17. Henry
SEVENTEEN
HENRY
Just as I’m contemplating how many plastic totes I can carry on my own, my cell starts to ring. Glancing at the screen, I see Bay’s name and start to panic. Is he calling to say he’s changed his mind, that I can’t have the job or the apartment anymore?
My fingers are shaking as I accept the call and bring my cell to my ear.
“Hello,” I whisper.
“Hey, Henry. We have the couch and a few other bits loaded into my truck, but I remembered that there’s no way you’ll be able to fit a mattress into Parker’s car, so we’re heading over to your place now to come grab it for you. Anything we can’t fit, we’ll go back for later,” Bay says brightly.
“What?” I blurt.
“I got your address from your medical forms, so we’ll be with you in about fifteen minutes. Also remind me on Monday to get you all signed up to the company health insurance scheme, the paperwork is in the filing cabinet.”
“Wait, you’re already on your way here?” I question, feeling dumb.
“Yes, sir. Beau’s with me, so we’ll have plenty of muscle if you’ve got anything heavy.”
“Okay, well, you didn’t need to come all the way out here, but thank you. I’ll start bringing stuff up to the curb.”
“No need, we’re only a few minutes out, and it’ll be quicker if we get the big stuff loaded first,” Bay says, a stern tone to his words. “Stay where you are, we’ll see you in ten.”
After ending the call, I run my eyes over my apartment and cringe at the idea of my boss and his brother seeing it. But as they’re only ten minutes away, it’s too late to stop them from coming.
Eight minutes later, Bay calls to let me know he’s outside, and I run up the stairs and find both Bay and Beau already inside the building, eyeing the place cautiously. The moment they see me, they both smile, then follow me down into my apartment without an ounce of discernible discomfort.
“It’s small,” I warn them as I open my door and step inside.
They try to hide it, but I see the look on their faces when they take in my home. Neither of them comments about how dingy and dark it is, and instead they jump to work, grabbing my crappy mattress and hauling it to the truck without a word.
Thirty minutes later, my tiny basement hideaway is empty, all of my worldly possessions loaded into the back of the truck that’s currently being supervised by Beau.
“My landlord isn’t expecting me to drop the key off until five,” I tell Bay.
“Does he live in the building?”
I nod.
“Then let’s head up there and see if he’s in. If he isn’t, I’ll bring you back later.”
I start to protest, but Bay silences me with a look, holding the stairwell door open for me and gesturing for me to lead the way.
Mr. Yanis is in and becomes a lot more agreeable the moment Bay steps up behind me. As I settle into the seat in Bay’s truck, I’m gripping my four-hundred-dollar deposit like a lifeline and fighting the urge to hyperventilate as we drive away from the only home I’ve ever known.
It turns out that when Bay said he had a couch and a few bits for my new place, what he actually meant was that he had enough furniture to fill three apartments ready for me to choose from.
Penn, Huck, and all of the wives are waiting for us when we get to the garage, and quicker than I thought possible, my new apartment is furnished with a comfortable couch, a wooden bedroom set handmade by Granger Barnett, a coffee table, a TV, lamps, rugs, and a refrigerator full of food.
The wives, Missy, Bonnie, Lulu, and Cora, all insist on helping me to unpack, and by the time the sun has started to set, my meager belongings have been emptied from their totes and redistributed in my new apartment.
Once they’re happy that I have everything I could possibly need and more, the Barnetts all hug me goodbye, then climb into their cars and truck and leave. The moment I close the front door behind me, the unsettling feeling of being alone washes over me.
Standing in the small entrance hall, I turn to look into the apartment and wonder what I should do now. In my old place, I’d have gotten into bed and used my hour’s worth of stolen Wi-Fi before I went to sleep. My weekends usually consisted of the laundromat and a book, but that’s not my life now.
I have a living room, a couch, a TV. Penn said there’s cable—only the free channels—but that’s still more than I’ve had for the last four years. My cell is connected to the garage’s Wi-Fi, which Bay assured me is mine to make use of for free.
I don’t know how to cook, but if I did, I have a kitchen. A full kitchen with an oven and burners and all the kitchen utensils I could ever need, courtesy of the box of cooking equipment Bonnie brought me—just in case.
