63. Chapter Sixty-Three
I sit in the driveway for a long time before I go inside. The front door is unlocked, and Cole is sitting in the living room watching TV when I walk in. He gets up right away.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
We stare at each other until he says, “You know where your room is. I haven’t touched anything. All your stuff is still where you left it.”
I nod once. “Thanks.”
His gaze burns into the back of my head as I walk down the hallway. Before heading up, I glance into the kitchen and almost fall flat on my ass when I see the state it’s in.
It’s a fucking disaster.
There are takeout food containers everywhere. Pizza boxes piled to the cabinets. Dirty dishes overflowing the sink.
And the smell… don’t even get me started on the smell.
I glance over my shoulder, but Cole must have gone back to the couch.
How dare the universe make me a good human and give me a shitty life.
I go upstairs, put my stuff away, then head into the kitchen and start cleaning. There is no way I can leave this like this. Cole is struggling, and I have to help him. I’ve never, and I mean never, seen the kitchen look anything close to this before. Hell, Cole never even let the garbage get too full.
It doesn’t take long for Cole to come in. “What are you doing?” he asks carefully.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
I shove a pizza box into the large black trash bag. There was still half a pizza in there, but it was hard as a rock. Who knows how long it’s been sitting here?
“Don’t come here and clean,” he says. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Cole, don’t tell me what to do. If you don’t like it, just get out.” I wave him off tiredly.
He frowns, but I ignore him and go back to what I’m doing.
Eventually, he sighs and starts to help me.
“You don’t need to do this. I’m capable of cleaning,” I tell him.
“Well, it’s my mess.”
“Exactly,” I grumble, turning to face him. “It’s a mess, which is so unlike you, meaning you weren’t able to do it. Which is why I am. Just… go to bed or something.”
I shake my head and tie off the bag, leaving it by the kitchen door. I grab another trash bag and keep going. At this rate, I’ll fill up four.
Cole says nothing to me, but he stays and helps. He works on the dishes while I finish the trash. When I’m done, I go to the fridge, where I find moldy vegetables, expired milk, and meat that is a color I didn’t think it could turn.
I grab yet another trash bag and get rid of everything in the fridge that is bad, then wipe everything down. When I’m done with that, Cole is nearly finished with the dishes. So I wipe down the counters. He sweeps the floor. I clean the table. He grabs the trash bags to take them outside. I step in something sticky, so I go to the washroom, where I’m assaulted by a horrible smell, only to find the floor covered in dirty laundry. I drop my head to my chest and curse inwardly. Grabbing a handful, I open the washer to shove it on, only to find some in there that smells to high heavens, because they’ve been sitting in there for who knows how long. Tossing in a ton of soap, I start them to wash again, check the dryer and find it empty. I grab the mop bucket and mop, go to the kitchen, and mop the floor.
Cole is standing in the doorway when I’m done. “Thank y—” I move past him, bumping into him, which I don’t mean to do, but I keep going without giving an apology.
I’m so angry.
I don’t know why I’m angry, I just am.
Why the hell is his house such a mess? Why is he such a mess and not doing anything about it? How the hell did his house get so damn messy if he’s been in the hospital with Chris, then with me?
The answer is obvious.
It was a mess before that.
And that’s what pisses me off, because he left me alone for weeks while he was struggling. He struggled alone. Didn’t ask for help. Didn’t allow me to help him.
But this is what we need to do.
Yeah. Yeah, it is. So why the hell am I still so angry?
When I step into his room, I find it as messy as I expected. Clothes everywhere. And it smells like shit in here too. This used to be my favorite place. It always smelled like Cole. Now? I can hardly stand the scent. I gather all the dirty clothes from the floor, strip the bed and remake it with new sheets. I’m surprised Cole hasn’t come up here yet, but he probably thinks I went to my own room to bed.
Once all the dirty clothes are in a pile by the door, I venture into the bathroom. And good gods above, it’s disgusting.
I curse under my breath, then get to work. It doesn’t take as long as I thought it would. Maybe because the bathroom isn’t too big. Maybe because I’m taking my anger out on cleaning. When I get all the clothes together and carry them downstairs, that’s when Cole finds me again.
“What are you—are those my bed sheets?”
He follows me into the washroom.
“Bryson, what the hell are you doing?” he barks.
“Didn’t we already go over this, Cole?” I ask, glaring at him.
I sort all the dirty laundry into piles that’re sized for the wash because I’m not going to be here to do it all.
“You don’t have to clean my house.”
I don’t answer, just keep sorting.
“Bryson.”
Still don’t say anything. I keep the piles neat against the wall, hoping this will be enough to get him to do it himself. Even if he doesn’t fold them, at least they’ll be clean, and this smell will go away.
“Bryson, damnit. Answer me!”
“No!” I stand and whirl toward him. “No, Cole. I don’t want to answer you. I don’t want to talk to you. Hell, I don’t even want to look at you.”
He looks as if I’ve slapped him, taking a step back.
“Don’t you get it? Don’t you see how hard this is for me?” I ask, throwing my arms up. He opens his mouth, but I hold up a hand. “Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter.” I turn back to the laundry. “I’ll do as much of this as I can while I’m here, but I’m not folding any of it. I fucking hate folding laundry.” The washer buzzes that it’s done, so I take everything out and throw it in the dryer, then shove another load into the wash. Cole stares at me like I’ve grown another arm.
When I’m done in here, I head upstairs and close the door to my room, then fall onto the bed.
I swear I feel him on the other side of the door. I know he’s there. I don’t know how I know he’s there, I just do. And it annoys me to no end. Because he isn’t being inappropriate. I think he’s just doing what he knows. He’s trying to make me feel better, take care of me, but he’s so fucked up right now that he doesn’t know how to.
I get up and go to the door, pulling it open.
Yep, there he is.
His lips part, eyes widening in surprise.
“What?” I ask.
“I didn’t even knock.”
“What do you want, Cole?”
“I just… wanted to apologize.”
“For what?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Everything?”
“Apology accepted. Can I go to sleep now?”
It has to be close to two am at this point. I’m exhausted.
His shoulders sag, and he nods. The urge to hug him overcomes me, but I push it away. I turn and go to bed, not bothering to shut the door. Maybe he’ll feel better if it’s open. Or maybe I feel better knowing it’s open, and he’s right down the hall.
I’d love nothing more than to crawl into his bed with him and let him hold me. Because it will make me feel better. But I can’t do that. Not anymore.