Page 18 of Fifty-Fifty

Noah’s eyes crinkle in the corners as he listens to my story. “Did he?”

“Nope. That bastard had set the whole thing up. Made sure he was gone so that I’d have no choice but to step in and help.” I scrunch up my nose while shakin’ my head. Sneaky devil.

Noah throws his head back laughing until tears are in his eyes. “Are you serious? He set you up?”

“Yes!” I exclaim. “But he knew what he was doin’. After that day, I started helpin’ around a bit more here and there. I didn’t feel so worthless. I started trustin’ myself. Washin’ the dishes, cleanin’ the sheets. That sorta thing. And then, before I knew it, I was handlin’ all the inside work and Jay was handlin’ all the outside work. Slowly, he taught me how to handle the books, and was in the process of marketin’ when he…” I lick my lips. “When he had a stroke. It left him in bad shape, but I brought him home and did my best to make him comfortable. But it didn’t leave much time for the inn. I had to choose between Jay, Mac, and the inn. There was only so much I could do, ya know?”

“And what about you?” Noah asks.

My brows furrow. “What about me?”

“You said you had to choose between taking care of my grandpa, your little girl, and the inn. Who took care of you?”

Somehow, durin’ my little story, we’d edged closer to each other. Our thighs touchin’, but I can’t make myself pull away. The heat from his skin burnin’ me through my jeans. The contact is almost more than I can take, but I think I like it.

It’s been so long since I’ve had a hug from someone other than a two-year-old; I’d laugh if it weren’t so damn pathetic.

I take a minute to consider his question, but I don’t really know what to say. Because, if I’m bein’ honest with myself, no one has ever really taken care of me. I’ve always been on my own, and I don’t see that changin’ anytime soon.

Mac starts chatterin’ in the other room, so I take the opportunity and dodge his question like a speedin’ bullet. “I better go get Mac. Be right back.”

Quickly, I disappear to the kitchen and grab the wet wipes from the counter, smilin’ as I open the pack and pull out a couple of sheets. Walkin’ over to Mac, I wipe the iPhone clean when it starts to vibrate. Shane’s name flashes across the screen, makin’ me feel like I bathed in sewage. I reject the call before settin’ it on the table and givin’ Mac a quick sponge bath with the wipe, too. As I finish cleanin’ the banana from Mac’s fingers, I can feel Noah’s presence before I even see him.

“Can I help with anything?” His tone is soft. Gentle. Almost enough to make me forget what Shane said earlier, but not quite.

“Nope. Just gonna start the laundry and change the sheets. I have another tenant comin’ by this afternoon and wanna make sure I get everythin’ ready.”

He patiently nods his head, but I can still see the confusion written on his face. I don’t blame him, I went from warm and welcomin’ to frigid and closed in a split second. All it took was a call from his friend, remindin’ me that I can’t trust him. Not really. Not when I know where his loyalties lie.

He takes a step closer. “Need help with Mac or anything? I’m here. You might as well put me to work.”

“Nah. We’re good. Shane called, though. Might wanna return it.” I hastily motion to his mobile phone on the table before grabbin’ Mac and headin’ upstairs to do the laundry.

I don’t hear Noah call Shane back, but maybe that’s just wishful thinkin’ on my part.

Chapter Eight

Noah

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt lower in my entire life. When Beau opened up to me this morning, she left me with more questions than answers. Rough time? What rough time? Maybe it was the pregnancy or something. Where’s Mac’s dad? Shouldn’t he have some responsibility? At least financially? It’s ridiculous.

And what about her little Freudian slip? Unable to admit to anyone, including herself, that there isn’t anyone in her life to take care of her? She’s on her own, with more baggage than any one person can carry. She isn’t Wonder Woman, no matter how hard she tries to be. I just wish she’d let me help.

Not forever. Don’t get me wrong, I still firmly believe we should sell this place, but if I can help while I’m here, then I will. I owe her that much after my conversation with Shane.

Shit.

I still feel guilty as hell for that one.

I’ve been hiding in my room, sketching in my book when I hear the front door open.

A few seconds later, Beau’s voice echoes through the entryway.

“Hi! I’m so glad y’all could make it!”

There’s a shuffling and then, “Thank you! It was quite the drive, and we’re all just happy we made it one piece.”

Beau laughs, causing my gut to tighten at the sound.

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