by L. A. Witt
“Of course.” I took out my phone. “Want to make sure you’re not moving into a crack house?”
“Pretty much. Though you don’t strike me as the type to be running a place like that.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
He chuckled. “Not that deceiving.”
Our eyes met, and his knowing smile made me shiver. Should’ve remembered who I was talking to here. The man had probably already guessed what kind of artwork I had on the walls and what shows I TiVoed.
Shifting my attention back to my phone, I tapped the photo album of shots I’d taken earlier today. “Anyway, here are some pictures of the house.” I handed him my phone.
He took it and thumbed through the album. “Wow. It’s a beautiful place.”
“Thanks.” I laughed dryly. “Thought I was getting a great deal on it, but….”
He glanced up from the pictures. “Anything wrong with it?”
“No, no, nothing wrong with the house itself. I love the place, actually. But I went into it thinking there’d be two incomes paying the mortgage, and, well, that didn’t quite work out.”
“Yeah, I can relate,” he muttered, and kept thumbing through the album. When he’d finished, he set the phone down and slid it back to me. “I’m definitely interested. Are you sure this isn’t an imposition for you, though?”
“Not at all. And for the record, as far as I’m concerned, it’s no different than if we’d rented the place together from day one. Yeah, I own the place, but I’m in the same position you are, so I’m not about to lord it over you.”
“And you’re absolutely sure you don’t mind having my son move in too?”
“Of course not.”
“Good,” he said quietly, possibly more to himself than me. “He’ll only be there half the time anyway. His mother and I switch every other Wednesday night.”
“How old did you say he is?”
“Seven,” Michael said. “And he’s a quiet kid. A little on the shy side, but… his mother and I are trying to help him come out of his shell. Point being, he’s not the type who’ll be running screaming through the house.”
I laughed. “Well, that’s always a plus. But, I mean, he’s a kid.” I shrugged. “I have nieces and nephews. I know the drill.”
He nodded, glancing at the folder containing the lease agreement. “You know, to be honest, with the position I’m in, I’m half-tempted to sign sight unseen.”
“I know the feeling.” I looked at my watch. “How much time do you have?”
“I’m free this evening. My son’s with his mother, and I’ve already closed the clinic for the day.”
“Why don’t we go over there now?”
MICHAEL PARKED beside me in the driveway. As I got out of the car, I glanced around the cul-de-sac. I had a few nosy neighbors who didn’t have a lot to do—the kind who still hyperventilated about the fact that one of them lived in this respectable neighborhood—and they were probably already speed-dialing each other to announce that I’d brought a man home. Again. In broad daylight, no less, shameless bastard that I was.
I laughed to myself.
I wish, ladies. Believe me, I wish.
I keyed open the front door and led Michael inside. He looked around the entryway. I followed his gaze, taking in my familiar surroundings as though I’d never seen them before.
The floors were hardwood, the kind that creaked with the slightest pressure, and the cavernous rooms amplified every sound. A house this size had seemed like a good idea when Wes and I were talking about things like “forever” and “a family,” but living here alone made my skin crawl almost as badly as paying the mortgage on my own.
I shook myself out of my thoughts and led Michael down the hall. On one side, the living room. On the other, the kitchen and barely used dining room.
In the living room, the walls and built-in shelves were conspicuously empty. Not completely, as if I were someone who deplored clutter, but they were occupied by just enough small items—the odd framed photo, a couple of books on the coffee table—to imply there should have been more. And there would have been, except most of what I had beyond furniture and basic electronics were either in Wes’s new place on the other side of the country, or in El’s pawnshop.
“It’s all pretty sparse right now,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Sooner or later I’ll get around to making it look like someone lives here.”
“If a seven-year-old moves in, you probably won’t have to worry about that.” Michael glanced at me, eyebrows up.
I waved a hand. “Won’t be any worse than anything I’ve done to the place. Be thankful you weren’t here when I thought I could retile the kitchen.”
“Didn’t go so well?”
