Chapter 37
"Well,” Mack says the next morning. “I just heard from the contractor.”
I wince. Between taking so much time off from work and the price of new sofas and cars, I’ve been dreading this conversation.
“How bad is it?”
Mack frowns. “Unfortunately, it was a bit worse than we thought.”
I blink--my kitchen is decimated, my bathrooms aren’t usable, most of the light fixtures are broken, and there’s holes in nearly every wall.
“How could it be worse?” I finally ask.
“There were holes in a lot of the walls, which we knew, but when they went to repair them, they found mold."
"Mold?" I blink, wide-eyed. Every homeowner knows there's not a more expensive word than mold, except for maybe foundation.
Mack nods. "They say you’re going to have to stay out of there for six weeks, for full remediation. Then they’ll be able to start work on the other stuff. I'm sorry, Gabrielle. You're stuck with us for awhile longer."
"I don't mind living here." It's the truth--as far as roommates go, the guys in this house are pretty great. "I just hope that you guys don't get sick of me, is all. I'm not trying to cramp your style."
"You aren't,” he says.
I raise my eyebrows. “Remember the Amy incident?"
"Amy and I called it quits," Axe says, passing through.
"I thought you really liked her," Mack says.
"I did." He shrugs. "But I guess I was just a booty call to her."
Mack frowns. "That sucks, dude. I'm sorry."
Axe shrugs again. "I'm going to take some time off from women and work on my plan for fiscal domination instead."
"Sounds like a good idea."
“I'm looking for investment properties. If you know of any, let me know.”
“I saw one the other day,” I offer. “Just past downtown. The outside needs some work, but the inside was way nicer. It’s for sale by owner, and looks like it’s been for sale for awhile.”
“Where’s this?” Axe tilts his head.
“I forget the address.” I turn to Mack. “Hugh Danvers’ place?”
“I know it,” Axe says. “I used to buy a little weed from Hugh, for artistic purposes. I’ll give him a call, see what’s up.”
Mack waits until Axe is up the stairs, his bedroom door shut behind him before he turns to me and murmurs, "Amy must have hurt him bad if he's taking a break from women. Axe loves women."
I wince. "That sucks. I hope he's ok."
"He will be. He's just spent most of his adult life looking for the one, and she hasn't showed up yet."
"By the way he talks, I would have thought he's never settling down."
Mack shakes his head. "He's deeper than you'd think. And despite his one-liners, he's a really solid guy."
"Then I hope he finds what he's looking for eventually," I say honestly.
"It'll be worth the wait, no matter how long it takes."
And even though Mack's words are about Axe, I can't help but notice that his eyes are on me.
I clear my throat. “I’m going to have to figure something out for the next parole visit. It’s in a couple days.”
Mack frowns. “He shouldn't need to go into your house, just Alex’s.”
We’ve been careful to make it look like Alex is still living in the pool house. His stuff is there, but he never actually goes there. He’s either at work or the big Victorian house. He sleeps on a blow-up mattress in the office, and it’s working fine for everyone. At least for now.
Mack says that Dylan and Haven Security have a plan going to get Alex clear of the thumb drive thing, but they both think it’s best that neither of us know much about it. I’m happy to leave that to them, honestly. I have enough to deal with.
I grab my laptop--once again grateful that I’d randomly thrown the thing in my purse the day that my house was ransacked--and pull up my Pinterest board.
“Whatcha doing?” Mack walks around me and looks over my shoulder.
“Finding cheaper options,” I say grimly.
The truth was, I’d already found cheaper options. I had three boards going for my kitchen renovation, alone. I’d marked them Dream, Mid-Range, and Budget. Now, with the mold, I was going to have to make another one and probably name it As Cheap As Possible, or Bare Bones.
I know I should be grateful. Insurance was going to cover some of the damage.
But something I had just learned was that most insurance companies won't reimburse for items if you don't have a purchase receipt for it. So all that furniture I’d inherited, all the stuff I’d found at thrift stores--none of that was covered.
I was going to have to stock a household from scratch. IKEA was going to be my new best friend.
Mack watches as I bring up my kitchen and house inspiration boards. He taps on the one marked Dream. “Can you send me a link to that? I know a guy who does countertop remnants for super cheap. We might be able to go through him for cheaper than laminate.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Really? That would be awesome.” I shoot him links to the boards he’s interested in. “But I have to know pretty soon. The contractor is going to start asking me about materials.”
“Sure.” He taps on his cell phone. “Got ‘em. And I just shot him a text. I’ll let you know what he says.”
“I still don't know what I’m going to say to Mr. Franklin, though.”
Mack shrugs. “I don't see why you have to tell him anything. He’s not your parole officer.”
I wince. “You’ve never met the guy.”
“When is this meeting, again?”
“In two days.”
Mack gives me a swift kiss on the cheek. “Really, Gabriella, I wouldn't worry about it.”