Chapter 8
8
Amy
The week of her honeymoon felt entirely surreal and not just because she wasn’t on her honeymoon. Her life had fallen apart, yet she didn’t feel as bad as she probably should. That was largely due to Zach and Kincaid.
They had to go to work every day—though Kincaid’s hours were more flexible than Zach’s, and he was also working at home part-time—which meant she had the house to herself most of the time during the day. Even when Kincaid was working from home, he spent most of his time in his office on the phone or the computer, leaving her to her own devices.
She didn’t love that part.
But she also didn’t feel totally alone.
Zach texted her multiple times throughout the day. Whenever Kincaid was home, he was constantly checking to see if she needed anything—hiding away in her room didn’t keep him from doing so. If anything, it seemed to make him more concerned and more interested in what she was doing, so she still couldn’t wallow alone in there.
Every evening, one of her friends surprised her by stopping by for dinner, except for Marissa who had had to leave town for work again. But she called on the evening no one was coming over. Amy was surprised, though Kincaid and Zach weren’t.
It was Sam who quietly confirmed that Kincaid was behind the scheduling.
To keep from going crazy while she was alone, Amy spent her days being as busy as possible. There was a lot to do, and as long as she didn’t think about why she was doing it—like mailing back unopened gifts and answering emails from concerned friends and family members—she was just fine. If she thought about it as though she was her own secretary doing admin work, it became downright easy.
I’m not Amy, devastated by having to explain to yet another concerned cousin that I’m doing just fine… I’m writing this email on behalf of Amy.
I’m not Amy, so I don’t need to cry over going to the post office with an armful of boxes for four days in a row… I’m mailing these gifts back on behalf of Amy.
Though, she did deliberately go to a different post office each day. The drive as she went farther afield helped clear her head, and that way, she didn’t feel like the workers were wondering what the hell she was doing there for four days in a row, mailing multiple boxes. She didn’t need the judgment of strangers; she was already judging herself hard enough.
Her parents checked in every other day, too, despite being on their trip. At least those calls were brief.
The catharsis she’d felt after the scene Zach and Kincaid had given her was slowly wearing off over the week, but at the same time, she didn’t feel like she could ask them for more. They’d already done too much. Were doing too much. Giving her a room to stay in, helping her move her stuff, having her friends come over…
They didn’t need a needy, clingy houseguest hanging on them all the time just because she was dumb enough to get engaged to a total asshole.
I think I might be working my way toward the anger portion of grieving.
Except she was as mad at herself for grieving as she was at Jeremy for being such a jerk. She was even more mad at herself for trusting Noelle so much. For trusting both of them.
The madder she got, the harder she scrubbed at the spot on the stove that she was trying to get out. It was Friday afternoon, both the guys were at work, and she was determined to make their house spotless before they got home. She’d spent the morning listening to the Martinis and Murder podcast while she cleaned, but for the afternoon, she’d switched over to the Tortured Poets Department .
Everything but the last two songs fit her mood perfectly.
She’d turned the volume all the way up, so when it suddenly cut off completely, she jumped and screamed in surprise, whirling around. Kincaid stood there, one eyebrow raised, hand hovering over the speaker she’d connected her phone to.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said a little sheepishly. Even hunching his shoulders a little, he couldn’t exactly make himself look small.
Today, he’d gone to work in a suit, and he must have taken the jacket off when he’d come home because now he only had on the light blue button-down shirt he’d been wearing beneath it. The sleeves were rolled up, showing off his forearms, which she tried very hard not to look at because it reminded her of Sunday night, even though Zach had been the one to actually spank her. Her scalp tingled, as though she could still feel his fingers in her hair.
Get over yourself, Amy. Stop lusting after men you can’t have.
Probably shouldn’t be lusting at all.
But with heartbreak came the urge for a rebound, and there was definitely a part of her that wanted to lose herself and her mind in a night of really hot, amazing sex. Just, obviously, she couldn’t do that with Kincaid. Or Zach. Or both of them. Oh my God, stop thinking about it.
