Broken

by Enders, KC

  I race home to pick up Bronson and throw my bag in the car, but as the garage door lifts, water spills down the driveway. A chunk of drywall hangs from the ceiling. Panic rips through me, and I hit Natalie’s contact on my phone as I rush to pull boxes out of the path of the waterfall.

  “Hey, Chloe. Can you hang a sec? I need to—”

  I hate how rude I sound, but I cut her off, yelling way louder than is necessary, “There’s water pouring through my garage ceiling.” I don’t know what to do.

  “Shit. Okay, hang on. Let me see if Liam can get away.”

  The line goes dead, and I know I’ve got to do something. I run into the house, and Bronson passes me, hightailing it right out the door. Obviously, he’s been dealing with this catastrophe for longer than he wanted to.

  My phone vibrates with a call, and I swipe at the screen, hoping the unknown number is Natalie’s husband with a quick and easy remedy.

  “Chloe, it’s Miles. I’m on my way. Have you shut off the water?” The deep timbre of his voice drives me up the stairs toward my bathroom.

  “The shower taps are off, but water is still running.” Tears sting my eyes. This is the last thing I need.

  I barely register the sound of an engine rumbling to life over the whoosh of my renovation funds flushing down the drain with the endless flow of water.

  “The main shutoff. It should be by the water heater. A red lever.”

  I race back through the house and skid to a stop in front of the water heater. It takes very little effort, but the relief from the halted flow is almost immediate.

  “Got it. It’s off,” I say between heaving breaths, not entirely sure if they’re from a little bit of running or a whole lot of panic. “Now, what do I do?”

  This isn’t supposed to happen. I might have expected it in the old farmhouse when Dallas and I first bought it in New York but not here. Not in this newer house.

  “Take a deep breath and grab yourself a beer. I’ll be there in ten, and then we’ll figure out what we need,” Miles says like this is nothing. Then again, it’s not really his problem.

  Am I even going to be able to get a plumber to show up on a Friday afternoon? I pop the top off the last bottle of craft beer I brought with me in the move.

  I make my way out to join the dog on the front step and wait for Miles. Bronson rests his head on my thigh, and I stroke his sleek fur, pushing his ears back. My mind races, bouncing from one thought to the next. I stare at the sunlight dancing through the leaves on the tree shadowing me, bright spots skipping across the grass.

  Bronson lifts his head, attention focused down the street. He stands, ambles toward the driveway, and sits. Seconds later, Miles’s truck comes into view, causing Bronson to expectantly wag his tail.

  Miles steps out of the truck, wearing trim-fit khakis and a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He pushes his aviators up to rest in his thick brown hair and bends down to greet the crazy-ass dog dancing at his feet.

  “You got another one of those?” he asks, eyeing my beer bottle.

  “Nope. This is the last,” I tell him. I push up to my feet and join him as he takes in the mess in the garage. Soggy cardboard and ruin fill half of the space. “Really wishing I had made time to put all that crap away,” I mumble, stopping next to Miles.

  “No doubt.” He peers up through the busted ceiling, pulling down the hanging chunk of drywall. “What’s above here?”

  “My bathroom.”

  “Anything funky been happening in there?”

  It’s an innocent enough question. Although I’m sure he’s referring to pipes and plumbing, my face still heats at the memory of my shower last night.

  “Toilet running, pipes clanking?” he adds.

  “Um, they squealed last night when I turned the water off after my shower, but I didn’t hear anything after that. Didn’t see any leaks this morning.”

  At least, I don’t think I did. With my lack of sleep last night and chatting with Jake this morning about visiting his cousins, I was distracted.

  I follow Miles up to my bathroom, watching as he looks around.

  He opens the access panel in my closet that backs up to the shower. “Yep, busted.”

  Again, I’m pretty sure he’s referring to the pipes, but my brain goes straight to guilty thoughts.

