Chapter 1 Jaggar #2
“Fuck.” I slip and slide, my wool socks heavy, soaking up the water as I haul my ass to the basement. I flip on the light, stumbling down the ancient steps before finally reaching the handle for the main water valve. Thankfully, it turns with ease, shutting off the water for the entire house.
My chest rises and falls with each heavy breath.
Above me, I can hear the geyser slow. Droplets of water drip from my nose.
I clutch the hem of my soaked sweatshirt to wipe off my nose, but drop it since it won’t do much.
A chill hits me to my bones, causing goosebumps to explode, much like the burst pipe I now have to deal with.
I whip my socks off and dig in the pocket of my sweatshirt, praying to the universe my phone still works as I make my way upstairs.
Bypassing the kitchen, because I can’t bring myself to look at the damage just yet, I dial the number to my plumber.
And with the same luck I had with George, I get Hector’s voicemail.
Climbing to the second floor, I leave him a message, then throw my phone onto my bed, towel off my hair, and quickly strip off my wet clothes.
I leave them in a heap on the floor, then layer up, putting on my thermal underwear, a long-sleeve tee, and my fleece-lined sweatpants and sweatshirt.
Two pairs of wool socks and my snow boots, and I’m ready to tackle the mess.
I'm desperate for coffee. But that's not happening anytime soon since I don't have water.
After bundling my wet clothes and pocketing my phone, I jog through my frosty home and throw my clothes and comforter in the dryer, then get my wet vac from the basement.
The only positive thing about this shit-tastic morning is that I was able to shut off the water as soon as the pipe burst, avoiding more damage.
But this is going to put a serious dent in my budget and shift my schedule.
My jaw clenches at the thought of having to change my plans again.
Not that I have time to stress about it when I have the mess in front of me to clean up.
So, I steel myself and get to work, sucking up the water.
The ringing of what I think is the doorbell catches my attention, and I turn off the wet vac, listening for the sound. It rings again.
“Coming,” I call and jog to the front door. The cold that’s captured my body slows my ability to grab hold of the knob and open it.
“Hey.” The delivery guy from the furniture store in Burlington lifts a hand in greeting. “We’re here with your delivery.”
I gesture toward the living room, where I’d cleared a space last night for the delivery. “You mind just putting it in here? I had a pipe burst this morning—”
“No worries, man. Do what you've got to do. We’ll leave it here and get out of your hair.”
The tension squeezing my shoulders and stomach eases. Finally, something is going easily this morning. “I appreciate it.”
“We’ll just get it from the truck.” He points to his partner opening the back of the truck.
“Thanks.” I hurry back to the kitchen to continue with my cleanup.
The sound of the vac drowns out their footsteps and conversation, but I catch bits of laughter and snarl at the mess before me. I wish I had something to laugh about.
The delivery guy sticks his head in the kitchen. “You’re all set. We’re out.”
I give him an up-nod. “Thanks again.”
“Good luck.” He gestures to the mess and leaves.
After what feels like an eternity, the water is cleaned up, and I’ve spoken to both George and Hector, who are in Canada together on an ice fishing trip and won’t be back until Monday.
Muscles aching, I stretch my back, twisting left and right, then crack my neck, and walk into the living room. And freeze.
Wrapped in enough bubble wrap to wallpaper the entire house appears to be a statue of… I step closer. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
I look around, waiting for a production team to jump out and tell me I’m part of a new version of one of those television shows that prank unsuspecting people. Sadly, no one comes out, and I’m left with the reality that my shit morning keeps getting shittier as I stare at an enormous… “Elephant?”
I dial the furniture store. Who the hell would want a giant pink elephant statue? The thing stands a few inches taller than me, so it must be at least six feet tall and takes up most of my living room.
“Burlington Furniture and More. This is Tanya speaking. How can I help you today?”
The perky voice grates on my last nerve, but I force myself to be calm. “Hi Tanya, this is Jaggar Michaels. I ordered the Eames soft pad chair, executive, in the pebble weave.”
“Yes. I see it went out for delivery today.”
Dragging my ice-block fingers through my hair, I force my shoulders away from my ears. “It seems there was a mixup, and I received,” I look at the bubble-wrapped elephant and rub my temples, “an elephant.”
“Excuse me?” Tanya’s voice rises.
“A pink elephant. Some sort of statue.” A laugh huffs out of me, but this is far from funny. “This definitely isn’t my chair.”
