Chapter 7

Ella

“Ella?”

My mom’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts the second I walk through the front door.

She’s home.

That alone is enough to tell me something’s off.

She’s never home this early.

I pause, closing the door behind me slowly. “Yeah?”

“In the living room, honey.”

That definitely means something’s wrong.

I walk in and find her sitting on the couch, her laptop open beside her, phone in hand like she’s been waiting.

Waiting for me.

My stomach tightens.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

She smiles—but it’s that tight kind of smile. The one that means she’s about to say something I’m not going to like.

“Nothing bad,” she says quickly. “You’re not in trouble.”

I let out a small breath.

“Okay…”

She pats the spot next to her. “Come sit.”

I do, curling slightly into myself out of habit.

“So,” she starts, “I got some news today.”

“That’s never good,” I mutter.

“It is good,” she says gently. “It just… comes with some changes.”

Of course it does.

“When do the changes not come with changes?” I say under my breath.

She gives me a look.

I sigh. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

She nods. “My boss is expanding things. Bigger contracts, more travel, more responsibility.”

“That’s good, right?”

“It is. It’s a big opportunity.”

I nod slowly.

“And,” she continues, “I’ll be traveling. Starting this weekend.”

My stomach drops.

“How long?”

She hesitates.

“Two weeks.”

“What?”

The word comes out sharper than I mean it to.

“Ella—”

“You’re leaving for two weeks?”

“I don’t have a choice,” she says softly. “This is important.”

I look away, blinking fast.

Of course it is.

Work is always important.

More important than—

No.

Don’t go there.

“So… I’ll just stay here,” I say, already knowing the answer.

She shakes her head.

“No, you won’t.”

Of course not.

“I’ve already made arrangements.”

I go still.

“What kind of arrangements?”

She hesitates again.

And that’s when I know.

Before she even says it.

“No,” I say immediately.

“Ella—”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard—”

“I know,” I cut in. “I already know.”

Her expression softens. “Honey—”

“No,” I repeat, standing now. “Absolutely not.”

“Ella, please just listen.”

I shake my head, my chest tightening.

“Don’t say it,” I whisper.

“Beckett’s family offered—”

“Mom.”

“They live right next door—”

“Mom.”

“You’ll be safe, you won’t be alone—”

“Mom!”

The word breaks out of me louder than I meant it to.

Silence fills the room.

My hands shake at my sides.

“I’m not staying there,” I say, my voice quieter now but firm. “I’m not.”

“Why not?” she asks gently.

I stare at her.

“Why not?” I repeat.

She sighs. “Ella, I know you and Beckett don’t always get along—”

“That’s not what it is.”

“Then what is it?”

I open my mouth.

And close it again.

Because how do I explain this?

How do I tell her that her perfect neighbor boy makes my life miserable every single day?

That the same boy she trusts—

Is the one who lets people tear me apart?

“That’s not what it is,” I say again, weaker this time.

She studies me for a long moment.

Then reaches for my hand.

“You can’t stay here alone,” she says softly. “I won’t risk that.”

I swallow hard.

Because I know she won’t change her mind.

She never does when it comes to this.

“This is temporary,” she adds. “Two weeks.”

Two weeks.

Living next door—

In his space.

Around him.

Where I can’t avoid him.

Where I can’t escape him.

Where I have to pretend everything is fine—

While he stands there and watches people laugh at me.

My chest tightens painfully.

“Thursday,” she says. “After school.”

I nod slowly.

Because what else can I do?

There’s no winning this.

There never is.

“Okay,” I whisper.

⸻

Later that night, I sit on my bed, staring at my phone.

My mind is racing.

Two weeks.

Two weeks of this.

Two weeks of him.

Of pretending.

Of trying not to feel like I don’t belong—

In a house that isn’t mine.

I let out a frustrated groan and fall back against my pillows.

“This is a nightmare.”

A soft knock sounds on my window.

I freeze.

Then slowly sit up.

I already know who it is.

I don’t even have to check.

Beckett.

Of course it’s Beckett.

I hesitate for a second.

Then push myself up and walk over, pulling the curtain back slightly.

He’s standing outside.

Like this is normal.

Like he didn’t just stand there this morning and do nothing.

Like I didn’t just spend the entire day trying not to think about that.

I open the window.

“What?” I ask.

No greeting.

No softness.

Nothing.

He notices.

Of course he does.

“I need help,” he says.

Straight to it.

I let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Of course you do.”

His jaw tightens slightly. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

There’s a pause.

Tension.

Thick and sharp between us.

“I told you,” he says, “I need help with English.”

“And I told you no.”

“You didn’t.”

“I’m saying it now.”

That lands.

He didn’t expect that.

Good.

“Ella—”

“No.”

My voice is firmer this time.

Stronger.

“Why?” he asks.

I stare at him.

Because the answer is obvious.

Because he should already know.

“Really?” I say quietly.

He frowns slightly.

And that—

That right there—

That’s what does it.

“You don’t even get it, do you?” I say.

“What?”

“You stood there today.”

His expression shifts.

Barely.

But I see it.

“You stood there,” I repeat. “And did nothing.”

“That’s not—”

“That is exactly what you did.”

Silence.

Heavy.

“You don’t get to come here,” I continue, “and ask me for help like I matter when you won’t even act like I matter when it counts.”

His jaw tightens.

“That’s not how it is.”

“Then how is it?” I challenge.

He doesn’t answer.

Because he can’t.

Because we both know the truth.

“You want my help?” I say.

He nods slightly.

I take a breath.

Then say the words I never thought I would.

“Then things change.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” I say steadily, “you don’t get to treat me like I’m nothing in public and then come here like I’m useful in private.”

A pause.

Long.

Tense.

“You don’t get both,” I finish.

His gaze locks onto mine.

And for the first time—

He looks… unsure.

“I’m not asking you to be my friend,” I add. “But I’m not your secret either.”

Silence stretches between us.

The air feels different.

Charged.

Like something just shifted.

Big.

Important.

Dangerous.

“Think about it,” I say.

His words.

Thrown right back at him.

Then—

I close the window.

Right in his face.

My heart is pounding.

My hands are shaking.

But for the first time—

It doesn’t feel like fear.

It feels like something else.

Something stronger.

Something I’ve never let myself feel before.

Control.