  Chapter Eight

  Miles

  Every time I ask about Chloe’s bathroom, the most beautiful blush pinks her cheeks. I almost want to keep mentioning it, just to see how deep I can get the hue to go.

  “I’m going to need to make a run to the store and grab some supplies. Swing by my place to change, pick up my tools. We can get you up and running pretty quick—get the water back on in the house. But fixing the drywall and all of that will take some time. You need to pick up Jake from school, or does he ride the bus?” I glance at my watch, noting that his day should be about over by now.

  “He’s at my brother’s house for the weekend with my mom and dad. I had a professional development day and was planning to drive up there to meet them tonight. That’s why when I saw the water gushing, I called Natalie instead of my dad,” Chloe says, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I need to call and let them know I’m … not coming, I guess.”

  Words tumble from my mouth before I can stop them. “You go ahead. Just give me a key if you’re comfortable with me being here, and I’ll work on it this weekend.” I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.

  I run through a mental to-do list and add, “I should be able to get a good bit of it done and put back together by the time you get home.”

  The plumbing should be easy enough to fix. If I let things air out, maybe get a couple of blowers, I should have the guts dry enough to start drywalling tomorrow afternoon.

  Maybe.

  Chloe rolls her eyes at me and shakes her head as her call is picked up. “Mom, hey. No, I’m not on my way. Actually, I’m not going to make it.” She goes from talking to her mom to Jake and finally to her dad, explaining over and over again that she’s fine and getting things taken care of.

  “Yeah, my friend’s helping. Jake’s rugby coach. Oh, for the love of … Dad, I’ve got it. Yep. I promise I’ll call if I need anything. ’Kay, love you.”

  I roll my lips between my teeth biting away a smile and shove my hands in my pockets. “So, how long until your dad gets here?” I ask.

  Her laugh is so much better than the tears I heard in her voice earlier. “It might just about kill him, but I think we have until early afternoon Sunday. And that’s just because my mom won’t let him pack them up and come right back home.”

  It sounds like there’s more to it than just that.

  “But?”

  “But I have to send him pics and promise to call if we run into trouble,” she finishes with an eye roll. “I shouldn’t complain. This is part of why I moved back to Virginia—so Jake gets to grow up with his grandparents close and my dad doesn’t worry about me having to handle everything on my own anymore.”

  “All right, I’m going to bolt. I’ll be back in, like, an hour,” I tell her, leading her dog back into the house by his collar.

  Chloe digs into her wallet and comes out with a handful of cash. “Here, take this.”

  She shoves it toward me, but I wave it away.

  “We’ll square up when we’re done.”

  Jesus, she makes the most adorable little pout as she pops her hip. I’m sure she thinks she’s got some badass scowl on her face, but with her lush pink lips pursed and her thick black lashes lowered over those bright blues, she looks sweet and beautiful—not the least bit intimidating.

  Back at my apartment, I change my clothes and swap out Maggie for my other truck, loading tools from my garage into the back of the cab. The run to the hardware store takes longer than I hoped, and by the time I’m back at Chloe’s house, my stomach is grumbling. I should have grabbed some food for us—a six-pack of beer at the very least.

  I back my behe
moth up to her garage and start moving shit around. Most of the boxes that were strewn across the garage are sopping wet, the cardboard stinking and disintegrating already. She’s got no choice but to go through that stuff now and put it away or throw it.

  I unload drywall, a new shower valve, and some other shit, organizing it the best I can. With my tool belt slung over my shoulder, I rap on the door to the kitchen and open it. Sweet hell, there are groceries all over the counter, and Chloe’s bent over, pulling a baking dish from the oven, her perfect curves right there for me. I clear my throat. I don’t want to scare her, but for the love of fucks, I’ve got to get my shit under control.

  “Hey,” she says, straightening up. “I ran to the store while you were gone. Figured the least I can do is feed you. Is lasagna okay?”

