Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A fter picking up wood glue and stain from the hardware store and eating a fast-food breakfast that was less satisfying than Brody’s signature omelet would have been, Reagan pulled into Kelly’s apartment complex.
Unfortunately, the guest parking space had been taken by a black two-door convertible. She gathered up the empty fast-food bag, filled with wrappers and crumpled napkins, and climbed out of her truck.
This morning she’d intended to linger at the house and continue her work. Yes, she needed to buy paint, but there was plenty she could have done in the meantime. She had received a customer call to change out furnace filters—not an emergency—which could be done later in the day.
She’d slept soundly last night and had woken up very aware of being in Brody’s intimate space. When she’d bypassed the sofa, and his laptop sitting open on the cushion, she remembered every pulse-pounding moment of kissing him. She’d made coffee and continued living in denial instead of waking him.
When he’d padded into the kitchen with heavy-lidded eyes and finger-combed hair, she’d had to remind herself to be professional. A tall order given that his sturdy frame had been perfectly outlined by a snug T-shirt and boxers. The second he gave her a sideways smile, she’d had the overwhelming urge to press every inch of her body against his and kiss the smirk clean off his face.
And off a few other places.
Shaking off the distracting visual, she turned the knob on the front door to let herself in. Unlocked, it spun easily beneath her hand.
“Jesus!” a male voice boomed, shocking Reagan to her toes.
“Oh my God!” followed, that exclamation coming from Kelly.
“Sorry! Sorry!” Reagan shielded her eyes with the fast-food bag, but it was too late. She’d already seen a flash of Kelly’s ex-husband’s naked pelvic area.
“What the hell?” Matt grunted. Reagan heard the sound of shifting fabric and prayed that he was fully dressed.
“Sorry!” Reagan repeated, even though she had nothing to be sorry for. Matt, on the other hand, who had cheated on Kelly—or maybe not—did. She peeked out from behind the fast-food bag to find Matt dressed and Kelly stuffing her bra into her jeans pocket.
“Reagan! Hi! I thought you were working.” Her friend smoothed her hair away from her flushed face. Matt propped his hands on his hips, his teeth stabbing his bottom lip. And there they both stood, mere inches away from where Reagan laid her head most nights.
Yerk.
“I needed a change of clothes. I came here to shower before I ran errands. I didn’t know you’d be”— snogging your ex-husband —“home.”
Reagan made a beeline for the kitchen as Kelly’s and Matt’s voices dipped. She threw away the fast-food bag and opened the accordion doors on the laundry closet as loudly as possible so they wouldn’t think she was eavesdropping. As she was folding the two pairs of leggings she’d hung to dry, she mused that she was way past due on finding her own place.
Heavy footsteps clomped up the stairs—Matt’s. Kelly met her in the kitchen, hands held up in a defensive position. “I know what you’re going to say, and I know how this looks.”
“How do you know what I’m going to say when I don’t know what I’m going to say?” Reagan carried her leggings to the weekender bag that was tucked into a corner of Kelly’s living room. As she shoved them into a pocket, she said, “I thought you hated him.”
“I do! Sometimes. It’s complicated.” She licked her bottom lip. “The thing is…”
Reagan waited. When Kelly didn’t say any more, she asked, “What?”
“He’s been here a lot.” Kelly winced. “And he’s probably going to be here more often.”
Her mind went back to the couch she slept on. How many times had Kelly and Matt— No . She wouldn’t think about that. “It’s time I found my own apartment. I can’t keep sleeping in random places.” Kelly’s couch, Ike’s recliner, Brody’s guest bedroom . Her temporary solutions had her invading everyone’s privacy while having none of her own.
“I will not kick you out. I made a promise, and I’m sticking to it.”
“Kelly, you shouldn’t feel the need to sneak around with Matt because I’m sleeping on your couch.” Where she would not be sleeping again.
“You don’t have to leave. We’ll be discreet.”
Reagan cocked her head to one side.
“More discreet.”
“You shouldn’t have to be discreet. That’s the point.” Reagan crossed to the half bath and began gathering her toiletries. Kelly followed.
“Are you mad because you think he cheated on me?”
