Love Me

by Olivia Cunning

  “Chad,” she said, beyond exasperated with him. “Get off it!”

  Several cars were now honking at them to move out of the way. She offered one of the drivers a friendly wave and got an emphatic middle finger for her effort.

  “Please!” she said.

  “On one condition,” he said.

  “What?”

  “That you let me cross out any superfluous expenses you’ve tracked.”

  “But you’ll think they’re all superfluous expenses.”

  “Didn’t Owen pay to get your car out of impound?”

  She nodded, her face flaming with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

  “That’s not superfluous. You should pay him back for that.”

  Mr. Middle-Finger laid on his horn again.

  “Fine,” she said. She’d just rewrite everything when Chad wasn’t around.

  He hopped to one side and bent to pick up the notebook. “You’d better get back in the car before that guy runs us over. I think he’s late for a drug deal or something.”

  Notebook in hand, Chad settled back into the car. Lindsey blew out a breath of exasperation and then hurried behind the wheel again. She was glad for the small opening that allowed her to merge into traffic but left the impatient jerk behind them stuck in the parking lot.

  While she tried to concentrate on driving back to Owen’s place, Chad scratched out line after line of her IOUs. Lindsey gripped the steering wheel tighter and tighter until she thought her fingers would snap off.

  “This really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Chad asked when he happened to glance up from his self-appointed task.

  “Yes!”

  “Why?”

  “I was taught to have some pride and not to take charity from anyone, okay?”

  “Are you ashamed?”

  “God, yes. You have no idea. It eats at me constantly. I can’t afford to take care of myself. How am I supposed to take care of a baby?” She lifted a hand. “Don’t say it. My father already did.”

  “Say what?”

  “That I should have thought about that before I opened my legs.”

  “Your father said that to you?”

  She winced. “That was one of the nicer things.”

  “I thought you didn’t have any family. You never talk about them.”

  What was there to say? “They didn’t want to help me. Didn’t want to even look at me. So I left.”

  “You’re sure they don’t want you?”

  “I’m sure. Do you think that’s easy for me to take? Are you telling me to get lost too, that I should quit mooching off your family and try mooching off my own?” That familiar irrational feeling of having nothing and nowhere to go began to claw at her. She hadn’t felt it since Owen had invited her into his home, and she’d forgotten how frightening it was. She was shaking so hard, she had to pull the Jeep over so she could catch her breath and regain her composure.

  Chad pressed the notebook he’d been desecrating into her hand. “Here. I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. I think I get it now.”

  She clutched the notebook in one hand and wiped at her leaky eyes with the other.

  “If keeping a running tally is the only thing allows you to accept help, angel, then you should keep doing it.”

  She sucked her lips into her mouth to stop their trembling. Maybe it was stupid of her to think she could ever repay the Mitchell family’s generosity with something as trivial as cash, but she had to start somewhere. What else could she offer them? Her gratitude? That didn’t seem nearly enough.

  “Can you drive a block past Owen’s house? I want to show you something.”

  He stared at the dashboard for a long moment before meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

  Her grin wobbled. “Not that hard to do these days.” She took a deep breath. “I might have overreacted.”

  He shook his head. “You should have clocked me, angel.”

  She tapped a fist lightly against his jaw, having forgiven him the moment he’d pressed the notebook back into her hand. “What do you want to show me?”

  “A way for me to shift your undying gratitude away from my bratty little brother.”

  “Sounds interesting,” she said, though she couldn’t imagine what he meant. She returned the Jeep to the road and drove right past Owen’s house—where the ruined party was now being disassembled. “Are you sure you just aren’t trying to get out of cleanup duty?” she asked.

  “It’s just a block and a half farther.”

  He had her stop in front of the same ugly-as-sin house Owen had pointed out to her on a walk they’d taken together weeks before—back when she’d been hopeful that Owen might fall for her, before she’d met Chad. Turning her attention from the dilapidated Tudor-style monstrosity, she lifted both brows at Chad. The For Sale sign was still in the yard for a reason. “Why are we here?”