“It’s okay.” She made herself smile at him, even though her heart was still racing, and her head was full of impure thoughts about two men who were just being nice to her and trying to help her out. God, she was pathetic. “I just didn’t realize you were going to be home so soon.”
“Finished up my meeting early.” He leaned against the counter, his gaze scanning over the kitchen. “Wow. It looks amazing in here. Thank you for cleaning.”
She snorted, waving her hand in deprecation.
“I figure it’s the least I can do, considering how you and Zach have opened your home to me and taken care of me all week.”
Kincaid tilted his head to the side, his gaze sharpening as he focused in on her. “You think we’ve been taking care of you all week?”
She stared at him for a moment, wet sponge squishy against her palm, before she answered.
“Um… yes.” Duh.
“You do realize you’ve made dinner every night this week, right?” The eyebrow he raised now was twice as effective as the one he’d greeted her with. “You also made lunches for us every morning.”
“Oh, well… I mean, you’re both working. I’ve just been here.”
“You also tried to take out the trash on Wednesday. And you did gather up everything in the house before Zach or I realized what you were doing and actually took it out.”
“Well… I’m just trying to be a good housemate.”
“How many of the rooms did you clean today?”
Okay, now she was starting to feel a little pissy about how he was questioning her. Couldn’t he just accept the gesture? Why did he need to poke and prod at what she was doing?
“Are you saying it’s a bad thing to help out around the house? That it’s bad that I want to do something for you and Zach since you’re letting me stay here?”
“No.” He said it so definitively, she couldn’t even argue.
Amy shifted her gaze away from his, feeling uncomfortable with exactly how deep it pierced.
“I’m saying you shouldn’t feel like you have to earn staying here. You’re paying rent, we already talked about that, remember? Which means we should be sharing in the chores around the house. I just don’t want you to think that you have to do this next week, too, after you go back to work. If you’re working off excess energy around the house this week, I get it, but you are part of this household even if you hadn’t lifted a single finger.”
Now, she was definitely uncomfortable. And pissed, though she wasn’t sure why she was mad. Her skin was hot, and her stomach was churning the way it did before a fight. The excess energy he’d mentioned was buzzing underneath her skin and making her want to lash out, but that wasn’t any way to thank someone who had opened their house to her. Yes, she was paying rent, but she was also well aware that she was an intruder into his and Zach’s life.
“You could just say thank you,” she muttered, then dared to peek at him to see how he reacted.
The dark, piercing gaze that met hers was full of contemplation, and he was silent for a long enough moment that she wanted to squirm, then melt into a puddle of shame. If she was a puddle, she’d be able to slide away, unnoticed, instead of having to stand here with someone who saw her far too clearly.
“Thank you for cleaning up the house, Amy,” he said very formally after a long moment.
Somehow, it made her feel even worse. She kind of wished he’d yelled at her instead for being bratty. Or chastised her. Something.
Him being nice to her after she’d just gotten mouthy with him felt wrong.
She felt on edge, waiting for the back end, waiting for the rest of whatever he was going to say.
Instead, there was just silence, like he was waiting for her.
“No problem,” she said after an excruciatingly long moment. “I’m, um, gonna go take a shower.”
“Okay. I’ll make dinner.” A ghost of a smile flitted around his mouth, but Amy barely took notice of it as she fled the room.
What was wrong with her? What had she been waiting for? Her skin still felt too tight, like her body was buzzing and humming beneath it, vibrating with extra energy as she waited for… something.
Something hurtful.
Something that she was bracing herself against.
Jeremy would have said something mean in the same situation. Well, if he’d even noticed that she’d cleaned the house. Or made him dinner. Or any of the other things Kincaid had both noted and listed.
God, was she really that used to being invisible? Taken for granted?
Knowing Kincaid was making dinner rather than letting her do it made her want to run back to the kitchen to help, but she’d already said she was going to take a shower. Plus, as he’d pointed out, she’d already made dinner every night that week.
He and Zach had been incredibly grateful every night and insisted on doing the dishes. The first night, they’d had to practically kick her out of the kitchen.
Okay, so maybe he had a point that it’s been a little excessive.