Hands full of skin care products and toothpaste, Reagan paused. “Kelly, you were the one who told me he cheated on you.”
“I know.” She toed the carpet. “I’m not sure now. But I didn’t want to tell you about Matt and me until I was sure. I assumed you’d sleep in this morning, or at least be snuggling with your billionaire benefactor. How did last night go, by the way?”
Reagan was halfway to being insulted by the “benefactor” comment but reminded herself that Kelly sometimes spoke before she thought. She pulled in a deep breath and asked, “Have you and Matt been doing it on the couch I’m sleeping on?”
Kelly’s grimace was enough of an answer, but then she added, “Maybe twice?”
“Oh my God. I can’t be here.” She gathered the rest of her personal effects and nudged past Kelly.
“Where will you go? You have nowhere to live.”
While that was essentially true, it wasn’t like Reagan had zero options. Through gritted teeth, she replied, “I’ll figure it out.”
“Before you leave you have to spill. How was the sex with the rich boy?”
“We didn’t have sex. I slept there. Alone and in a different room.” Irritated, Reagan crammed her toiletries into her bag.
“That’s it?” Kelly’s disappointment was evident.
“Yes, Kel. That was it.”
“Why didn’t you sleep with him? Reagan, honey. Live a little!”
The comment hit Reagan sideways. Not only had Kelly accused her of having a “benefactor” and of not being able to house herself, but now she’d quite literally accused Reagan of not living big enough.
Whatever the hell that meant.
“You’re doing enough living for both of us.” Reagan snatched her headphones and phone charger from the end table and packed those as well.
“Don’t be mad because I’m having fantastic sex and you’re not.”
“I’m not mad about the sex! I’m worried about you,” Reagan said, raising her voice to meet the volume of Kelly’s. “I don’t want you to get hurt again, and he has done a lot of hurting where are you are concerned.”
“You don’t understand. You’ve never been married.”
White hot anger flashed inside Reagan like a lightning bolt. This time she had the sense to keep her mouth shut. No, she’d never been married, but she had been in a stable, monogamous relationship. She knew what it was like to love and be loved. She wasn’t a stunted idiot because she hadn’t signed a marriage license.
She zipped her bag and righted her wheeled suitcase, a shake working its way down her arm. Not all of her anger was directed at Kelly.
As much as Reagan had categorized her breakup with Dustin as amicable, there was a nugget of resentment there. Apparently, it had silently festered . She had built dream upon dream during their relationship. Each one of those dreams had gone up in smoke when he’d chosen a job over her.
“You don’t have to move out .” Kelly’s voice softened like she sensed the electricity in the atmosphere.
“I really do.” Reagan forced a smile even as her eyes heated with unspent tears. She wasn’t going to cry over no longer sleeping on a borrowed couch. This hurt ran deeper.
“I didn’t plan this.”
And neither did Reagan plan to break up with Dustin, the man she’d assumed she’d spend her life with, and lose her grandfather’s home in the process.
“You don’t have to explain.” She dragged her suitcase and weekender to the front door. The thought of showing up on Ike’s front porch made her feel half sick. She’d slept at his condo a few times and had sworn not to make it a habit. But what choice did she have?
“We’re going to be okay, right?” Kelly asked at the front door.
Reagan had a lot of feelings to sort out, and her friend hadn’t been careful with them. Rather than start another argument, she promised, “I’ll call you.”
A week later, Reagan was sore from crashing on Ike’s recliner—his couch was too short for her long legs—and was out of contact with Kelly. She had promised to call but hadn’t been ready. She wasn’t confident she wouldn’t explode and say a litany of unfair things. She loved Kelly, and knew that her friend could be thoughtless when she spoke. Her words had cut deep.
Reagan had been hard at work on Brody’s house, though she hadn’t shared that she’d been commuting from the opposite side of the golf course instead of from her friend’s apartment. She also hadn’t shared with Ike the true reason she was crashing in his retirement community condo. Instead of mentioning the sort-of fight between her and Kelly, Reagan had told him she was in the process of looking for a new apartment, and that his condo was centrally located.
She was used to keeping her own tender feelings hidden while reserving space for everyone else’s—a tactic that had served her well in the past. As a result, everyone seemed to have assumed Reagan was fine. No one checked in on her to see how she was doing. So on top of feeling like shit, she was also lonely and suffering in silence.
