wind gets inside the house, it’ll lift this membrane right off the deck. We need the interior sealed."