On the other end of the line, I can hear Tanya tapping away. “Oh, I see. The elephant was supposed to go to Riddley Lane in Lowell, not Riddley Lane in New Island.” More clacking. “We can get that fixed for you next week. Is there a time that works best for you, Mr. Michaels?”
I clamp my teeth. It’s not Tanya’s fault. It’s not her fault. “You can’t get your delivery guys back out here today?”
“I’m sorry, but the truck has a full schedule. If I can get in contact with our scheduler, Monday would be the earliest we can do, but more likely it will be Tuesday.”
“Fine,” I grit out. “I guess it’s next week then.”
After making arrangements, I hang up and stare at the monstrosity.
My phone alarm going off reminds me it’s eleven thirty.
So much for being early. I’ve got to hustle if I’m going to make it to the softball game on time.
I grab a bottle of water and dash upstairs to my bathroom to brush my teeth and throw some clothes into a bag.
Maybe I can shower at Conall’s place after the game.
With everything I need in hand, I leave behind the mess of my morning.
The day can only get better.
The day has not gotten better. After nearly sliding into a tree when my car slipped on ice, thanks to hitting one of the many potholes on the road leading from my house, I pull into the parking lot fifteen minutes late. I hate being late. Especially when people are depending on me.
A colorful banner with the Mutts About You Charity Softball Tournament painted in bold, blue letters hangs across the entrance to the field, accompanied by signs for Aston Animal Rescue and the local businesses that are tournament sponsors.
At least someone had the foresight to plow the parking lot. Probably Hawk. Or, more likely, his best friend Colt. Together, the two of them pull off the seemingly impossible. I park next to Conall’s green SUV with its Dart Queen bumper sticker, and get out. And realize I forgot my baseball glove.
“Fuck,” I mumble. Maybe I can borrow one from someone. Maybe Conall has an extra one I can use.
“Jaggar!” Speaking of Conall… He’s standing in front of Aston’s Animal Rescue van, smile wide and inviting, waving like I didn’t just see him two days ago.
“Hey, man.” I give him a hug, and sigh, letting out all the frustration of my crappy morning. “It's good to see you.”
He pulls away, hands on my shoulders, a sliver of a crease marring his handsome face. “What’s up?”
“Woke up to no heat, had a pipe burst, and ended up with a life-sized pink elephant in my living room.” I clutch the back of my neck, digging my fingers into the rocks impersonating muscles. “And I forgot my glove.”
“Wow. Not sure what to do with all that.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder to the van where dogs and volunteers congregate.
“Go say hi to the dogs. A couple of doggy kisses and some wiggly butts, and you’ll forget all your worries.
And if you want to crash at my place, you’re more than welcome. ”
I lift my chin to the field. “Thanks, but I’m already late.”
“Nah, the second game is still finishing their last inning. There was a delay when one of the dogs stole the softball and took off with it.” His eyes sparkle with humor and mischief, and I wonder if he’s the one who gave the ball to the dog.
“He had a blast playing keep-away and ended up getting himself adopted.”
A black and white ball of energy bounds from the van, nearly choking itself on its leash as a man hurries to keep up with it, followed by twin boys whose giggles grow with every jump the dog makes.
I chuckle as the twins run past the dog, which it takes as an invitation to play chase. The guy seems good-natured, shaking his head and breaking into a jog. “See ya, Conall.”
“Good luck, Bodhi,” Conall calls after him.
I glance at the dogs again and rub my chest. “Has anyone adopted Titan yet?”
The dog was found as a stray, underweight, with scars and multiple wounds. Hawk and his team did wonders with the scared pup, and in the year he’s been at the rescue, he’s become my favorite.
Conall squeezes my shoulder. “Not that I know of. He went with a group of volunteers to get ready for the doggy dating at Island Vibes.” He points to the bleachers near the field where Hawk stands with a clipboard in his hands, talking to Alaric, his man Jake, and the umpire. “Tell Jake to give you my glove.”
I got to know Alaric when drawing up the plans to restore his beautiful craftsman house. We hit it off, becoming fast friends. He met Jake after Conall accidentally used Alaric’s head as a dartboard, and I’ve had a front-row seat to their blooming relationship. “Thanks, man.”
“No worries.” His attention lands on something behind me, and he frowns. When I turn and see Pierce, I know the conversation is over. I'm proved correct when my friend stomps his way through the snow toward the introverted writer without another word to me.