Page 10 of Protecting Lainey (Broterhood Alliance #7)

The hum of power tools faded, and the crew packed up for the day. Gus and Finn were off somewhere doing—who knew what?

Lainey sat in her small office next to the bakery going over punch lists and invoices, trying to ignore the creeping sense of dread in her gut.

Renovations hadn’t started on this building yet.

The cracked tiles and a ceiling fan that had seen better days didn’t exactly scream progress.

The air smelled faintly of dust and mildew and, if she were being honest, disappointment.

Plus, the numbers on her spreadsheet didn’t lie.

They didn’t look good. It was depressing as hell.

She stared at the screen, then around the dingy space, at the peeling paint on the wall. All those years studying historic preservation at the College of Charleston, dreaming of breathing new life into forgotten buildings, juggling work, chasing permits, and nursing a newborn while half asleep?

For what?

A sad little office and a spreadsheet full of red numbers?

Was this what survival looked like?

Because it sure as hell didn’t look like success.

She used to have vision. Drive. Hope.

Now she had invoices she couldn’t pay and contractors who were on the verge of leaving.

She could still hear Richard’s voice . “You’ve got vision, Lainey. This project will change everything.”

He said it over drinks at that rooftop bar in Charleston the night she signed the contract. He made it sound like her future was golden. They had celebrated long into the night—first with champagne, then with each other back at his condo while her mom watched Luke.

She believed every word he said and even let herself believe he was the future. She trusted him.

So she ignored the inconsistencies, the vanished invoices, the numbers that never quite lined up. Richard always had an answer, a reason not to ask more questions.

And when it fell apart, her name was the only one on the paperwork and in the headlines.

He disappeared.

She didn’t.

Lainey’s jaw clenched as she looked at the spreadsheet again.

She didn’t come here to fail.

A knock. Then the door creaked open, reminding her of everything that was slowly falling apart. This building. This project. And her grip on it all.

She didn’t look up. “We’re closed.”

“Ha. Didn’t come for a coffee klatch.”

Lainey froze; her heart stuttered.

Finn.

He stepped inside looking as yummy as he did this morning except for the tension he wore on his face. Broad shoulders, serious dark eyes.

“Gus said you’d be here.”

“So?” Lainey sighed. “You come to lecture me about not calling for help? Or do you already have a list of suspects?”

“Neither.” His voice was low. “I came to check up on you.”

She snorted. “Little too late for that.”

He moved closer, arms crossed. “Look, I get it. You don’t trust me.” He gestured toward the windows. “But the attacks are escalating.”

“No kidding,” she snapped, then turned her attention back to her invoices. “Thanks for the update. Did you find anything useful, or are you just here for shits and giggles?”

God, she hated how she sounded. She knew she was acting like a brat. But seeing Finn again threw her for a loop. Having him assigned to her project was making her feel inadequate, a failure. She didn’t want his protection, but she wasn’t foolish enough to reject it.

All in all, his presence wasn’t comforting. It made her feel like she was losing control. Again.

And she was angry. At him. At herself. At this whole situation. And how little control she really had right now.

Finn didn’t fight back. Just stood there staring at her.

“Lainey,” he said softly. “Gus mentioned you’re paying for repairs out of pocket. The crew’s nervous, wondering what’s going on. People are whispering. You’re bleeding money. How long before the city pulls the plug?”

Her stomach dropped.

How could he have found all that out in one afternoon?

His words hurt mostly because that was what she was thinking and worrying about.

“It’s under control,” she replied stiffly.

“Is it?”

Their eyes locked. The air grew thick with tension.

He shook his head and added, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Humph.” Her throat tightened. “I’ve been doing this alone for a long time. And guess what? I’m still standing.” Lainey turned to her paperwork. “I’ve got work to do.”

“So do I.”

Lainey busied herself shuffling papers around her desk. Her receipt books were neatly stacked. The plans for the buildings were rolled with elastic bands. The checkbook sat open, mocking her.

And then, front and center, Luke’s drawing. A crayon sketch of a tall building with two stick figures out front. One with curly hair, the other shorter with dark hair.

Beneath it in crooked blocky letters were the words Mommy and Luke.

She followed Finn’s gaze as he looked around her desk and landed at the picture. Her stomach dropped. Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask.

He didn’t, not right away. But something shifted in his eyes. A flicker of realization. A question forming.

A beat passed.

“Lainey,” he said carefully, “who’s Luke?”

BOOM .

A loud crash echoed from outside.

Lainey jumped. So did Finn. His body tensed, eyes narrowing. In three strides, he was at the door, holding up a hand.

“Stay here.”

Like she wouldn’t? Lainey nodded, her pulse thundering as she listened to his boots fade down the hall.

It felt like an eternity before he returned, looking annoyed.

“Trash cans. Probably raccoons,” he said.

Lainey blew out the breath she was holding and dropped back into her chair. “Tell them to knock next time.”

Finn didn’t laugh. His eyes were back on the drawing. “So … Luke?”

She paused. Her throat suddenly dry. Then quietly said, “My son.”

Finn’s expression didn’t change, not right away. When he nodded, it was slow and deliberate, like he was processing something he couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t anger or betrayal staring back. It was confusion.

She didn’t offer more. And he didn’t ask.

And that’s when it hit her.

He didn’t know.

He really didn’t know.

Had he never received her letters?

A heavy silence stretched between them.

She could have said more. Given a name. An age. A story.

Could have told him how Luke loved building Legos. How he loved dragons and knights. How brave and strong he was. And way too smart for his own good.

How he looked so much like Finn that her heart ached.

She could’ve told him she had waited for him in that motel room for hours. Wrote him letters after he left, telling him how much she loved him and about their baby. And how she waited for a response that never came.

She could have said a lot of things.

But she didn’t.

Finn had walked away once.

And even if it wasn’t his fault, she wasn’t handing him her heart all over again.