Sighing, Amy closed her bathroom door behind her and pulled her phone out of her pocket rather than getting straight to undressing. She had the group text, but she didn’t want to talk to everyone . So, she called Sam, who answered after only one ring.
“Hey, girlfriend.”
“Hey, got a minute?” She’d picked up quickly, which meant probably yes, but Amy always wanted to check.
“Sure.” Sam’s tone was overly cheerful and encouraging, and Amy had the feeling that even if Sam didn’t actually have the time, she’d make the time. Which meant Amy would have to be quick because she didn’t want to hold Sam back in case she was doing something important.
“If I was living with you and I made dinner every night, would you think that’s going overboard?” Ugh. Saying the words out loud made her cringe because she could hear how that might be a little overboard now that she’d said it.
Sam’s brief silence in answer spoke volumes.
“Um… did we discuss you making dinner every night?”
“Well… no.”
“Am I ever helping? Or doing the dishes?”
“You do the dishes every night.” Amy decided not to mention that she’d tried to fight Kincaid and Zach on that. Sam had only asked about what was being done, not whether or not she’d tried to do that, too.
“Well… I guess that seems fair. I probably would have wanted to talk about it first or make a schedule. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just… Kincaid seems to think I’ve been doing too much around the house.” Which made her grumpy, but Sam laughed.
“I kind of wondered if this was going to happen,” she said.
“If what was going to happen?” Some of Amy’s frustration was starting to leak into her voice, but she really didn’t know what Sam was talking about.
“You and Kincaid are both caretakers. Put two caretakers in a house and you’re both going to try to take care of each other. I kind of wish I was Zach, just so I could watch you two dance around, trying to be the one to do the caretaking.”
Amy opened her mouth, then closed it.
Huh.
Sam might have a point. It had felt a bit like a dance with Kincaid, and although Zach had been firm in insisting he do the dishes, she was butting heads with Kincaid more than Zach over the day-to-day stuff.
“Just make sure to let him do some things for you,” Sam continued. “He needs it.”
Crap.
Now, she felt guilty.
At least she was letting him make dinner tonight. She’d have to do more of that, even though it felt wrong to sit back and let someone else handle everything. Well, obviously, she didn’t feel that way in the bedroom, but in everything else, it felt like she was supposed to be doing something.
Crap.
Was this how she’d been making Kincaid feel by doing everything? Like he was itchy and useless because she’d taken over doing everything around the house?
Turning to face the wall, phone still to her ear, Amy gently banged her head against the flat surface. She couldn’t do it too loudly because she didn’t want Kincaid or Sam to hear her.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed that about Kincaid and hadn’t been thinking about how she might make him feel. No wonder he’d been slow to thank her. No wonder he’d been pointing out everything that she’d been doing. She just hoped he didn’t think she was deliberately trying to take his place or something.
Maybe they could figure out a chore chart.
“Right. I will definitely make sure I let him do some things for me.”
“You’ve been doing everything, haven’t you?” Sam’s amusement was unabated.
“Not the dishes.”
“Uh-huh.” Then Sam’s voice shifted, and Amy kind of wished she’d stayed amused. “Is everything else okay? How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” Standard answer. And true. She was as fine as she could be.
“Are you sure? Even with Jeremy and Noelle coming home tomorrow?” Sam’s voice had softened; she was apologetic, but she was still asking. Still prodding at the wound.
“I don’t see how that’s going to affect me.” At least she was going to do her best to make sure it didn’t affect her. That nothing either of those people ever did ever affected her again.
“Well, good. But if you need me, all you have to do is call. That goes for all your friends. Or… do you want to hang out tomorrow?”
“Aren’t you going to the club tomorrow?”
“I don’t have to.”
As if she was going to keep her friend from doing something she enjoyed just to babysit her. She wasn’t that pathetic.
“No, go. If I need you, I’ll come there.” Even as she said the words, her nose wrinkled in reaction. She wasn’t quite ready to return to Stronghold or Marquis yet, and she knew it.
But there was no way she was going to burden Sam with her issues. Jeremy and Noelle coming home was a non-issue, anyway. It wasn’t like she was going to see them. They were no longer part of her life.
Period.