  “Might be better to ask if lasagna is ever not okay.” My stomach clings to my spine; I’m so damn hungry. “I’m just going to pop upstairs with my tools, and then I’ll be right back.” I throw a thumb over my shoulder even though she’s not looking.

  All the stress of coming home to a flood, and Chloe takes the time to get groceries and feed me.

  I take the stairs two at a time and drop my tools on her bathroom floor. I poke my head back into her closet and crank the water shutoff valve. Thankfully, the pipe is damaged above the shutoff here, so it’s no big deal to restore water to the rest of the house while I fix the shower. But not until after dinner because the dinner she put together smells better than anything I might have snagged on my way back.

  I bypass the kitchen and flip the main water valve back on, relieved that I was right and water isn’t spilling through the ceiling again.

  “Water’s back on,” I tell Chloe as I step back into the kitchen.

  The perfect O of her mouth makes me smile, not to mention the way her eyes blow wide open. She opens the door to the garage, and when she closes it and turns back to face me, we’re back to her sexy scowl.

  “Why is it not raining in my garage, then?”

  “Superpowers,” I say, snagging a plate and filling it with food.

  Chloe loads her plate and slides a beer in my direction. “I’m so sorry you’re wasting your Friday night. Honestly, I’m good since you got the water back on. I can use Jake’s bathroom,” she rambles. “Seriously, you should go out or whatever.”

  “I’ve got a beer and a home-cooked meal. I’m just fine right here.”

  There’s no way I’m going to tell her that my other options include a lonely frozen dinner or grabbing drinks with Chance at Hot Tuna. The bar is fine, but he and I have been there way too much lately. Hell, they might consider putting our names on the deed if we keep up with the pace we’ve been going.

  Flavors burst across my tongue with the first bite, and I can’t shovel the food into my mouth fast enough. How long has it been since I had homemade lasagna? It’s not something my mom ever made and—

  Nope. Not going there.

  “So good,” I manage to mumble around a mouthful. “Definitely nowhere else I’d rather be.” I clear my plate in no time and scoop out a second helping. I check the label on my beer bottle, impressed with her selection. I lean back, a little embarrassed by how quickly I devoured the dinner she made.

  “It’s local. I didn’t know what to get, but the guy at the store said this was close to what I drank at home.” Something catches in Chloe’s voice when she says home, but she shakes her head like she’s pushing it away.

  “Is that what we had with the tacos? Something you brought down from up north?” Of course, I ask the questions just as her lips close around a big bite of food. I wait as she chews, eyes darting over the freshly tiled backsplash.

  She wipes a smudge of sauce from the corner of her mouth and sets her fork on her plate. “Yep. I tried to stock up before the drive down, but there was only so much room for beer in the back of my car with all the other crap I had jammed in there. It’s from my favorite brewery in Beekman Hills, the little town we lived in north of New York City.”

  “Yeah, I’d imagine. How long of a drive was it?” It’s ridiculous for me to be concerned about her making that drive by herself.

  Chloe hums, scraping her fork through a glob of cheese and sauce and then licking it off. Does she have any idea what she’s doing to me?

  “Seven and a half hours maybe? We packed up before Christmas and drove down to my brother’s for the holiday, so I’m kind of guessing. Then, we crashed with my parents until the moving truck showed up.” She digs her fork in, cutting another piece and then cutting it in half before finally taking another bite.

  “Think you’ll go back up? Visit friends?”

  “And grab more beer?” she asks, smiling. “Maybe. Jake’s other grandparents are up that way, so it’ll happen at some point. But, damn, it was a good beer. I’ve been rationing for two months, trying to make it last.”

  “You did good, then.” I nod toward her renovation project, brows raised, fully impressed. “With that, too.”

  She glances over her shoulder and turns back to me, setting her half-full plate on the counter. “Why do you look surprised at that?” Her cheeky smile is the cutest thing.