  “I’m going to buy the place. Make it my home.”

  She tried to smile encouragingly but could only laugh. She hoped he was joking.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next afternoon, Chad hopped up the steps of his future home—the one that Lindsey had laughed at. Guffawed at. He’d show her how great this place could be. She just lacked the ability to see its true potential, so he wouldn’t let her see it again until it was finished and as lovely as she was.

  Owen had already lifted Chad’s wheelchair up onto the rickety porch, so Chad settled into the seat. He still hadn’t found the courage to try the crutches again, but he would. Tomorrow. He swallowed a knot of apprehension. He’d try the crutches again tomorrow. And he’d be extra careful about the edge of the ramp next time. Might even try going up and down steps. He blew out a breath. God, he didn’t want to fall again.

  The realtor opened the front door, and Chad took another deep breath—please let this house work for us—before wheeling himself over the threshold. The living room was small—cozy—and free of furniture. He mentally pictured where to put a sofa, recliners, and the big-ass TV he planned to buy. The fireplace had seen better days. The hardwood floors needed refinishing. A crack in the ceiling ran from the corner of the room to the doorframe of the dining room.

  He took a marble out of his pocket and set it on the floor. It didn’t roll. He picked it up and wheeled over to the corner where the crack originated and tried again. It rolled slowly toward the center of the house. Not bad. But he wouldn’t tell the realtor he thought that.

  “The foundation is sagging,” he said.

  Owen’s realtor checked the listing sheet she’d brought along. “There’s no mention of that in the disclosures.”

  “Then I’m sure they’ll negotiate.”

  “There have been several couples that have looked at the place, but no offers yet. The sellers might negotiate. I’m surprised it’s still on the market, but kitchens and bathrooms sell a place and . . .” She crinkled her nose in disgust.

  Chad had looked through the pictures posted with the listing online, and he knew what to expect. A lot of work in his future. And in Owen’s.

  They followed the realtor through the wooden arch into the dining room, and in his head, Chad was already adding crown molding and an updated light fixture to the space. A soft wine color on the walls would really bring out the red tones of the wood. A six-paneled casement window reached from floor to ceiling and was the focal point of the room. Unfortunately, it provided a great view of the neighbor’s fence. Chad would be adding a fence too, because a home without a dog wasn’t really a home. And the only thing homier than one dog was two of them.

  “This is a great window,” Owen said.

  “It needs some work.” Chad wheeled over and tried to open it. The window had been painted shut. He planned to strip the paint and refinish the wood beneath anyway, but it was another bargaining chip in negotiations.

  He’d left Lindsey at home because he wasn’t sure he could handle more laughter out of her, but now he couldn’t help but wonder what her opinion of the spa
ce would be. Would she like the place? Grow to love it? Why was he thinking about her as part of his new home? She might never want to live there with him. He was setting himself up for more heartache he couldn’t handle.

  Dumb, Chad. Real dumb.

  The kitchen was at the back of the house. The outdated room was more than an eyesore. Unless the appropriate reaction to having sore eyes was wanting to rip them out of their sockets and stomp on them. The cabinets were circa the Dark Ages, and the vinyl tile floor—which reminded him of a school cafeteria—was chipped and grimy. The fluorescent light in the drop ceiling was not doing the place any favors. And those dark brown flecks collected in the corners weren’t crumbs; they were mouse droppings. Nothing an exterminator couldn’t fix, however. Unless the little bastards had chewed through the wiring.

  “Total gut job,” Owen said.

  “It’s small,” Chad said, a touch disappointed. “No room for an island.”

  “If you took this pantry out . . .” The realtor grunted as she wrestled with a narrow door that scraped on the floor as she pulled it outward.

