CHAPTER11
1180 Words
CHAPTER 11
Andrew didn’t sleep well.
He tossed and turned through the night, the sheets twisting around him as his breathing stayed uneven in the dark. By morning, he was already awake, staring at the ceiling as though it had personally offended him.
A dry cough caught in his chest.
He sat up slowly and pressed a hand to his ribs. “Annoying,” he muttered.
From the kitchen, Nancy’s voice drifted in. “I heard that.”
Andrew closed his eyes briefly. “Of course you did.”
A moment later, she appeared in the doorway, her arms folded loosely. “How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Nancy sighed and stepped inside, setting a glass of water on the bedside table. “Drink.”
“I’m not a child.”
“No,” she said evenly, “children listen faster.”
He gave her a flat look. “You’re becoming bold.”
“And you’re becoming worse,” she replied, her tone softer now. “Drink the water.”
He held her gaze for a moment, then reluctantly took the glass.
Nancy didn’t smile, but there was quiet satisfaction in her eyes.
At breakfast, the silence between them felt unusually heavy. Andrew sat at the table with his tablet open, a file on the screen, barely touching the food in front of him. He could feel Nancy watching him, steady and unblinking.
“You’re not eating,” she said at last, her tone light but deliberate.
“I am.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“It does where I come from.”
“That sounds exhausting,” Nancy said, frowning.
Andrew glanced at her. “It’s efficient.”
“It’s lonely,” she said.
The words settled between them, heavier than either of them expected.
He paused for only a second before returning to his tablet. “You’re talking too much this morning.”
“And you’re deflecting.”
The conversation dissolved into silence, but the weight of what remained unsaid lingered in the room.
After a while, Nancy wiped her hands on a towel and reached for her bag. “I’m stepping out for a few hours.”
Andrew didn’t look up immediately. “Why?”
“I told you yesterday. I’m visiting my sister.”
His brow shifted faintly. “Maya.”
Nancy blinked, surprised. “You remembered.”
“I remember things that matter,” he said, with just enough edge to sound defensive.
“I’ll be back before evening.” She glanced at the clock. “Don’t miss me too much.”
He snorted softly. “Try not to bring chaos back with you.”
Nancy smirked. “No promises.”
When she left, the penthouse seemed to shrink around him. Andrew told himself the quiet was nothing, just a familiar absence, but the hours dragged with an irritation he couldn’t quite shake.
The silence was too sharp, too empty.
By late afternoon, his patience had thinned.
Then he heard the soft jingle of keys at the door.
He didn’t know what he expected, but when Nancy came bursting inside, windblown and bright, she looked like a piece of summer had wandered into his cold, ordered world.
“How did it go?” he asked, keeping his tone casual.
Nancy paused. “What? You care?”
“Don’t make it dramatic. It was a simple question.”
She laughed, and the sound filled the room with warmth. “Maya says you owe her a visit.”
“I don’t owe anyone anything,” he muttered.
“She called it a family obligation,” Nancy said, moving toward him. “And she thinks spending time with your sister might add a little warmth to this cold castle of yours.”
Andrew arched a brow. “That was a particularly dramatic description.”
“And true,” Nancy said, nodding once. “You really need to lighten up.”
He studied her for a long moment. “And how exactly do you suggest I do that?”
Instead of answering immediately, Nancy stepped closer and looked at him with quiet seriousness.
“By allowing yourself to be human for once. It’s okay to hurt, Andrew. It’s okay to be scared of what comes next.”
Something in her honesty caught him off guard. His chest tightened, and for a moment he had to force himself to breathe evenly.
“I’m not scared,” he said, though the lie tasted bitter.
Nancy’s expression softened. “Okay. But it’s okay if you are.”
Andrew looked away, suddenly aware of how exposed he felt. “I have everything lined up,” he said sharply. “I don’t need to feel anything. I can handle this.”
She took a small step back, crossing her arms again, the moment between them shifting, growing fragile. “You don’t have to handle everything on your own.”
The truth of it landed hard.
For so long, Andrew had believed that control meant strength, that solitude was the price of power. Nancy stood in front of him now and, without even trying, made all of that feel less certain.
“I’m fine,” he said, but the words sounded thin.
“Are you?” She searched his face as if she could see straight through the walls he’d spent years building.
He exhaled slowly. “Why do you care, Nancy? What have I done to deserve all this concern?”
She answered without hesitation. “Because you’re worth caring about.”
He had no response to that. None that mattered.
“You don’t understand the weight I carry,” he said at last, his voice quieter now.
“No, I don’t,” she admitted. “But I know you’re terrified of being crushed by it.”
Silence stretched between them, taut and fragile, charged with everything neither of them knew how to say.
“I need to sort this out alone,” he said finally, falling back on the only instinct he trusted.
Nancy tilted her head slightly. “Do you always push people away when they get too close?”
“I don’t push,” he said, irritated.
“Sure sounds like it.”
Despite himself, he let out a short breath, almost a laugh. “Just… don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make me need you, Nancy.”
Her expression softened in a way that made him feel more vulnerable than if she had argued.
“There’s a difference between needing someone and having someone stand beside you,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
The words settled over him, unsettling and warm at the same time.
By evening, when Nancy finally left, Andrew was less sharp than before. He watched her go, her laughter lingering in the silence long after the door closed.
And for the first time in a long while, Andrew Cross felt the walls around him begin to tremble.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD