CHAPTER 17
Aaron
I think I’ll just live here… in this tub. I can drain the water each time it gets cold and run more. The shape of the old pedestal basin fits my exhausted body, creating a swaddling sensation that is the most comforting thing I’ve felt since my childhood bed. I don’t feel so empty with the water all around me. I serve a purpose here, filling this space.
I’ve been staring at the white ceramic wall tiles for over two hours. Their brightness under the morning light that’s seeping through the window makes the room feel sanitized, my soul clean, less heavy.
Shit. The water’s getting cold again.
Closing my eyes, common sense reminds me I should call my mother, concoct some type of story about how my truck is in the shop, and ask if I can borrow her car so I can get to work tomorrow. I can’t live in a bathtub. At least, not this one. George owns it, not me.
Pulling the drain plug, the gurgle of the water is a depressing sound, sucking down my temporary moment of ignorance of the reality awaiting me. I should be more preoccupied with my situation than the audience I had two days ago when Easton dropped me off, but avoidance is an addiction.
I can’t believe he had to see that. I didn’t think things could get any worse. Laughing as I step out and grab my towel, I know that’s a lie. Of course, they can get worse. That’s the one-way direction my life has had. I just didn’t think I could feel worse than I already have been.
Easton grew up rough and with little from my recollection of his file and our discussions at Hampton. I doubt he’d judge me. He certainly didn’t when he was here Friday afternoon. If anything, he seemed to be concerned and spared me my non-existent dignity. Still, though… I don’t like the thought of being less in his eyes, for some reason.
Tromping back into the bedroom, I rustle through the oversized box that serves as my dresser for anything I couldn’t fit in the tiny closet. It’s been getting chilly at night with Autumn coming in hard and fast. Winter cannot come and go fast enough. I’ve lowered the heat as much as I can tolerate to save on costs, but I’m growing tired of shivering all the time. I can’t afford to get sick, even if I do have medical coverage through work. Thirty-three years old, and I dread the thought of a co-pay visit. How sad is that?
Donning a pair of old sweatpants, sweatshirt, and socks, I haul the blanket off my mattress and wrap it around me like a cloak for extra warmth. At least, George hasn’t said a peep to our parents about my pitiful existence here, if he’s noticed. I told him I was waiting to buy furniture if I found a different place. I’m not sure he’ll continue to believe that after Friday when the repo men called his management number on the sign by the main road for his cottages.
Shuffling to the kitchen, I put a pot on to boil and rummage through my selection of Ramen noodles in the cabinet. Getting food in my stomach might make the pain of lying to my mother more tolerable when I call to grovel for the use of her car.
The sound of vehicle doors slamming shut outside makes me jump. Do repo men work on Sundays? I have nothing left that’s eligible to be repossessed, no other loans that had collateral listed. God, I hope it isn’t George coming to give me an inquisition or… kick me out.
He wouldn’t, would he? I know he was embarrassed by the activity the other day, but the cottages are spread at least half a mile apart, so I doubt any of his other tenants saw.
Hustling to the front door, I spy a black van in my driveway with red lettering emblazoned on the side of it. S&H Tattoo. Easton?
There’s a shiny red pickup truck parked next to it with furniture in the back of it. That woman from the shop, Shannon, and that guy, Fro, head toward the back, lowering the tailgate.
Opening the door, I step out onto the porch, blinking through the last of the dew burning off under the mid-morning sun. I find yet another vehicle in the party—a silver SUV that looks like its backend is loaded to the gills with boxes. There’s a small army of tatted men and women on my lawn. In the middle of them, pointing like he’s directing them, is Easton.
“Morning!” Shannon calls, throwing me a wave and a smile as she and Fro slide a bed frame out of the back of the truck.
I wave back, dumbly. I’m too distracted by the sight of Easton and Wolf hauling a couch out of the back of the van. They turn and start heading my way, toward my front steps.
“What…what is this?” I babble, moving out of the way so I don’t get run over when it becomes clear they have no intention of stopping.
I know Wolf is deaf, which explains why he doesn’t look at or answer me, but Easton isn’t. Granted, he’s focused on not dropping the heavy piece of furniture, but I know he had to have heard me.
“Easton, what are you doing?”
He answers, but it’s by way of nodding his head toward the door I left agape. Scrambling past Wolf before there’s no room left for me to pass, I step back inside and hold it back even though I’d prefer they stop and tell me what the heck is going on. Where did this couch come from, and why did Easton bring it here? It looks… new.
Oh my God. It is . There are still tags on it.
Grunting, Wolf staggers momentarily as they guide it through the doorway. Easton makes a breathy snickering sound at his friend’s expense, which gets him a glare, but then Wolf’s face cracks into a smirk. They set it down near my camping chair in the middle of the living room with a thump and dual breaths of relief.
“Easton…what is…”
I don’t get to finish. The end of a metal bedframe scrapes the side of my arm.
“Coming through! Sorry about that,” Fro calls as he and Shannon guide the piece through the doorway past me. “Where’s this going?” he asks Easton.
My stalwart former patient points in the direction of my bedroom. I blink after them in a daze. Glancing out the doorway, two other men from the shop are unloading a box frame from the van. What is happening? I need answers.
I meet Easton’s gaze, finally snaring his attention. His mouth ticks up at one corner.
Good morning. You’re not busy, are you? he signs.
Busy? What does busy have anything to do with it?
“No.” I shake my head mechanically.
Good. I took a chance that you’d be home.
He starts heading back outside, but I snag his arm. “Wait. Easton…what… What is all of this?”
Furniture , he signs with humor in his eyes, as though I’m being obtuse.
“Yeah. I can see that, but…but why? Where did it come from? What…what are you doing bringing it here?”
The place looked a little empty.
He grabs my arm, tugging me out of the way when the two men bring the box frame through the doorway. The magnitude of the gesture I’m witnessing is beyond touching, but I also see dollar signs. Dollar signs I can’t afford, nor will I be able to anytime soon.
“Easton, thank you. This is really kind of you, but I can’t…” Shifting, I turn my back to the others even though they’ve ventured deeper into the cottage. Murmuring in my shame, I confess, “I can’t afford this. It would take me a long time to pay you back. So, please don’t take offense. I’m touched by your intention, but…I just can’t accept any of this.”
Don’t worry about it.
God, he has no clue. Loans between friends are never good—isn’t that what people say? And more than a comfortable couch to sit on, more than something other than Ramen noodles to eat, I want Easton to be my friend. I know now that it has nothing to do with me needing a distraction. He’s good, funny, and as fucking amazing as he was years ago. He’s a life force I want to be around.
“I am worried about it. You don’t understand how…just how bad things are with my finances right now. I won’t do that to you. I can’t accept it. I know you probably went to a lot of trouble. I’ll help you take it back. That’s the least I can do.”
“Stop.” The commanding sound that comes out of his mouth hits me like a cold splash of water. It’s soft and raspy, but it’s… vocal. “Just stop,” he repeats, gripping my arms and giving me a poignant look. “Please. I don’t want anything.”
“But…”
“I don’t,” he emphasizes, giving me a squeeze. The determined look on his face softens, erasing the lines around his eyes. Shrugging, a little smile plays on his face as he adds even softer, “You helped me once.”
The words are so good to hear that tears well up in my eyes. It’s a reassurance I didn’t know how much I needed. You’re not supposed to question good things, but it feels too much like a hallucination.
“But…you hate me,” I stammer. “Kissing Wolf to get me to leave. The electrolarynx. The restaurant…you looked like you were crawling out of your skin just to get away from me.”
Releasing me, he blows out a breath and cranes his head back, rolling his eyes. Shifting in place, he rubs the back of his neck and chews his lower lip.
“I hate…the past. Not you.”
Something still doesn’t add up. If he’s doing all of this because he thinks I helped him, why did he lash out like that if he can separate me from Hampton?
“I let you down when I left, didn’t I?”
Scoffing, he shakes his head. With a wry smile, he reaches out and picks at a nail sticking out of the wall. It’s avoidance if I’ve ever seen it. It brings back a flash of his little quirks from our sessions together.
As he tugs at the nail, I recall how those artful fingers created the most breathtaking sketches on any paper he could get his hands on while he was at Hampton. He was so talented. I wanted him to go to art school so he could…
Oh, God… That school where my mother used to be a board member.
“The art institute scholarship program…I told you I’d get you in before I left, and then Jason had to report to a new facility and we took off in a hurry. I…forgot.” I wish I could make my crime stop coming out of my mouth, but it’s a penance I need to own. “Oh, God. Easton, I’m so sorry. You were so excited about it.”
He drops his hand and looks at me, his posture relaxing. That smirk, the one I’m starting to think means the opposite of whatever he intends it to mean, plays on his face again.
I think I did okay without it.
Signing. More signing. He was so not okay without it. I want to crawl back into the tub and draw the shower curtain closed around me until they all leave. At least, though, I’ve gotten to the bottom of it.
“I’m sorry, Easton. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did that to you.”
Chuffing, he runs his fingers through his hair and takes a step toward the doorway, peering outside. “It’s fine,” he murmurs airily.
“It’s not . I was too self-absorbed and lost sight of what was important to me.”
His gaze flicks to mine, surprised. My face heats, remembering the kiss from last weekend at the most inopportune moment. I’m sure now that it was done just to punish me, that there’s nothing about me that’s important to him , but I meant what I said. He was important to me then until I got blindsided by dreams of a happily ever after. Standing here, wrapped in this blanket while he fills my house with this unexpected gift and is showing me kindness when he has no earthly reason to, I know without a doubt that he most certainly is important to me now, too.
“Thank you,” I whisper, too choked up to give the words any more volume.
I wanted to know more about him. It just had to be on Easton’s terms, apparently. Everything in my soul wants to make the things being carted into my cottage disappear, but I have a feeling the amount of damage that would do to this bridge between me and the mysterious man before me would be irreversible. Easton with claws. Easton, the giver. Easton, the silently compassionate soul who can’t stand to take a compliment. He’s not careless about who he lets in, and I’ve been granted a pass. I don’t want it to be revoked now that I have it.
His phone rings, a welcome distraction. I try not to look curious when he brings it up to his ear, knowing it means he’s going to speak again. Turning, I shrug out of my blanket and fold it up. I can’t believe I stood here like a snowstorm rescue victim the entire time with it around me.
Something taps my shoulder. “Here. Talk to them, will you?” Easton holds his phone out expectantly.
“Who?”
“Cable. For your TV.”
Oh, my word. This is going too far. Cable is not a necessity of life.
“Easton, I don’t need cable.”
Rolling his eyes, he motions with his phone again. I know I likely underestimated how lucrative owning a tattoo business can be, but this is excessive. I can’t take advantage of his good deed to the extent it puts him in the same position that I am.
“That’s too much. Really. Don’t, please.”
Nostrils flaring, his hand doesn’t move a muscle, the phone still presented to me. Shit. Maybe I can appeal to his sense of pity.
“I can’t afford it.”
Sighing, he brings the phone back up to his ear. “This is going on my S&H account, right?” There’s a pause and then he swallows and enunciates with some apparent difficulty, “ S&H account . Okay, good. Hang on again.”
With a pointed look, he hands his phone to me again. How could I have forgotten just how stubborn he can be? I’m about to exhibit the same amount when he adds softly, “Talk to them, please…so I don’t have to.”
It’s a vein sliced open, bleeding all over my heart. As much as I feel pathetic and embarrassed, I never want to see the same look on his face.
I no sooner reluctantly take his phone before he heads out the door, and I’m left listening to the salesman elaborate on all the different cable packages available to me. He only speaks salesman, though, because no matter how many times I tell him to enroll me in whatever is cheapest, he rattles on about bonus packages without detailing the prices.
Pacing, I try to muster patience, befuddled by all the activity around me. In my bedroom, I catch Fro and Shannon setting the box mattress on the now assembled bed frame. There appears to be a brand-new comforter set still in its zippered plastic packaging on the floor next to where my mattress is temporarily leaning against the wall. How will I ever repay the kindness of these complete strangers? And what does it say about Easton that they’re doing all of this at his behest without a word or complaint?
Melissa flits past me with a smile. Curtains are draped over her arm as she sizes up the old lace valance that hanging in the front room window that was here when George gave me the keys to the place. Curtains? I don’t need curtains.
Another guy walks into my kitchen with a case of soda and two cases of beer under his arms. I hear music. Why is there music?
A peel of laughter floats out of the bedroom, and I catch Shannon bent over, amused at Fro’s sprawled-out position on my mattress like he fell on top of it when they flipped it onto the box frame. I spot a Bluetooth speaker on my bedroom windowsill, explaining where the background noise is coming from. It’s like a moving-in party that I wasn’t told about, everyone having a good time regardless of it involving manual labor.
The salesman asks if I’m still on the line, pulling me back into the painful bargain. “Look, I don’t need any of that stuff. Please, just whatever the lowest package is. Okay?”
Easton wheels past me with a brand-new dresser wrapped in plastic wrap on a dolly. The expression he shoots me says he heard my plea and isn’t pleased.
The sales guy just offered me something that includes HGTV . I don’t even own a home. Sensibility makes me draw a line at just how far I’ll go to appease Easton’s need to give. I turn my back on him lest I be cajoled by his persuasive face and antics.
No sooner do I get off the phone, not entirely sure of what I signed up for, than Melissa nearly runs smack into me. There’s a notepad from my kitchen and a pen in her hand.
“What do you like on your pizza?”
“Pizza?”
“Yeah. Easton’s ordering pizzas for lunch.”
Looking through the doorway to my bedroom, I learn the definition of the word awestruck . The man responsible for upending my day and my residence is taking in his team’s handiwork with a careful eye, as though he wants to ensure everything is perfect. He inches the unwrapped dresser over a few inches and then stands back to check that its placement is symmetrical with the end of my new bed. I watch like I’m in some kind of dream. These aren’t the actions of a guy who hates me or a tatted rogue with a rough exterior.
I wanted to know so badly how he fared after leaving Hampton, and I have my answer. He did just fine, like he said. Whatever road he traveled to get where he is now, he ended up even more endearing than I remember him being.
Melissa clears her throat, reminding me of her request. He stocked my house, and now he’s feeding me and all his friends. Swallowing against the thickness in my throat, a soft laugh bubbles out as I smile at her.
“Of course he is.”