Chapter 9: The Breaking Point

Elias drove through the storm, wipers slapping uselessly against the rain. Nora's cottage faded in his rearview, but that photo stuck with him—two kids with no clue what was coming. He'd almost pushed her to talk, to finally say why she'd left, but she'd shut down, same as always. It pissed him off, how she could still tie him up like this after ten years.

Home was dark, power out, and Leah was on the couch with a flashlight and a book. She looked up as he stomped in, shedding his wet jacket. "You're soaked," she said, setting the book down. "Where were you?"

"Checking on the crew," he lied, kicking off his boots. "Then Nora's place. Storm's rough out there."

Leah's mouth tightened, just a flicker. "She okay?"

"Yeah," he said, heading for the kitchen. "Just making sure."

She followed, leaning against the counter as he grabbed a beer. "You've been doing that a lot lately. Making sure."

He popped the cap, taking a long swig. "She's in over her head with this lighthouse thing. Someone's gotta keep her from drowning."

"Someone," Leah echoed, arms crossing. "Why's it always you?"

He turned, meeting her eyes. They were steady, but there was an edge there he hadn't seen before. "What're you getting at?"

"Nothing," she said, too calm. "Just wondering when you're gonna admit it."

"Admit what?" he snapped, louder than he meant.

She didn't flinch. "That you're not over her."

The words hit like a punch, and he set the beer down hard, glass clinking on the counter. "That's bullshit, Leah. I'm with you."

"Are you?" she asked, stepping closer. "Because I see it, Elias. The way you look at her, the way you run whenever she's involved. I'm not blind."

He wanted to argue, to say she was wrong, but his chest was tight, and the lie wouldn't come. "It's not like that," he said, weaker than he wanted. "She's just… she's history."

"History doesn't keep you out in a storm," Leah said, voice breaking. "I deserve better than this."

She turned and walked out, leaving him in the dark kitchen, the rain hammering down. He sank into a chair, beer forgotten, and ran a hand over his face. Leah was right—she deserved better. But Nora was in his blood, and he didn't know how to cut her out.

Morning broke gray and soggy, the storm easing into a drizzle. Elias pulled up to the lighthouse, his crew already there, poking at the cracks. Nora's Subaru rolled in behind him, and she climbed out, thermos in hand, his jacket slung over her arm.

"Coffee," she said, tossing it to him. "And your jacket."

"Thanks," he said, catching both. He poured a cup, avoiding her eyes. Leah's words still burned, and he didn't know how to stand this close to Nora without cracking.

They went inside, the tower damp and echoing. Jimmy waved him over. "Cracks are worse after the rain. Foundation's shifting—gonna need more than a patch."

"Shit," Elias muttered, running a hand over the wall. "How much?"

"Thousands," Jimmy said. "Maybe ten, fifteen. Concrete, rebar, the works."

Nora stepped up, frowning. "I can cover it. Grants are pending—I'll push 'em through."

"You sure?" Elias asked, turning to her. "That's a big ask."

"I've got it," she said, firm. "This place isn't going down."

He nodded, impressed despite himself. "Alright. I'll hold off the crew. But if you're short—"

"I won't be," she cut in. "Trust me."

He wanted to—God, he did—but trust was a frayed rope between them. "Fine," he said. "Let's get to work."

They spent the morning measuring, planning, Jimmy barking orders while Nora scribbled notes. By noon, the drizzle stopped, and they ended up alone in the lantern room, the sea calm below. She leaned against the railing, catching her breath.

"You're good at this," he said, surprising himself. "Fighting for it."

"Had to be," she said, glancing at him. "Learned the hard way."

He stepped closer, the air heavy. "Yeah? How's that?"

Her mouth opened, then closed, and he saw it—the crack, the moment she might finally spill. But she shook her head. "Doesn't matter now."

"It does," he said, voice rough. "To me."

She looked at him, eyes wide, and he felt it—the pull, the breaking point. "Elias, I—"

Jimmy's shout cut through, calling him downstairs. She flinched, stepping back, and the moment snapped. "Later," he said, heading down, his heart pounding. Whatever she was holding back, it was close—and he wasn't sure he could handle it when it came.