10. Halle
CHAPTER 10
HALLE
F or three weeks, I’ve answered emails and scheduled meetings for Caleb. I’ve filed documents and set up depositions. And so far, it’s been fairly smooth sailing. Certainly better than my coffee shop experience. I still haven’t been brave enough to go back there to even order a drink.
Still sleepy, I pour coffee into my mug, then add the syrup I made yesterday. I’m not sure the brown sugar concoction will be life-changing like the recipe promised, but it smells good. I add a little creamer and stir, then take a tentative sip.
Pretty good.
Certainly better than anything I made at the coffee shop.
I blame the fancy machines. They’re far more complicated than any kind of equipment has the right to be.
Caleb is working from home today, so now that I know the syrup isn’t half bad, I pour a cup of coffee for him too.
“Boys,” I call out. “I’m headed over to work. Be good. Call me if you need anything, and sandwiches are in the fridge.”
On the couch, Quinn tips his head back and hollers, “See you.”
“Yeah, see ya,” Casen says without looking away from his video game.
Once again, I’m thankful I managed to rescue their gaming console when our mother went on a rampage and destroyed everything in sight.
It rained last night, making the pathway between our homes muddy, so I take careful steps the whole way. On Caleb’s front porch, I set the coffees down and take my shoes off. No way am I dragging mud through Caleb’s impeccably kept house.
After unlocking the front door, I scoop up the cups and let myself inside.
“Oh my God.”
The words leave me without my permission.
Damn.
Caleb is partway down the stairs, dressed in a fitted navy suit, his hair slightly damp from a shower and curling at his collar. As he hits the bottom stair, he snaps his watch in place and looks up at me, his eyes dancing with mirth.
Caleb looks incredible in a t-shirt and jeans, but this man in a suit and tie? He’s on another level. I never thought I’d be attracted to the buttoned-up suit kind of man, yet here I am. Or maybe it’s just Caleb that has this effect on me.
“Hey,” he says, quickly eating up the space between us with his long legs. That one word serves as a bucket of cold water, pulling me out of my stupor. “Turns out I’m needed in Boston today. Are you good here?”
“Y-Yeah.” I stutter. How is it that he can fluster me so easily?
“I brought you a coffee.” I thrust the cup out to him, thankful I went with a travel mug.
“Thanks.” With a grateful smile, he takes a sip. “Remind me how you got fired from the coffee shop again?”
“The barista life is not for me.”
Also, the espresso machine is the devil in disguise. The hissing sound it made was not of this world.
He chuckles. “I left a stack of papers for you to go through on my desk. If I think of anything else, I’ll call. The change of plans has me a bit frazzled.” He blows out a breath. “Hopefully I’ll be back later.”
With that, he’s gone. I lock the door behind him, then head upstairs to his office. The computer is already booted up, so all I have to do is click on the icon for my profile and use my fingerprint to log on.
While I wait for his email to load, I flip through the documents he’s left behind for me to get an idea of what I need to get done. Then I sort through his inbox, responding to the ones I’m CC’d on and looking at the ones he’s flagged for me. This is the first time I’ve been here working alone. All week, he’s worked from home, setting himself up in the chair in the corner of the office with his laptop on his lap. Yesterday, when he took a call, he went downstairs like he typically does, earbuds in place so he can talk hands-free. But when he returned, he brought turkey sandwiches with the most incredible sauce. A sauce whose ingredients he refused to share.
“Secret recipe.” He’d smirked, clearly pleased that I enjoyed the sandwich enough to ask.
I’ve only replied to one email when my phone rings.
“Hey,” Caleb says when I answer, the background noise from his Bluetooth speaker almost deafening. “I think I left a folder I need. Can you check?”
“Sure.” I slide the chair back and stand. “Where do you think it is?”
“Check my bedroom. I think it’s on the dresser.”
“Caleb.” I bite my lip, trying and failing to keep my laughter at bay. “Why on earth would you have a work folder in your bedroom?”
He lets out a gruff sigh. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
“You could read a book. Or watch a movie. Or?—”
“Okay, I get your point. Just look, please.”
