5. Nelly
Nelly
Iwake up to the smell of coffee and rain beating against the windows like it's got a personal vendetta.
For a second, I don't move.
The ceiling above me isn't cracked. There are no exposed beams. No plastic tarp flapping overhead. Just smooth drywall, that awful popcorn texture, and the faint hum of an apartment that isn't actively falling apart around me.
My nose wrinkles.
Yeah. I hate this.
I shove the blankets off and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The floor is warm under my feet. Not splintered. Not uneven. Not threatening to give out if I step too hard. It should be comforting.
It isn't.
The rain hits harder, a steady, rhythmic rattle against the glass that pulls me toward the window. I cross the room and push the curtain aside just enough to peek out.
Gray.
Everything is gray.
The street below is already glossed over with water. Gutters struggle. Puddles form where they shouldn't be. Wind pushes the rain sideways, turning it into sheets that blur the world beyond the complex.
My house sits just within view from this angle.
Or what's left of it.
Nash's bedroom has the best view of the whole thing, but from this window I can still make out the back half. The tarp stretches over the roof like a bandage, already bowing under the weight of the rain. Water gathers against the bright blue material.
My stomach twists.
A voice murmurs from the living room, low and steady. Words like severe weather system and flash flood warning drift down the hallway. I follow the sound through the empty apartment.
There's a weather report droning on the television.
Nash's place is quiet in that too-clean, everything-in-its-place kind of way. The couch cushions are straight. The counters are wiped down. The window taking a beating from the rain still gleams on the inside. The scent of coffee that hasn't burned yet fills the air.
There are no tools. No scrap wood. Nothing that's half-finished. Nothing for me to upgrade, or revamp, or piece back together.
It feels… wrong.
The TV glows in the corner. The weatherman gestures at a map covered in angry reds and yellows. I squint, rubbing at my eyes to clear the grogginess still hanging on me.
"The system is expected to stall over the area for several days," the weatherman says. "Heavy rainfall totals could lead to localized flooding, especially in low-lying areas—"
I step closer and cross my arms over my chest as I watch. Reports of flooding are already coming in from some of the larger cities around us. The weekly forecast pops up, and it's nothing but high percentages of thunderstorms day in and day out.
For several days.
Just like the weatherman said.
"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter.
The coffee pot sits half full on the counter, steam swirling off the top. A used mug sits upside down on the drying rack, already rinsed. I grab a clean one from the cabinet and pour myself a cup. It's still hot, and the smell alone is strong enough to punch me awake as I take a sip.
At least Nash isn't here to chew my ear off about not making up my bed.
That seems like something he'd hate. A messy bed.
The weatherman keeps talking as I ease down onto the couch.
"—risk of power outages—"
"—ground saturation—"
"—infrastructure strain—"
Each phrase lands heavier than the last. The words I catch are patchy; I've never been a morning person. But my gaze drifts back to the window, where water is already pooling near the edge of the street beyond his balcony.
And if water is pooling here?
My grip tightens around the mug. The house. One of the things on my list was grading the yard.
The foundation will get soaked in this weather.
"Okay," I murmur. "Okay. Think. You can do this."
My brain moves a million miles a second. Every day this storm drags on is another day I'm not working. Another day my materials sit unused, now with a risk of water damage. Another day interest ticks up and bills stack higher.
Another day the house takes on more damage than it already has.
I set the mug down harder than I mean to.
"I can't just sit here," I grumble as I stand.
I march back into my bedroom and snatch my phone off the bedside table. I scroll until I find Beau's name. I've been meaning to call him anyway, so I can hash out my financial situation with all the kinks thrown into my plan.
Beau answers on the second ring. "If this is about your taxes, Nelly, I swear to God—"
"It's worse than taxes," I cut in, pacing toward the window. "My roof is fucked."
There's a beat of silence. "Ah. So, we're starting the day strong."
"Ford and Knox came out last night," I say, words coming fast. "Whole thing needs to be replaced. No patch jobs. No shortcuts. Full replacement, up to code, ventilation, the works."
