He crossed the room in those lazy-long strides of his, not stopping until he leaned his hip against the table beside me. He didn’t try a joke. Didn’t even smile. “This looks like more than termite stress.”
I tried to pull myself back together. Swallowed and pressed my lips in a line. But the tears slipped out anyway, more stubborn than I was. “He won’t let me in, Eli! He says he’s fine, but he’s clearly drowning, and then he just… leaves. On to the next crisis.” It felt childish and dangerous to say it, like wishing for something I couldn’t have.
Eli found a half-crumpled napkin in his pocket and offered it. I took it, the little ordinary gesture gutting me more than the situation itself.
“I don’t get it,” I said, staring at the floor. “I know we’re all tired. I know he’s under more pressure than anyone, but he keeps shutting me out. Like every time I try to help, it’s just another brick in whatever wall he’s building between us.”
Eli dropped into a chair next to me to meet my eye, his own concern in full view. “I get why you’re upset. It sucks feeling shut out.” He draped his arm over my shoulders, steadying, and I leaned in. My big brother. “Chase has always had this weird default setting. Whenever things get overwhelming—especially the emotional kind—he retreats into his architect cave. You know, like a turtle pulling its head into its shell.” He paused, the corners of his mouth twitching. “It’s a terrible look. Honestly, he kind of resembles a constipated turtle.”
That broke something inside me, but not in a bad way. The sound that came out was a laugh chopped in half by tears. I swiped at my eyes again, a fresh burst of gratitude and pain all tangled up.
Eli leaned in. “But here’s the thing about Chase, the thing I’ve known since we were both dumb enough to think pizza rolls were a food group. He always sticks his head back out. He needs time to process. Maybe kicks a few metaphorical wastebaskets in private, curses at the world a bit, draws an angry floor plan no one’ll ever see. But he doesn’t run. He just… turtles.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Give him a minute. He’ll be back.”
I wanted so badly to believe it. “You really think so?”
Eli nodded, no hesitation now. “Yeah. He’s an idiot sometimes, but he’s a loyal idiot. He cares about you, Harper. You two will figure it out.”
His certainty was balm—clumsy, homemade, dangerously reassuring. I leaned into him for a second, just letting myself be someone’s little sister instead of the manager, the mom, the everything-holder. “Thanks.”
After Eli gave my shoulder a solid, comforting squeeze, I straightened. He stood, stretching with exaggerated slowness, clearly trying to lighten the moment. “If you need anything else, I do offer distraction services—bad impressions, interpretive dance, whatever gets you through to happy hour.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “Maybe hold off on the dance. For now.”
“Suit yourself.” He grinned, ruffling my hair just enough to be annoying and comforting at the same time. “I’m around. Yell if you need anything. Or if you want to burn the termite beam in effigy, I’ll bring marshmallows.”
I rose to my feet, and he pulled me into a hug, tall and solid, like an anchor. He was warm, his chin brushing the top of my head. “You got this, Harper.”
I hugged him tightly. “You give pretty good pep talks. Who knew?”
A few seconds passed before he let go, backing towardthe door with a wink. “Don’t cry too long. It’s bad for your complexion.”
“Get out of here,” I said, not bothering to hide the affection in my smile. “Thanks, Eli.”
The door closed behind him, leaving me alone with the mess and the hurt but also with a sliver of hope I hadn’t had before. Eli knew Chase better than anyone. I sat there for a few minutes more, letting my brother’s words sink in and loosen something knotted inside me.
Maybe Chase was turtling. Maybe he needed time to work through whatever storm was raging beneath that controlled exterior. And maybe—hopefully—he would come back once he’d done it, and we could work things out.
Eli’s words hadn’t magically fixed the crumbling walls or the budget, but they’d cracked open a window in my self-made fallout shelter and let in a ray of light. The mountain ahead was still immense. But as I wiped my face and picked up my clipboard, the climb looked a little less like a desperate scrabble in the dark and more like ascending toward a distant, possible dawn.