I head down the hall to the closed door across from the one whose door is open and clearly belongs to a little girl. I ease the bedroom door open, waiting for it to squeak, but the sound never comes. Caleb must have replaced the doors and hinges when he remodeled, because not a single one squeaks like mine do. One of these days I’ll remember to pick up WD-40 .
“Oh, wow,” I gasp as I step into his room.
Caleb’s chuckle echoes in my ear, but it barely registers. I’m too busy taking in the space. The walls are painted a dark charcoal, and the floor is layered with two rugs that overlap. The bed is huge—what size mattress is bigger than a king? Because this has to be it—with a black velvet headboard. The bed coverings are in shades of cream, with a black blanket at the foot. Most surprising are the throw pillows in complementary shades.
“I hope you gave your interior designer a massive tip. This room is gorgeous.”
He huffs good-naturedly. “Just check for the folder, Halle.”
Right. Folder.
I find it right away—resting on the dresser, like he said it would be—then tuck it under my arm and pad back out into the hall. “Do you need me to scan it and email it to you?”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
“No problem. Call me if you need anything else.”
I hang up and quickly scan the contents of the folder. I’m in the process of uploading them when my phone rings again.
“Hey,” I answer. “Uploading the files now. I’ll email them in just a minute.”
“Uh…” The voice on the other end of the line is decidedly not Caleb’s. “Halle, we have a problem.”
My brother’s tone instantly sends me into fight-or-flight mode. “Quinn, what is it?” Gripping the phone tighter, I book it out of the office and fly down the stairs .
“We were playing our game, and we kept hearing this sound. At first we didn’t think anything of it. But then…”
“But then what?” I snap, my fingers fumbling with the dead bolt on the front door. It takes five tries to get the door unlocked because my hand won’t stop shaking. “Are you okay?”
That’s my biggest worry. That they’re hurt. Is someone trying to break in? I can’t imagine who. Our mom is still in prison, but there’s always their dad.
“Yeah, we’re okay, it’s just… the house is kind of… wet.”
Wet. I pull up short at the top of the porch steps. That wasn’t what I was expecting him to say.
“What do you mean wet?”
“The floor’s wet. Like really wet.”
My stomach sinks. No, no, no, no . This can’t be happening. I mumble nonsense, then disconnect the call and shove my phone into my pocket.
With a harsh inhale, I turn around and go back for the shoes I left just inside the door. Then I scurry across the yard far less delicately than before. The moment I enter the house, I step into a puddle.
“Where’s it coming from?” I shriek at my brothers, who are standing, stunned, in front of the couch.
“No idea.” Casen shrugs. “We got up, and the floor is wet.”
A small cry climbs its way out of my throat as I dart to the kitchen. The panic already coursing through me has now been joined by annoyance. Why didn’t they go looking when they first heard the noise? This is not a mess that can just be wiped away. This is full-on damage.
As thought after thought races through me, I spin in a circle, trying to figure out where to look first.
“Kitchen,” I mutter, pulling myself to a stop.
I throw open the cabinet beneath the sink, but it’s dry.
“Can you guys help me look?” I plead over my shoulder. Slamming the cabinet door, I straighten and head for the laundry room next.
Casen and Quinn are already there, standing side by side, watching water flow from behind the washer. Dammit. I whimper at the thought of what this month’s bill will look like.
“I have to get the main water valve turned off.” Without hesitation, I turn and dart to the back door. When I don’t find it there, I run around the front of the house, suddenly thankful for the broken fence panels.
I don’t find it there either there.
“Everything okay?”
Heart pounding, I whip around, finding Thayer standing beside his work truck, a hand shielding his eyes from the sun.
“A pipe broke, and the house is flooding. I need to turn the?—”
Thayer eats up the distance between us faster than seems humanly possible. “Let’s check the garage,” he says. “That’s where ours is.”
“I can’t open it from out here.”
It’s an old door, and it’s locked from the inside. So I hustle in through the front door with Thayer hot on my heels. When he steps into the garage, his fingers find the light switch before mine do, flooding the space with light. And within seconds, he locates the valve and has the water shut off.
“Thank you.” I breathe out a sigh of relief.
“You’re welcome.” He nods to the house, and I turn, following his silent direction.
