Chapter 13: No Choice

The message from my landlord arrived while I was still in the garage.

I almost ignored the notification. I had been avoiding my phone since Rex’s texts the night before, the ones that turned Ethan’s warning into something sharper and more dangerous. But the preview on the screen was impossible to dismiss.

Emergency maintenance notice. Building water damage. Units on your floor require temporary vacancy starting tomorrow morning.

I stepped away from the pit wall and opened the full email. A pipe had burst on the floor above mine during the night. Water had come down through the ceilings. Structural checks were needed. Temporary relocation was mandatory for at least a week, possibly longer. The building management would cover a standard hotel rate, but the note made it clear that available rooms were limited and first-come, first-served.

My stomach dropped.

I read the email twice, then a third time, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less disruptive. They didn’t. I was being displaced with less than twenty-four hours of notice.

I tried calling the management office. The line was busy. I tried the emergency contact listed at the bottom of the email. Voicemail. Around me the garage continued its usual rhythm while my carefully ordered life started folding in on itself.

Rex found me near the back corridor fifteen minutes later. He took one look at my face and stopped.

“What happened?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“Your expression says otherwise.”

I locked the phone and shoved it into my pocket. “Building issues. I have to handle it.”

He didn’t move out of my way. “What kind of building issues?”

“The kind that mean I can’t sleep in my own apartment starting tomorrow.” The words came out tighter than I wanted. “Burst pipe. Temporary vacancy. I’m dealing with it.”

Rex was quiet for a beat. Then he said, “Where are you going to stay?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

I stepped past him before he could push further. For the next hour I made calls between sessions. Hotels near the circuit were either fully booked with race traffic or quoting rates that made the management’s “covered” amount look like a joke. One mid-range option had a single room left, available for three nights only. After that, nothing until the following week.

By late afternoon the reality had settled in. I was going to be displaced, the temporary options were limited, and time was running out.

Ethan called while I was packing gear.

“Mom told me about the building,” he said without preamble. “She saw the notice on the resident portal. Why didn’t you call?”

“I was handling it.”

“From the sound of it, you’re not. Hotels are a mess this week. Everything near the track is inflated or gone.”

“I’ll find something.”

“You can stay at the house,” Ethan said. “Your old room is still set up.”

The offer should have been a relief. Instead it made my chest tighten. Staying at the family house meant daily proximity to Ethan, questions about my schedule, and the constant risk of slipping in front of someone who already sensed something was off between Rex and me.

“I don’t want to put Mom out,” I said.

“You wouldn’t be. She’d love it. But if the house feels too far from the circuit for the early calls, there’s another option.”

I already knew what was coming. I closed my eyes.

“Rex has a guest room,” Ethan said. “He’s ten minutes from the track. He’s barely there half the time during race weeks. It would be temporary. Clean. Safe.”

“No.”

“Aria.”

“I’m not staying at Rex’s house.”

“Why not? You’ve known him most of your life. He’s family.”

The irony of that statement nearly knocked the air out of me. I leaned against the side of a equipment cart and pressed my fingers to my temple.

“It would be weird,” I said. “I can handle a hotel.”

“The hotels are a problem and you know it. Look, I’ll talk to him. He’s not going to care. It’s a week. Maybe two. You focus on work. Let us handle the logistics.”

“Ethan, don’t.”

Too late. He was already shifting into problem-solving mode, the same way he always did when he decided something was settled.

“I’ll call you back,” he said, and hung up.

I stood there with the phone in my hand, dread building fast and heavy. Five minutes later it rang again. Ethan’s name on the screen.

“It’s done,” he said. “Rex said the room is yours. He’ll leave the spare key with the building concierge if you’re coming late. You can move a few things over tonight or in the morning. Temporary. No big deal.”

I closed my eyes. “You didn’t even ask me.”

“I asked you. You were being stubborn about hotels that don’t exist. This is practical. You’re welcome.”

The call ended. I stared at the dark screen and felt the last of my clean exits closing.

Rex texted less than a minute later.

Rex: Your brother moves fast.

Rex: Guest room is on the second floor. Left side.

Rex: You can bring what you need tonight.

Rex: Or you can keep fighting a decision that’s already made.

I didn’t reply.

For the rest of the afternoon I worked on autopilot, shooting when I needed to shoot, answering when people spoke to me, while the reality of the next few days rearranged itself around me. Staying at Rex’s house. Sleeping under the same roof. Sharing space with the man who already held too many of my secrets and had started looking at me like the old rules no longer applied.

By the time I left the circuit, the sun was dropping and my nerves were scraped raw. I drove to my apartment, packed a suitcase with enough clothes and work gear for a week, and stood in the middle of my half-dismantled living room trying to convince myself this was temporary and survivable.

It didn’t work.

The drive to Rex’s house felt longer than it was. When I pulled into the driveway, the modern glass front was lit from within. He opened the door before I reached it, like he had been waiting.

“You came,” he said.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice. You just ran out of good ones.”

He stepped aside. I wheeled the suitcase into the entryway and stopped. The house felt different knowing I wouldn’t be leaving in an hour. Larger. More permanent. Charged.

Rex nodded toward the stairs. “Second floor. First door on the left. Bathroom is connected. Sheets are clean. You’re not required to have dinner with me or make conversation if you don’t want to.”

“Good.”

I started toward the stairs. His voice stopped me.

“Aria.”

I looked back.

Rex leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with an expression that mixed satisfaction and something darker.

“This doesn’t change the deal,” he said. “If anything, it simplifies it. You’re here. I’m here. Proximity is no longer something we have to schedule.”

“This is temporary.”

“Is it?”

I didn’t answer. I turned and carried the suitcase up the stairs before the conversation could turn into something I wasn’t ready to face on the first night under his roof.

The guest room was exactly as clean and impersonal as I expected. Neutral walls. Large bed. A window that looked out over the city lights. I set the suitcase down, locked the door behind me, and sat on the edge of the mattress with my head in my hands.

Somewhere downstairs I heard Rex move through the kitchen. Ordinary sounds. A cabinet. A glass. The quiet rhythm of someone who lived here and was now sharing the space with me whether I liked it or not.

My phone buzzed.

Rex: Kitchen is stocked if you get hungry.

Rex: I’m not going to knock on your door.

Rex: But I’m also not going to pretend this is just logistics.

Rex: You’re in my house, Aria.

Rex: Try to get used to the idea.

I turned the phone face down on the nightstand and stared at the ceiling.

There was no clean version of the next week.

There was only the house, the deal, and the man downstairs who had stopped believing my hatred a long time ago.