Page 76 of The Art of Ruin

“No,” I agree.

Her gaze sharpens slightly. “Then why did you?”

“Because you’re not in a position to manage this effectively on your own,” I reply, setting the phone down.

“I’ve been managing it on my own for years.”

“That doesn’t make it optimal or right.”

A flicker of irritation crosses her expression. “It makes it sufficient. I don’t need anyone else.”

“It makes it familiar. I know you don’t need anyone, but accepting help isn’t weakness, Casey,” I correct.

For a moment, I think she might argue further.

Instead, she exhales slowly, her head tipping back again as another wave of discomfort passes through her, the movement small but noticeable.

I watch it happen.

The way her body tightens.

The way she waits it out rather than reacting to it.

The way she doesn’t ask for help.

That, more than anything else, tells me exactly how long she’s been dealing with this.

I move closer without comment, adjusting the glass of water slightly so it’s easier for her to reach, then reach for the blanketwhere it’s twisted near her legs, straightening it with a brief, efficient motion.

“You should try to rest,” I say, taking a seat on the other end of the couch and lifting her legs over my lap.

“I am resting.”

I begin to massage her socked feet as she re-settles her body again. “Well, now I’m here to help. Tell me what you need.”

“This is nice.”

Good. Finally, something that helps. “See, I’m helping.”

Her eyes open again, just enough to look at me. “You always like to be right, don’t you?” she murmurs.

“Yes.”

That almost earns a smile.

Almost.

She lets her eyes close again instead, the tension in her expression easing slightly now that she’s stopped trying to engage with me directly.

I remain where I am for a moment longer than necessary, my attention still fixed on her, on the situation, on the variables I haven’t yet accounted for.

This isn’t something I can fix.

That’s the part I don’t like.

But it’s something I can help with.

And for now—