Inside, the floor is covered in nearly two inches of water now. It could be so much worse, but even this is threatening to send me over the edge.
“Fuck,” he curses, assessing the damage.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Fuck.”
“I have a wet vac. I’ll get it set up and start sucking out the water, but this…”
“Yeah, I know.” I don’t need him to finish his sentence to know how bad this is. A flood like this means the carpet will have to be torn out. The baseboards will need to go too. God only knows what else.
I press my lips together, holding back tears. Or maybe a scream.
Why this?
Why now?
Why me?
When my phone rings in my pocket, I bite back a groan and pull it out.
Caleb.
“Is everything okay?” he asks before I can greet him. “I’m at the office, but I don’t see the files you were going to send me. ”
“No.” My voice cracks embarrassingly, and my face heats an instant later. “It’s not okay.”
He’s silent for a moment, but when he does speak, his voice has a steely edge. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
I press a hand to my aching forehead, a migraine already jackhammering its way through my skull. “My house flooded. There’s about two inches of water and?—”
“Fuck, I’ll call Thayer. Maybe he’s still home?—”
“It’s okay, he’s already here.” I run my trembling fingers through my hair. “I’m going to call my insurance company too. But I’ll run over and email the papers first.”
“Fuck the papers.”
My heart lurches at the fury in his tone.
“I’m coming home.”
“W-What?” I stutter. “You just got to Boston. You need to be there for work.”
“It can wait.”
With every word he speaks, the tears push against my defenses, determined to pour out. I’ve never been one to complain, but I’ve already endured more than my fair share of upset in my life. Now this? My brothers need a home, and…
“It sounded like it couldn’t,” I finally reply, tamping down my rising panic attack.
“Halle.” His tone is stern, so unlike his typically gentle way. “You need help, don’t you?”
I bite my tongue to hold back a whimper. Yes, I need help, but admitting that out loud is more than I can bear. I’ve always had to handle my own shit. I don’t know how to let someone help me .
“Exactly,” he says when I remain silent. “I’ll get what I need from here and be on my way in thirty. Pack a bag. The boys too. Take it over to my place.”
Before I can protest, Caleb hangs up on me.
I stare at my phone and give myself a solid three seconds to wonder what the fuck just happened before I move. He ended the call like that on purpose, so I couldn’t argue with him. Smart man.
The boys have already unhooked their gaming console from where it was set up beneath the TV—naturally that was their main concern—and Casen is setting it on the kitchen table when I clap to get their attention. “Pack up your stuff. We’re going to have to stay somewhere else tonight.”
And tomorrow night too. And who knows how many nights after that.
They exchange a look, communicating in the silent way they do. “Are we going to have to sell the house?”
I snort. I was the only one stupid enough to buy the house, and that was before the water damage. “No, but…” I eye the water soaking into my sneakers and wiggle my toes, cringing at the way they squish. “I don’t know what kind of repairs we’re looking at. Water is serious. It means mold.”
“The house is moldy!” Quinn practically shrieks. “Isn’t mold deadly?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, sending up a silent prayer. “I just meant that water causes mold, and it doesn’t take a lot for that to happen. This much is enough to mold the floors and baseboards. ”
The worried look they exchange guts me. They’re fourteen-year-old goofballs, but they’re more perceptive than they let on. Their lives haven’t been easy either, and I hate that I can’t take away all the stressors. I want them to be teenagers, to enjoy being carefree at least a little before they have to grow up.
“Can we help?” Casen asks.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say no, but I won’t infantilize them. They’re strong boys, and they can clearly see that I need help. “Yeah, we need to get everything we can out of the water. With any luck, some of it will be salvageable.” I gesture to the couch and other furniture downstairs. Most of our belongings may have been thrift-store finds, but it doesn’t make the loss of it any easier to swallow.
Just as we’re starting, Thayer returns with his wet vac.
“Thank you so much.” If I can be thankful for one thing today, it’s that he hadn’t left for work yet.
“It’s not a problem,” he says, smoothing his hands down his jeans. “My wife is home, so if you need help or somewhere to hang out, just knock on the door. She knows what’s going on.”
“Thanks,” I say, throat tight. “I really appreciate it.”