Her fault. But it still hurt.
Back at Brody’s for the afternoon, she was working on the shelving in the guest bedroom where she’d slept a week ago. In between painting and waiting for the coats to dry, she paced the hallway and made calls to various apartment buildings in the area. The waitlist for Clifton’s Bluff was still around three months. She needed to move sooner than that and was hoping she didn’t have to settle for living in a hotel.
Her best prospect, and she used the word “best” loosely, was an apartment that fit her current budget. It was run down, and if she were being honest, on the sketchy side.
As she was placing a recently dried shelf onto its pegs in the closet, her phone rang. It was a return call from a different complex, farther away from here than Kelly’s, but closer to Reagan’s budget than Clifton’s. It would be a stretch, but if she could forgo the garage rental and eat Ramen noodles, she could swing it.
“Reagan’s Repairs,” she answered.
The friendly woman on the phone introduced herself as the complex manager, and Reagan’s hopes buoyed. They sank a moment later when the woman let her know that they also had a tenant waiting list: two months.
“Thank you for calling me back, but I’m going to need to move sooner than that.”
The woman confirmed that availability was scarce in the area, which Reagan already knew but refrained from sharing. “No need to keep me on the waiting list,” she added before the woman could ask.
On her knees in front of the closet, she felt her shoulders slump. It’d been a long-ass week, and her back was killing her from sleeping on that damn chair. She’d lied to Ike and told him she didn’t mind taking the recliner since she’d been staying up late. The truth was she hadn’t wanted him to offer his bed.
She inhaled deeply and reminded herself that this wasn’t the end of the world. She could check into a hotel in the interim. She didn’t belong in a retirement community, and Ike didn’t need her underfoot. She’d decided she wouldn’t stay at his house for longer than a week. She just hadn’t expected the week to fly by and find herself with fewer prospects than before.
That left the apartment in the not-so-great neighborhood. It was technically doable if she hauled her tools from her truck into her unit each night. That would be a lot of extra work, but it would only be for the length of the lease. Maybe they’d let her sign month-to-month?
She sighed. She was at the regret stage of her breakup and wishing she hadn’t taken a chance on Dustin. How had she not noticed how tepid they were together? Pent-up emotions about their doomed and dull relationship had nearly bowled her over last night. And she hadn’t had any privacy to deal with them, save the short drives between jobs.
Not for the first time she wondered if her anger with Kelly had been twofold. Reagan had felt abandoned by Dustin when he’d told her he was moving out. And even if it wasn’t his fault that he’d torched their future, he hadn’t exactly shared that he’d been quietly planning one without her. She’d believed he was being magnanimous when he’d let her stay in his house to facilitate the sale, but now it appeared self-serving. He had been saving himself the hassle, and she had been stuck until the house sold.
She hadn’t been angry then, too consumed by the idea that they’d been falling out of love in real time. She was good and pissed off now, and completely over giving him the benefit of the doubt.
A spike of anger pierced her chest as she stood at the mouth of the unfinished closet. That blast zone unfairly included her grandfather, who had sold this house out from under her, and Brody, who had unwittingly purchased it. This house should have been hers, dammit.
She scrubbed her forehead, willing away the irrational blame. Ike had checked with her before he’d listed the house and she, from inside her optimistic love bubble, had encouraged him to live in his dream retirement home and finally let go of this “money pit.”
Ugh. She’d actually said that.
She surveyed the mess of open paint, fresh boards, and plastic tarp, and repressed the urge to scream. She could be doing this project for herself, not some hybrid billionaire-author hard at work on his vanity project. The possibility of him selling the house to her receded further and further away by the minute.
She’d attempted the pie-in-the-sky version of her life when she’d lived with Dustin. Was she willing to leave her future in the hands of a man again? The epiphany was like a slap to the face.
“I should have bought this house instead of moving in with Dustin,” she griped, turning the anger on herself as she shoved her phone into her back pocket. “Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
She let out a gusty sigh and turned to find herself face-to-face with Brody Crane. Mouth open like he’d been about to speak, he slowly narrowed his eyes.