  Chad did his marble test again, and again the marble rolled toward the center of the house. “Foundation is even worse over here.” But he was pretty sure it was one or two replaceable joists, not the slab foundation, causing the issue. He planned to crawl under the house to have a look, though. Could be termites causing the joists to fail, and if that was the case, he might have to take a pass on the place.

  Chad wheeled over to the pantry. The thing was huge, running the entire length of the kitchen. What a waste of space.

  He knocked on the wall and listened for the tells of a load-bearing structure. He wouldn’t know for sure until he ripped down some drywall—which was definitely not original to the house, but might be hiding huge, unsightly support posts. More than likely they could demolish the pantry and add much-needed space to the kitchen.

  “If we can rip this sucker out, you can have a huge island. Maybe we can even tear out that wall into the dining room and give you an open concept.”

  “No,” Chad said. “I hate open concept. If I wanted to live in a studio, I’d rent a fucking apartment.”

  Owen laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you don’t have strong opinions on the matter.”

  Through the kitchen was a tiny bathroom made cramped by a stacked washer and dryer.

  “Nope,” Chad said. That wouldn’t work. “Is there room upstairs for a washer and dryer?”

  “You know I don’t do plumbing,” Owen said.

  “About the stairs . . .” The realtor was obvious as she avoided looking at Chad’s leg. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather look at a ranch? It would be . . . uh . . .”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m working on regrowing it.”

  She laughed uncomfortably.

  “He’s getting a prosthetic,” Owen said. “Knowing him, he’ll be running circles around me in no time.”

  Exactly. And he couldn’t wait for the opportunity. They’d recently made a mold of his residual limb and were currently constructing his freedom. He wouldn’t have to wait much longer. Maybe he could forgo the shift to crutches altogether. He hated them almost as much as the chair. And the chair had never made him fall flat on his face and entirely lose his carefully maintained self-control in front of Lindsey.

  “There is a small den off the living room that you could use as a bedroom,” the realtor suggested.

  “And does it have a bathroom? Because where am I supposed to piss?” Chad asked the question because he was starting to enjoy watching her squirm. Odd that he’d feel that way, but if she insisted on focusing on his disability, then he was going to focus on it too.

  “Well, no, but maybe you can squeeze a shower in here.” She pointed at the tiny powder room.

  “No, thanks,” Chad said. “I’d like to see the upstairs now.”

  “How are . . .”

  She wet her lips and stared over his head. God, he wanted out of this fucking chair. Permanently. A week or two, the doctor had said. More like an eternity.

  “Crawl.”

  He didn’t actually crawl. He started sitting on the second step and pushed his way up the stairs backward, one step at a time.

  “If I’d known you could do that, I wouldn’t have sawed through my fucking doorframe,” Owen said, watching from the foyer.

  “Yeah, well, I was feeling pretty useless that day. I doubt I’d have figured out how to do this.”

  “And you’re not feeling useless anymore?” Owen asked with what appeared to be pride in his expression.

  “Hey, if I can bed a hot chick like Lindsey, I can do anything I set my mind to.”

  Owen snorted. “Uh, she’s not exactly hard to get, stud.”

  “Maybe not for a rock star, but for a homeless, unemployed cripple?”

  “She doesn’t see you that way,” Owen insisted, starting up the steps now that Chad had a good head start. Owen had folded the wheelchair and was hefting it up the stairs over his head. He must have realized that Chad scooting up the stairs on his ass was humiliating but dragging himself around the upstairs on his belly would have been too hard on his pride.

  “I’ll stay down here,” the realtor called up the stairwell. “Look around as much as you’d like.”

  “I think you made her uncomfortable,” Owen said to Chad as he opened the wheelchair in the hall and locked the wheels. He didn’t even bother to offer a hand when Chad used the chair to push himself up off the floor and pivoted into the seat.