The boys help me move furniture around, taking what we can upstairs and wiping each piece down. In the end, I think most of it will be fine. We use the wet vac to suck up all the standing water, then use every towel we own to soak up all we can. I tend to overreact, and honestly, I hope that’s the case now. If anyone could use a break, it’s me.
“There isn’t much else we can do right now.” Hands on my hips, I face my brothers .
Sweaty and a tad out of breath, my brothers eye me, but neither speaks. Casen pushes his hair out of his eyes.
“Are your bags packed yet?”
They nod in unison. I should be used to it by now, how in sync they are with each other, but I’m not sure I ever will be. “Okay, just hang out… wherever while I do mine, and then we’ll…” I trail off and sigh. I’m not sure how to even finish that thought.
I really don’t want to take Caleb up on his declaration—it was far too blunt to be called an offer—to stay with him, but I can’t afford a room at a hotel, regardless of whether insurance will eventually reimburse me.
With a deep breath in, I head to the stairs, resigned to accepting help. Maybe a normal person would do so easily, but my trauma response includes the need to be in control of every aspect of the emergency. How could it not when that’s what’s always been expected of me? And despite my self-awareness, it’s still difficult to fight the urge.
The stairs creak beneath my feet, further quieting my brothers’ whispers. They’re worried, and that’s the last thing I want. But the moment I enter my room, I freeze. Maybe because of the stress, but I can’t be sure.
I give myself a minute to mentally reboot. Then I yank a bag out of the closet, toss it onto the bed, and start packing. I don’t need much. We can easily come back over. But I find myself piling the bag full anyway.
As I zip it closed, a tear slides down my cheek.
Crap.
I straighten and sniff it back.
I hate crying .
“You’re so sensitive.” My mother’s voice echoes in my mind.
For as long as I can remember, she told me I was too emotional. Too sensitive. Too tender-hearted. Just too everything. Eventually, I learned to shut those parts of myself off. I stopped crying years and years ago. Now, I loathe the sensation. The weakness it brings with it.
“Halle?”
At the sound of my name in that gentle tone, my breath catches, and I spin around.
Caleb is standing in the doorway, still dressed in those gorgeous blue suit pants and fitted white shirt, though he’s shed the jacket. His head is lowered to keep from brushing the frame above him.
That tone, the genuine concern, causes the floodgates to open, and more tears fall.
I hastily swipe them away, frustrated with myself for showing him this weakness. Before I can turn away, he’s standing in front of me, cradling my face. His blue eyes are locked on mine and swimming with concern, not judgment. Not annoyance or disgust or any of the emotions that would flit across my mom’s face when I was sad.
“Can I hug you?” he asks.
Normally just the idea of being held would cause me to recoil. But in this moment, I can’t think of a single thing I want more. So I nod, maybe a little too vigorously, and he pulls me in close.
On instinct, I melt against him. He wraps his arms around me, chin resting on my head, and holds me tight. My arms hang like limp noodles at my sides, but he doesn’t let that stop him.
I sniffle, the sound muffled by his shirt, the urge to cry so strong I worry I won’t be able to keep the tears at bay any longer.
“Let it out, Hal.”
“I don’t want to ruin your shirt,” I mutter, bottom lip wobbling.
“Who cares about my shirt?” He pulls me impossibly closer, using the right amount of pressure to help regulate my system. “I have a million more.”
For some reason, that makes me giggle.
“I’m so sorry about the water,” he whispers.
“Nothing ever goes right for me. I should’ve expected this.”
He loosens his hold and ducks, meeting my eyes. “How could you have expected this? It was a freak accident, something your inspector probably should’ve caught. Not you.”
I press my lips together. “I waived the inspection in return for a price reduction.”
His shoulders sag. “Fuck.” He tugs me in tighter again.
“I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re not. You just wanted to put a roof over your brothers’ heads. Who can blame you for that?”
My chest warms a fraction. He gets it. I’ve only known the man for a month, and he already sees more of me than anyone ever has.
He doesn’t loosen his hold on me when he asks, “Are you ready to go? ”
“No,” I answer. With a thick swallow, I nuzzle into his chest a little more firmly. I’m feeling all kinds of vulnerable, but I force myself to ask for what I want. “I want you to hug me a little longer. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, Hal. I’ve got you.”