  “I’m just saying, you did good.” I scrape at the edge of a tile, the tiniest bump of grout that she missed when she wiped it down. “Better than I would have guessed.” She scoffs, but I plow forward with a cheeky smile of my own and a wink. “I mean, you didn’t shut off the main water valve when you had water pouring through your ceiling. Why wouldn’t I be impressed with your tiling job?”

  I move around the counter and rinse my plate, setting it in the dishwasher. I could totally eat another full helping, but then I’d need to take a nap, and the shower would never get fixed.

  Chloe swats at me as I step around her and asks, “What can I do to help?”

  There’s enough distraction, just being around Chloe, so I don’t need to add to it with having her watch me work.

  “Not a thing. Tomorrow, when we dig into the drywall repair, I might need you, but I should be good for now.”

  I work solo for a bit, music pumping through my earbuds as I swap out the pipe, install a new valve, and replace the old handheld showerhead with a much nicer rainfall fixture. The sleek design looks so much classier and more finished than what she had before.

  I open the valves, check for leaks, and gather up my tools. I grab the trash, making sure not to leak water from the hose, and quickly jog down the stairs.

  “All set. You want to check out your new shower?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows.

  Flirty. Yep, without a doubt, but the last thing I expect are the bright red blush and wide eyes when Chloe sees her old showerhead in my hand.

  “What did you …” Her gaze bounces from mine to the trash in my hand and back again. She looks absolutely pissed. Or is that embarrassment?

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I should have checked with you first. I just thought while I was at it, I’d swap out your old fixture for something new. The other night, you said you were updating, and … Jesus, I totally overstepped this.” I did, obviously, but her reaction to the whole thing seems a little off—kind of over the top.

  Chloe drops her head into her hands and blows out a very controlled breath. But she doesn’t say a word.

  “Listen, I shouldn’t have messed with your shower. I’m sorry. I’ll change them up tomorrow, put the original back.”

  “No, it’s fine. It was on my list of things to do eventually. It just … I was surprised,” she says.

  “Fine,” I mumble. Fine is almost always decidedly not fine. In my world, it usually stands for freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.

  Chloe starts to chuckle, the sound bubbling out of her, and I start to think maybe the acronym is spot-on today.

  “I’m well aware of what you’re thinking, and I have every right to all the things that fine encompasses. Let me see the new one.” She runs up the stairs, her footsteps pausing overhead and then tapping lightly back down the stair
s. She clears her throat as she steps back into the kitchen. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  She takes the old one from me and tosses it in the trash with a smile on her face that, for the life of me, I can’t interpret. It’s some abstract combination of happy and shy, maybe holding a little bit of secret in it as well.

  “Another beer?” she asks.

  My beard rasps against my palm as I scrape my hand down my face. I am well and truly fucking perplexed. “It’s probably best if I just take off for the night. Get back to it in the morning.” I don’t know where I went wrong or even if I’ve fucked up, but now, I’m even second-guessing drywall. The fucking drywall.

  “Please don’t, Miles. I’m so—shit.” She catches herself before the full apology tumbles from her lips. “I’m struggling here. I suck at asking for help, and evidently, I’m just awkward as can be today. Or maybe not just today. Maybe it’s more often than I realize.”

  Chapter Nine

  Chloe

  I wonder if the earth could just open up already and swallow me whole. Could I possibly be so lucky?

  “I stupidly freaked out over every single thing with the bathroom last night. My guilt-ridden, sex-starved brain turned everything Miles said, asked, or did into an over-the-top innuendo. I’m totally channeling my inner twelve-year-old boy,” I tell Kate as I hit the button to open the garage door.

  I don’t know what time Miles is going to come. Come over. Get here. Jesus.

  I obviously need more coffee. I pad back into the kitchen and pour myself another cup, groaning at the realization that Jake—my sweet, innocent baby boy—is just a year shy of this stage. Unless twelve-year-old-boy humor is the new eleven-year-old-boy humor.

  “You don’t think Jake knows about sex, do you? God, I need to have the talk with him. Fuck me,” I whisper-shout into the phone.