  “I’m sorry if my reality is too tough for her to bear.” But he wasn’t sorry or even bitter. He just didn’t have patience for niceties or for coddling ignorance. He was doing the best he could with what he had, and if anyone had an issue with that, it was their problem, not his. “Shouldn’t realtors be experts at reality?”

  “I don’t think they peddle in reality, to be honest.”

  Chad unlocked the chair’s wheels and rolled to the first bedroom to the right. It was abysmally small and had been decorated for a sports fan—most likely a boy—with deep blue walls and a football border around the ceiling. The closet was miniscule, but the carpet looked new. He might repaint, but the room didn’t need much work. The second bedroom was identical in size to the first, but pink. He was struck by the mental image of Lindsey leaning over a white crib and scooping a baby into her arms. The sudden flood of emotion caught him completely off guard. The sweet room blurred as his eyes clouded with tears and his breath stalled in his throat.

  “I’ll take it,” he said.

  “You haven’t even seen the master bedroom yet.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You’re thinking about baby girls, aren’t you?”

  “No. Shut up.”

  Owen grinned knowingly and shook his head. “I’m as ridiculous about Lindsey as you are.”

  “Do you think she’ll move in here with me? Her and the baby? I could help her out.” She could stop writing IOUs to his brother. Chad just hoped she wouldn’t start writing them to him instead.

  “I should have known that’s what you had in mind when you wanted to see this place. We’re both a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

  Chad wiped a hand over his face to rub off his likely sentimental expression. “I don’t think she’ll let us help her out for long. She gets a little more confident every day.”

  “I guess she figures if she can bed a hot guy like my big brother, she can do anything she puts her mind to.”

  Chad laughed. “Let’s check out that master bedroom.”

  The master was surprisingly large. It had apparently once been two small bedrooms that had been converted into one larger bedroom with a decent-sized though hideously olive-green en suite bathroom and a small walk-in closet.

  “This awesome bedroom is what should have sold you on the place,” Owen said. “Not the pink nursery.”

  “If you tell anyone that I bought this place for the pink nursery, I’ll t
ell them what I found stuffed under your mattress when you were fifteen.”

  Owen’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t!”

  “Wouldn’t the world love to know whose picture famous metal bassist Owen Mitchell used to masturbate to?”

  “I swear I won’t tell a soul about the room that made you tear up.” Owen raised one hand and placed the other on an imaginary bible at waist level.

  “I didn’t tear up.”

  “You totally did.”

  “It must have been the dust.”

  Owen grinned. “Do you want me to call Lindsey over so she can see your new place?”

  “Not yet.” Chad knew she wouldn’t love the place as it was, but was certain that with a few updates, she’d be happy to move in with him. As his roommate. Nothing more, he reminded himself. Just his roommate. Roommates, he corrected himself. Soon there’d be two to love. Or like. Or whatever it was that he was feeling for Lindsey and her soon-to-arrive little one.

  “Let’s fix the place up a bit first,” he said. “Make it nice.”

  “You’d better hurry. If Mom gets the place above her garage finished, you know she’s going to guilt Lindsey into staying there so that baby’s within reach.”

  Chad laughed. “Funny how Mom and I are competing for the girl you didn’t want.”

  “I might have felt differently about Lindsey if I hadn’t met Caitlyn.”

  Chad replaced his smile with a frown. “You aren’t going to change your mind about her, are you?”

  “Afraid I’ll take her away?”

  “You could,” Chad admitted.

  “I think you’re wrong. She’s totally into you, man.”

  “Only because you rejected her.”

  Owen released a deep sigh. “And I was getting used to having my cocky, full-of-himself brother around again. Guess we’re back to Mr. Self-Doubt.”

  “I’m not doubting—” He cut himself off before the lie slipped out. “Now that she’s had the best, she wouldn’t settle for you again,” he said, not really believing what he was saying, but maybe if he voiced it aloud, he’d start to buy his false bravado.

  “You don’t have to be quite that insulting,” Owen said, but he was smiling. “Let’s go put in an offer on this house.”