Chapter Twenty-Five
CHASE
I stoodin the center of my great room, the space I’d meticulously carved from the bones of a neglected conch house. Restored wood floors gleamed softly under the recessed lighting, reflecting the clean lines of the custom shelving and the carefully curated art and furniture. This room, a fusion of the original formal living room and parlor to make a seamless yet much larger space, represented years of painstaking work, late nights sketching, and the satisfaction of bringing a vision to life. The house itself had won awards, graced magazines, and earned me plenty of offers. Tonight, it just felt quiet. And the silence amplified the low-grade buzz in my skull, the exhaustion that came from being out of ideas.
My laptop lay on the mahogany table in the corner—a piece I’d restored myself—displaying a spreadsheet that showed a number that still didn’t look real, even after hours of recalculations. Of considering every possiblesolution and alternative. I’d spent the last hours since leaving work staring at spreadsheets, trying to find a way to leverage my own savings, maybe a personal loan, but the numbers were too vast. Nothing touched the black hole the termites had chewed through the budget.
Essential repairs only, and the cost might as well have had its own line item for soul. There was no trimming this into something palatable. Every possible solution tasted like sawdust and compromise.
And failure.
Sunset Siesta’s bungalows were mudded and painted, ready for flooring I might need to downscale drastically. The pool project—seventy percent done—was on hold, the contractors already scenting a stall. If I paused construction altogether, the whole vision I’d sold Harper and her family would fall apart, piece by piece, in slow motion. That prospect itched at every perfectionist bone in my body. Still, the math didn’t care what I thought.
I ran a hand over the cool stone of the fireplace surround, remembering the satisfaction of refinishing it, getting the joints just right. This house was my fortress, my statement—proof of control, precision, aesthetic mastery. Everything in its place. Unlike the chaotic mess currently consuming my thoughts and threatening the future I was only just beginning to believe in.
To complicate things even more, Eli was on his way over. I’d been incredulous when he suggested coming over for a drink tonight so I could blow off some steam. He knew how buried I was. Frowning, I pulled out my phone to read our text exchange from earlier.
Chase: Too damn busy, man.
He’d texted back quick, persistent.
Eli: Dude. Can’t pour from an empty pitcher and all that.
Then immediately after:
Eli: I’ll be at your place at 7 p.m. I’m not asking.
That last one hit differently. Eli only played thebest friend imperativecard when something was on fire, real or emotional. I couldn’t hide my own shadows from the guy who knew my tells better than my mother ever had. And now his sister was involved too, all jumbled into a big, ugly mess.
This wasn’t like the night when we’d casually shared bourbon on the deck and I’d haltingly confessed what had happened between me and Harper. Tonight was different. I had the sinking feeling he wasn’t coming over to shoot the breeze or admire the architectural details of my house.
The doorbell chimed, sharp and distinct in the quiet house. I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and opened the door. Eli stood on the porch, but the usual lazy grin was absent, replaced with a steadiness that put me on notice immediately. He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the expansive room—the soaring ceilings, the strategically placed lighting highlighting the blend of historic texture and modern design.
He looked me up and down, unwavering. “Rough day?” His voice was low as he followed me toward the seating area. “You look like something the tide dragged in, refused, and then threw back again.”
If I’d had any energy, I might have smiled. Instead, thewords scraped raw. I gestured toward the bourbon on the sideboard. “Pour yourself one. Try no sleep for nearly forty-eight hours thanks to termites eating the damn resort from the inside out.” I didn’t bother to hide the snap. “Then tell me how photogenic you look.”
Eli poured two fingers into a heavy crystal tumbler, then turned, leaning back against the sideboard, studying me, all traces of the wiseass invisible. “Yeah, I know it’s bad, man.” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair in that way he did when he was flustered. “I’m guessing it’s no surprise that I’m not here for a glass of your bourbon, good as it is.”
I poured myself a healthy measure, fortification for having my suspicions confirmed. “I figured. So out with it.”
“I found Harper sobbing in the conference room this afternoon. Alone. She didn’t even hear me come in. She tried to hide it, but”—he stopped, winced as if replaying it—“I’ve never seen her like that, Chase. Not even when Mom almost lost the house back in the day.”
The words registered slowly, thickly. The image of her, warm, tough, always-holding-it-together Harper, sitting alone and crying because of something I’d said—or hadn’t said—felt like a physical blow. I sank onto the edge of the tailored linen sofa, staring at the intricate pattern of the antique Persian rug beneath my feet.
That was on me.
The guilt from earlier, the impatient conversations and the cold distance I’d created, came slamming home. I’d been too buried in blueprints and bank statements to see what it was costing her.
“She… she say anything?” Useless question, but the only one I could manage.
Eli came over and sat in the armchair opposite me,setting his drink down deliberately. “She said you were shutting her out. That you looked right through her at the meeting this afternoon. And maybe I shouldn’t say this, but to hell with it. I’m her big brother. I’m pretty sure she’s scared you’re about to bail—just like her last guy did, only this time it would be the whole resort walking out on her too.” He leaned forward and forced eye contact between us. “You got her hoping for more, Chase. Real future, not just next month. That’s scary shit. Especially when the person you’re counting on suddenly goes all cave dweller.”
I wanted to argue, to insist I was just protecting her, trying to shield her from how bad it really was. How inadequateIfelt. But the words tasted cheap and hollow. Instead, I picked up my glass, the cool weight of it familiar, and took a long swallow. The bourbon burned but barely scratched the surface of the knot in my chest.
Eli let the silence hang. The quiet hum of the house, the sound of high-end climate control and isolation, filled the space. He finally spoke, gentle but relentless. “I’m not throwing stones, Chase. Jules has seen me sink plenty of times. Stress gets heavy, and we get stubborn. Sometimes it’s just easier to build the walls than talk it out. Thing is… when Jules drags me back, it helps. Makes the load lighter, not heavier. I had a pretty ugly dive rescue last week. It all came out okay, but there were some moments that were very dicey. When I dragged my ass home, she didn’t try to fix anything. Just handed me a beer, rubbed my shoulders, and sat with me as I talked it out. It mattered. And it wasn’t weakness. It was being real.”
Something about the way he said it, casual but not, impacted deeply. I kept looking at my hands, idly shaking the ice in my glass. “It’s not… It’s not that I don’t want to talk to her. Or lean on her.” My gaze drifted around the room, taking in the precise placement of every object, the controlled beauty I’d fought so hard to create. “I look around this place, at all this effort to make something perfect, ordered. And then I look at the resort numbers, at Harper… It feels like if I say it all out loud, admit how precarious everything is, it’s too much. Like if she sees how bad it really is, how close to the edgeIam, she’ll realize what a bad bet this all was. I can’t—” The burn in my throat threatened to close off the rest.