“Uh, no.”
“Did your shoulder have anything to do with that?”
“Well, maybe a little. But mostly I’m just completely inept at home improvement projects.”
He laughed. “You too, huh?”
“Not much of a handyman?”
“Definitely not.”
“So much for getting free labor out of you,” I said with a smirk.
We both chuckled, and I led him into the kitchen. “Nothing in here gets a lot of use, I’m afraid. I’m not much of a handyman, and I’m even less of a cook.”
“I wasn’t much of a cook.” He peered around the kitchen. “But the whole single-parenting thing doesn’t lend itself to avoiding the kitchen.”
“I suppose if someone else is depending on you for food….”
“Exactly. And no kid of mine is subsisting on fried, processed shit.”
“Comes with the territory of your job?”
He nodded. “I’d be a hypocrite and a half if I told all my patients to eat right and then parked my son in front of the TV with a plate of fish sticks and a Coke, you know?”
“Yeah, I guess you would be, wouldn’t you?” I made a sweeping gesture. “Anyway, use whatever you need in here. But don’t drink my Coke or eat my fish sticks.”
Michael touched his forehead in a mock salute. “Duly noted.”
“Let’s see, what else? Oh, the garage. It’s big enough for two cars, but I suspect it’s going to wind up storing everything that’s in the two rooms upstairs.”
“My car can sleep on the curb. I’m not worried.”
“Mine too. When it gets to be winter, we’ll deal with clearing shit out so we can bring the cars in, but this time of year….” I shrugged.
“Perfect.”
“The bedrooms are that way.” I nodded toward the stairs, and as he started up them, I followed. Totally wasn’t an excuse to check out his ass or anything. Totally didn’t check out his ass. Or how those jeans fit perfectly, especially when he walked, and—
God. I’m going to live with this guy? He’ll be treating me for tennis elbow in a week.
At the top of the stairs, I gathered what wits I had left and cleared my throat.
“The master bedroom is down at that end of the hall.” I pointed that way, and then in the opposite direction. “Down here, the guest room and what used to be my office. Both rooms would be yours, and there’s a bathroom between them.”
Michael checked out the rooms but said nothing.
“Fair warning,” I went on, “the acoustics in this house aren’t great. I swear to God, I can hear a spider sneeze in the kitchen from up here.”
“Could be worse. There’s a railroad about three blocks from my current apartment.”
“Well, just don’t say I didn’t warn you. Especially since I get home from work at three or four in the morning sometimes. I try to be quiet, but….”
He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I can sleep through anything, and so can Dylan.”
“Good to know.”
I opened the door to the room formerly known as my office. It still had a desk and a few file cabinets, plus the three-year-old computer that was woefully obsolete. Some framed family photos gathered dust on the walls alongside my degree and a few s
napshots from various camping trips.
Across the hall was the sparsely furnished guest room. Nothing but a bed, dresser, and a couple of nightstands, though the wall above the queen-sized bed still had the faint rectangular shadow where a painting had hung for a couple of years. I knew we shouldn’t have used that cheap-shit paint, but “I told you so” was bitter, cold comfort when you only found out how badly the paint had faded because your boyfriend was taking pictures off the walls and leaving.
Tearing my gaze away from the evidence of Wes’s departure, I gestured at the furniture. “I can move all of this out to the garage or down to the basement.”
“With some help, I hope?” Michael shot me a pointed look.
“Yes, of course. You didn’t think I’d try moving it all myself, did you?”
One eyebrow rose.
Christ, he really is good.
I cleared my throat and broke eye contact. “I, um, can get some help.”
“Good,” he said with a sharp nod. “Otherwise I’m going to use the dull, rusty needles to treat your shoulder afterward.”
“All right, all right, I won’t pick anything up, I swear.”
“That’s right, you won’t.” He threw me what was probably supposed to be a glare of sorts, but then we both laughed.
I continued showing him around and eventually took him out to the back deck.