Stepping into Caleb’s guest bedroom is the closest I’ve ever come to being in a luxury hotel suite. Every detail is beautiful in an understated way. It’s a far cry from the ratty old quilt I always sleep with—the one currently draped over my arm—and my hand-me-down furniture. I have to fight a cringe when I set my quilt down on the fluffy white duvet.
“Bathroom is there.” He points to my left as he sets the bag he insisted on carrying on the bed. “You’ll share with Seda when she’s over. Hope that’s okay.”
“It’s fine. I’ve never not shared a bathroom before.” I exhale a heavy breath. There’s no way I’ll ever be able to repay Caleb for his generosity and kindness.
He moves in front of me, hands on his hips, and cocks his head. “What’s that sigh about?” Before I can answer, he snaps his fingers. “Let me guess, you’re worried that this is too much and you don’t know how you’ll return the favor. Am I right?”
I wrinkle my nose, chin jutted in the air. “Annoyingly spot-on.”
His responding smile is blinding.
Asshole .
Except Caleb is the farthest thing from an asshole there is.
He reaches out like he’s going to touch me, but when he’s mere millimeters away, he drops his hands to his sides. “Please don’t think you owe me anything. Anyone would do this.”
That’s the thing he doesn’t realize—no, not everyone would do this. He’s just that kind of guy.
Arms wrapped around my waist, I shrug. “I have no idea how long we’ll have to be out of the house.”
With any luck, there won’t be too much damage. Maybe we discovered it in time and got it cleaned up before anything could be truly destroyed. But I don’t dare hope. I learned long ago that my luck is too shitty for that.
“It’ll make me feel better if we help out while we’re here. I can buy groceries and cook dinner, and maybe Casen and Quinn can mow or?—”
“I like cooking and Thayer takes care of the grass.”
I frown up at him, gaze narrowing when I discover his blue eyes twinkling annoyingly with humor. “You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”
He shrugs and crosses his arms. The move makes his biceps strain against the white fabric of his dress shirt in a way that makes my mouth water. “No, I’m not.” His top lip curls a little, like he’s fighting a smile. “Get settled. I’m going to the office.” He sidesteps me.
I whip around, hair flying behind me. “Do you need me to?—”
He places one hand on the knob and holds the other up. “No.” Then he’s gone .
“Okay,” I reply to the now empty room. With a clap of my hands, I turn to the bed. “Get settled.”
I assess my bag, then peer over at the dresser beneath the wall-mounted TV. It seems silly to fill it with my stuff when there’s a chance we’ll be back home in a few days.
The door opens behind me, distracting me from my indecision. I half-expect to see Caleb back, but it’s Casen.
“Hey, Case.”
His eyes drop to the floor between us. “I’m really sorry I didn’t get up and check the second I heard something. We were playing, and—” He sniffles.
That tiny sound shatters my heart. He’s never been a crier.
I surge forward and wrap my arms around him. Any day now, he’ll be taller than me, but for now, I’m thankful he’s not. I don’t know that holding him like this would feel as comforting as it does.
“It’s okay, Case. I’m not mad.”
Frustrated about the situation, sure. But not mad. They’re just kids.
“It’s just… you’re doing so much for us. You moved us all this way, you got a second job, the house…” He trails off, gaze averted. “We shouldn’t be your responsibility. We’re a burden.”
I hold him tighter, like Caleb did for me. “You’re my family . I chose this. I chose you. Both of you. I want this. Promise. You’re not a burden to me, Case. Life likes to kick you when you’re already down. That’s just how it goes.” I step back, cupping his shoulders. “Shit happens. It just so happens that we get more than our share of the shit. But we’re not going to let it make us angry or bitter, okay? We’re better than that.”
He nods. “I love you. We’re lucky to have you.”
“Oh, Casen.” I yank him into another hug and blink back fresh tears. “I’m the lucky one.”
“Can I get in on the hugfest?”
I laugh at the sound of Quinn’s voice and hold out one arm.
“Things will get better,” I say as he crowds in close. “You’ll see.”
I have to believe that. Otherwise, I’ll drown.