In fact, it seems the Barnetts came with everything I could possibly need—just in case.
I offered to buy some of the things off them, and all four women looked so affronted I immediately apologized and then just let them fill my apartment with things that they deemed as essential, without ever mentioning that I’d been just fine for the last four years without anything.
As I scan the space, tears fill my eyes, because in a matter of hours this apartment looks more like a home than the place I’ve called mine for the last four years, and I have no idea how to feel about that.
I’m grateful. The furniture is beautiful, much nicer than anything I would ever have bought myself.
But there’s one huge thing missing, and it’s something the Barnetts can’t bring me and something I can’t replace.
Because the thing that’s missing, the thing that would turn this place from a house to a home, is Anders.
Now that I’m here in Rockhead Point, I miss him more than I thought it was possible to miss another person. Especially someone I’ve only known for a couple of weeks. But I do. I miss him, and I don’t know how to deal with that.
I’m not sure I’ve ever missed a particular person before. No one person, apart from my high school counselor, has ever been in my life long enough to make an impact. But Anders has proved that it isn’t time spent that makes a person important; it’s who they are and how that affects you.
The brave part of me wants to call his cell and shout at him, but even if I was bold enough to do it, what difference would it make? I can’t force him to want me. I can’t demand that he love me back.
When my stomach growls, I pad barefooted into the kitchen, then stare at all the cabinets, wishing I’d been paying attention when Lulu told me where she’d put everything.
Reaching for the first cabinet, I open it and scan the contents, moving methodically across the kitchen until I’ve opened every door and drawer, finally ending with the refrigerator.
I’ve already seen what’s inside, but it still takes my breath away when I open the door and see the shelves filled with a rainbow of color.
The crisper is full of vegetables, salad, and fruit.
The shelves are full of bacon, ground beef, chicken, and ribs.
Yogurt, cheese, milk, and a huge carton of fresh-squeezed orange juice tempt me, and I try to remember if I’ve ever had access to so much food before.
Deciding on a sandwich, I start to take out the ingredients as the sound of the doorbell fills the air.
Freezing, I turn toward the front door, glaring like it’s the woods’ fault that someone is here. The only people who know I’ve moved in are the Barnetts, so it’s probably one of them. They must have forgotten something and come to fetch it.
My steps are still tentative as I shuffle to the door, cursing the lack of a spyhole as my fingers hover over the lock.
The single lock. My apartment in Bozeman had five locks, and even with them all locked tight, I still never felt entirely safe.
Now there’s only one lock between me and whoever is on the other side of the door, and sudden, debilitating fear freezes me to the spot.
The doorbell rings again, followed by a firm knock. Backing away from the door, I cross my arms over my chest and worry my bottom lip with my teeth as I contemplate if I should open it or just hope whoever is there will get bored and leave.
“Kitten, I know you’re in there, open the door.”
It’s Anders. Anders is here, at my door.
I move forward without realizing, turning the lock, and opening the door, before I can tell myself not to. What I find on the other side surprises me. Anders is still wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday, his chin covered in stubble, his usually tidy hair a mess, his eyes bloodshot and red.
“Kitten,” he exhales the moment our gazes meet.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, barely opening the door a few inches, not wanting to give the impression that I’m inviting him in.
“Can I come in?” he asks, not answering my question.
I shake my head. “No.”
Exhaling sadly, he nods. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” I ask.
“I can’t let you go. I shouldn’t have let you go. I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please fucking forgive me.”
My eyes fill with tears, but I don’t let them fall.
Instead, I force myself to remember all the times I’ve been rejected, then I allow myself to picture him walking away yesterday and let it harden my heart.
It hurts. It hurts so much, but I do it anyway, because I have to.
I can’t cope with his emotional roller coaster, it’s too much.
“Please,” he pleads, lifting his hand, like he wants to touch me.
“I can’t,” I say, then I close the door in his face.
The moment the door shuts closed, I suck in a gasping breath, holding myself up with my palm resting on the wood. My ears are ringing and my vision blackens at the edges, but even though everything inside of me is telling me to open the door and forgive him, I don’t. I can’t.
Turning, I force my feet to move and put all the sandwich ingredients back into the refrigerator. Then I walk into the bedroom, get changed into my fleece pajamas, and get into bed.