Another pause.
I can practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. "Tell me you're joking."
I scoff. "Do I sound like I'm joking?"
"You sound like you haven't slept."
"That's not the point."
A quiet exhale crackles through the phone. "Okay. All right. Give me the details."
I pace around the guest bedroom. "Chief Harlan condemned the house yesterday morning, so we assume the worst of every major system in it.
I've got a tarp up on the roof for now, but we've got storms rolling in for the next few days.
I can't do anything until that clears. Materials are going to spike if demand goes up after this. Labor—"
"—will depend on how backed up they get," Beau finishes. "Did you say the house got condemned? Do we need to factor living costs into all this?"
I pause. "Actually, no."
"No?"
"No."
"Where are you staying, then?"
I sigh heavily. "Nash may have offered me his guest bedroom."
Beau goes silent before he bursts out laughing.
My face flattens. "For real?"
His laughter continues.
"Beau."
"Hold on," he says through a laugh. "That's rich. You, living with Nash. You're going to drive him insane, you know that?"
"Hey, he's the one that offered, not me."
His laughter dies down. "You know you can always come stay with me, right?"
I don't tell him about Levi's offer. "Oh, I know, and I appreciate that. Look, not having living expenses right now is a good thing. That should help factor into things, right?"
He clears his throat and his professional voice takes over again. "Yes, you're right. Not having living expenses, per usual, is going to help you out in this situation."
Finally, we're back on track. "Exactly. But the issue with the roof is, Ford and Knox can't warranty any of their work unless they upgrade the decking, which is materials and labor I didn't plan for."
He hums under his breath. "You still planning to flip it as is after renovation?"
"Yep."
Papers shuffle. Keys click. "Then we need to look at timeline versus holding costs."
"I know that."
"I know you know that," he says dryly. "I'm saying it out loud so you don't spiral."
I huff out a breath despite myself.
"Talk to me," he says.
I press my free hand against the window, watching water snake along the curb.
"I need to know I'm covered for the worst case.
I've taken projects like this before. If there's one thing wrong, there's always more.
So, let's take the money I've got in my accounts now and price out the worst-case scenario for everything big in the house.
Let's say this storm soaks things. That means electrical work along with the roof.
Tearing out all of the walls and putting them back up instead of just doing the upstairs.
Let's figure out what kind of worst-case scenario I can absorb before I'm in trouble. "
"Worst case," he echoes as the clickety-clack of his keys picks up.
I hate how long I have to wait for his response.
"All right," he says with a sigh. "Worst-case scenario, you can handle completely replacing the roof and the electrical work.
You can also redo all of the flooring in that nice hardwood you always put down if there's water damage from the storm.
But after that, you run out of liquidity before the house sells. "
Now it's my turn to pinch the bridge of my nose. "Great."
"Best case, we tighten everything. Cut where we can. Push for a faster turnaround once the roof's done."
I drag my hand down my face. "How bad is it?"
There's a longer pause this time. "It's tight, Nelly, I'm not going to lie to you. This house was already a risk, as is."
"I know."
"But if nothing else goes wrong outside of the roof and the electrical?" he says. "You can make it work."
"And if something does?"
Rain slams harder against the glass. "Then we get creative."
I let out a breath that feels like it's been sitting in my chest all morning.
"Cool," I mutter. "Love that for me."
"I'll call Ford and Knox," Beau says. "See if there's any wiggle room on labor costs and materials. Maybe they're up for staggering payments. Maybe they've got a materials discount. Something. Just let me talk with them first before we panic."
Relief flickers for a moment. "Thanks, Beau. I appreciate it."
"Hey," he says, "what am I here for if not to stop you from financially self-destructing?"
I snort. "You love it."
"I absolutely do not."
A smile tugs at my mouth despite everything. "You still sound like shit."
"I was on the phone with my mother before you called," he says flatly.
"There it is."