“Wow.” He rested his hands on the railing and scanned the yard. “Dylan will love this.”
“Outdoor kind of kid?”
“God, yes.” He smiled fondly. “Between his stepdad taking him skiing and me taking him hiking, it’s a wonder he hasn’t run away to live in the woods.”
I chuckled. “You’re a hiker, then?”
He nodded. “Which makes living here a definite plus.” He gestured at the mountains. “It’ll probably take me fifty years to hike all the trails out there.”
“You ain’t kiddin’,” I said. “I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’m still checking them off my list. You been up to the springs yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Don’t bother.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Trust me. You’re better off going down to Colorado Springs and dealing with the tourists.” I paused. “I mean, it’s a nice hike up to Tucker Springs, I’ll give you that, but don’t expect much when you get to the end.”
Michael shrugged. “As long as it’s a nice hike.”
“Oh, it’s a beautiful hike. I prefer the more technical ones, but it’s a nice walk through the woods.”
“Technical ones are the best kind. Not a big fan of the ones that involve serious climbing, though.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
He glanced at me, eyes darting toward my shoulder, and grimaced. “Yeah, I guess rock-climbing isn’t very high on your list these days, is it?”
“Well, that’s why I’m going to you, right?” I grinned. “So I can climb Horton Peak by the end of the summer?”
“Good luck with that,” he said dryly. “I’m not a miracle worker.”
“What?” I sighed dramatically. “Seth is a fucking liar, then.”
We exchanged glances and chuckled again.
Then Michael cleared his throat and turned around, looking up at the house. “So, the rent. You said it’s a grand a month. All-inclusive.”
“Yes.”
“Seems like a steal now that I’ve seen it in person. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me paying half?”
“It’s fine. A thousand a month and we’re good.”
“All right, well, I have to give my landlord thirty days. The earliest I could move in is the first of May, so if you can wait a few weeks….”
“That’s fine. As long as there’s a light at the end of this tunnel, you won’t hear me bitching.”
“Great.” Smiling, he extended his hand. “You’ve got a deal.”
Chapter 7
WHEN I showed up at Michael’s clinic for my next appointment, a little boy was sitting behind the reception desk with Nathan. He couldn’t have been older than seven or so, and he was unmistakably Michael’s son. If I’d seen a picture of the boy, I’d have sworn I was looking at Michael in his youth. Same brown eyes, same dark hair that wanted to curl, and when he got older and lost some of the roundness in his face, he’d probably have the same sharp features.
Nathan greeted me, but he and the boy quickly shifted their attention to something on the computer monitor.
“Oh, follow that guy.” Nathan pointed at the screen. “He’ll take you to the wizard so you can level up.”
I leaned on the desk. “Does Dr. Whitman know you’re slacking off?”
“Slacking off?” Nathan gestured dismissively. “Please. I’m teaching his kid to play Trollquest. That’s not slacking.” He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Right, Dylan? What are we doing?”
Without looking up, Dylan said, “We’re pwning newbs.”
I arched an eyebrow. “And you’re getting paid for this.”
Nathan shrugged. “It’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it.”
“Uh-huh.”
A moment later Michael emerged from one of the rooms at the end of the hall. “Oh, hey, Jason.” He smiled. “I see you’ve met my son.”
“Well, sort of.” I laughed. “He’s a little busy.”
“Still?” Michael rested a hand on the back of the boy’s chair and scrutinized the screen. “You’re already at the ice caves? How did you get past the trolls at the gate?”
Dylan snorted. “The gate trolls are easy.”
Michael scowled, glaring at Nathan.
Nathan batted his eyes. “What? Not my fault you can’t aim.”
Shaking his head, Michael looked at me, his lip quirked like “can you believe these two?”
I just chuckled.
Michael squeezed his son’s shoulder. “Pause it for just a second. I want you to meet Jason.”
Dylan clicked a button and pulled his gaze away from the screen and shifted it up to me.
“This is Jason,” Michael said. “He owns the house we’re moving into next month.”