"She asked if anything big in my life has changed."
I wince. "Wondering if you've come into your Alphahood yet, as she calls it?"
He scoffs. "Yeah. Real fun conversation. Had a blast telling her I'm not dating, either."
I shake my head, leaning my forehead against the glass as I gaze through the sheets of rain toward the house. "You'd think they'd get tired of asking."
"You'd think," he echoes.
"They ever going to drop it?"
"They've downgraded from 'concern' to 'disappointment,' so that's progress."
I huff out a laugh. "Proud of you."
"Thank you. I strive to disappoint."
I smile. "Black sheep behavior. I get it."
He chuckles. "It's my favorite animal to be."
For a moment, the conversation with Beau eases something in the marrow of my bones. He's always been easy to talk to. He's one of my oldest friends. Sure, I know Nash from high school, but it's not like we kept up with things the way Beau and I did.
Beau was my best friend growing up.
It kills me that his family won't accept that he's a Beta.
Another gust throws rain against the window and rips me back to the present. "All right, I need to get moving."
"Moving for what?" Beau asks.
I glance outside, where water creeps higher along the curb. "I didn't get to grading the yard yet. I've got to put some kind of barrier around the foundation of the house."
He pauses. "You're kidding me. You're going to get yourself sick."
"I'm going to go bankrupt if I end up with foundation issues on top of everything else."
He sighs because he knows I'm right. "Call me if anything changes."
"I will."
The drive to the next town is a nightmare, but I have to get out of Nash's place.
I can't just sit there and do nothing. My windshield wipers can barely keep up with the downpour, and I have to follow the taillights of the car in front of me just to get into the parking lot for the home improvement store.
That should've been my first clue.
I don't waste time grabbing what I need. Rain chains. Barrels. More tarp. A wide push broom. Anything that'll direct gathering water away from the foundation. Anything I put down as soil for grading would just wash away in this kind of weather.
By the time I get back to the house, I'm soaked, cold, and running on pure stubbornness. I haul everything out, my boots splashing through water that's already starting to gather around the base of the house.
"Not happening on my watch," I mutter.
The rain chains go up first. It's not hard to rip the rusty downspouts away from the gutters lining the edges of the house.
The chains hook up right at the gutter holes, and I get fifty-five-gallon rain barrels set up beneath them.
The chain slides into the barrel, and already the water is funneling down the metal in a steady, controlled stream instead of splashing straight onto the ground.
"Good," I breathe as rain drips down my body.
Next problem: the pooling.
I grab the wide push broom I found at the store and get to work. With the rain chains doing the heavy lifting, the ground around the house gets a chance to breathe. Cold water seeps into my boots as I sweep the standing water away from the foundation.
My arms ache with every movement.
Rain pelts my back. My hair sticks to my face. My jacket clings, heavy and useless. I end up shrugging it off just to be rid of the weight, and the cold wind does nothing to change my decision: even with the chills, even during storm season, the work has to be done.
I won't let it stop me.
Time blurs as I work. One of the gutters sags underneath the weight of all the water, so that's where I decide to put one of the tarps.
I grab the bright blue material and drag it over to the side of the house, my arms burning with a need for relief.
My shoulders scream and my fingers go numb as I tear at the plastic packaging the tarp is folded in.
I don't stop.
I can't stop.
Not when the rain gets heavier. Not when my teeth start to chatter. Not when my vision blurs from water dripping into my eyes.
I won't be able to flip this house if there's foundation damage.
"Are you insane!?"
The second I hear Nash's voice, I close my eyes.
"You're going to get sick out here in this rain, Nelly! Come on, are you for real right now?!"
I wipe at my face and turn my head to find Nash standing only a few feet away, his umbrella keeping him from getting soaked. His frustrated gaze locks with mine like I've offended him by existing in a storm.
My heart kicks hard against my ribs as lightning flashes through the sky, illuminating just how sick of my shit he already is.
Something tells me this conversation isn't going to be a pleasant one.