The kid drew back a little, eyeing me shyly.
“Go on.” Michael nudged his arm. “Remember what Mom said?”
Dylan hesitated but then extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I gently shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too.”
As he let go, he asked, “Do you play Trollquest?”
“I played it when it first came out.” I craned my neck to see the screen. “Back before the graphics were that good.”
“My dad plays.” Dylan glanced up at Michael. “He tries to.”
“Hey!”
Nathan smothered a laugh.
Michael threw him another playful glare. “You really are a bad influence on my kid.”
“Hey.” Nathan showed his palms. “You want me to keep an eye on him? You take whatever I teach him.”
“Great.” Michael groaned, then gestured at me. “Come on, let’s go back so they can finish their quest in peace.”
“Finally,” Nathan said with mock exasperation.
Dylan giggled, and I followed Michael down the hall.
“He’s a little shy,” Michael said as we stepped into one of the rooms. “He’ll warm up to you, though.”
I shrugged. “It’s all right. My sister’s kid is shy too. Don’t worry about it.”
Michael met my gaze. “And you’re really okay with him staying at the house? Even part-time?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Uh, well. A first grader moving into your bachelor pad?”
I laughed. “If it was a one-bedroom apartment, it might be an issue. Honestly, you’re bailing me out of a shit situation. I’m not going to complain about your kid living with us too.”
He studied me, then relaxed. “All right. As long as you’re really sure about it. This is getting me out of a bad situation, but I don’t want to take advantage
of you.”
You can take advantage of me all you—
I cleared my throat and broke eye contact. “Don’t worry about it. Seriously. He seems like a pretty chill kid, and even if he wasn’t….” I met Michael’s gaze again. “There isn’t much stress a little boy could bring into that house that even remotely compares to what you’re offsetting as my roommate. It’s cool. Trust me.”
He released a breath. “Okay. Good. First part of May still work for you?”
“The sooner the better.”
“Perfect. Now let’s have a look at that shoulder.”
ABOUT A week before the end of Michael’s last month in his apartment, he backed a U-Haul into my driveway. We’d both recruited a small army of friends to help move him in, and every inch of the cul-de-sac’s curb had a car parked in front of it. Later in the day, I’d fire up the grill and pay everyone with steak and beer, but for now, there was work to do.
I reached for a box, but Michael caught my arm.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Though my shoulder had been feeling pretty good lately, I didn’t argue. Putting up my hands, I said, “I’ll, um, supervise.”
He smiled, and I pretended goose bumps weren’t working their way up my back.
“Excellent,” Michael said. “Someone needs to keep an eye on all this riffraff.”
“Hey!” Seth’s voice turned both our heads. “I heard that.”
“Speak of the devil,” Michael said with a grin.
“Yeah, whatever.” Seth flipped him off. “Fuck you.”
Along with everyone else we’d brought over, Seth and Michael got to work unloading boxes and furniture while I stood back and tried to find some way to be useful. Even though Michael’s treatment had made a huge difference, my shoulder was still far from healed. There wasn’t much I could do today unless I wanted to be in agony later. So, I supervised. At least I had the decency to refrain from lounging in a lawn chair with a beer and sunglasses, though it was tempting, if only to mess with Seth.
I glanced around the cul-de-sac. Curtains had moved aside, faces peered out windows, and I could only imagine the frantic gossiping going on as boxes and furniture made their way out of the truck. Edna and Kristine stood on their respective sides of the waist-high fence between their properties, eyes as big as saucers while they talked behind their hands. Someone was moving in, that was for sure, but who? You would’ve thought the simple U-Haul in the driveway was a rainbow beacon of glittering gayness invading their quiet suburban neighborhood. Not that I was surprised. They’d all watched intently when a similar truck had come to collect Wes and his belongings. I’d been endlessly amused at the reactions—running the gamut from relieved to openly disappointed—when people found out I still lived here. Chuckling over them was better than agonizing over Wes being gone.
