Chapter 9 Alex #2
“I can give you a list,” I said, handing her back the toolbox. “Roofers. People who won’t rip you off. Guys I use for my flips.”
She hesitated but then nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”
I turned to leave.
But didn’t.
Because just then, footsteps pounded up the stairs, followed by Dottie’s voice carrying like a siren.
“Alex? You up there?” She appeared on the landing, took one look at the fixed door, and then grinned. “Well I’ll be damned. Look at you two. Domestic already.”
New York groaned. “Dottie.”
“What?” said Dottie cheerfully. “I call it like I see it.”
I stepped back automatically, putting space where there hadn’t been any seconds ago. “Door’s fixed,” I said. “I was just leaving.”
“Sure you were,” said Dottie, not buying it for a second. “Since you’re here, though…”
“No,” I said immediately.
She ignored me. “The boiler’s making that noise again. The one that sounds like it’s threatening violence. I know you can fix it.”
New York’s head snapped toward me. “You can?”
“I didn’t say I could fix it,” I corrected. “I said I’d take a look.” Damnit. That line was behind me now. I knew it. I felt it the second the words left my mouth.
Dottie smiled like she’d just won something. “Basement, then?”
I should’ve said no. I should’ve said I had an important meeting to attend. I should’ve taken the stairs two at a time and gotten the hell out.
Instead, I took the toolbox back from New York’s hands and nodded once.
“Basement,” I said.
New York watched me like she didn’t quite trust what she was seeing. Like she was waiting for me to change my mind.
I didn’t.
And as I followed Dottie back toward the stairs, I realized something that sat heavy and uncomfortable in my chest.
I hadn’t left. And right now I wasn’t sure I wanted to anymore.
Fuck.
The basement stairs were narrow and steep, the kind built back when people didn’t worry about comfort or lawsuits. I took them first, toolbox in hand, ducking automatically where the ceiling dropped low.
The air changed halfway down—damp and warm, like old soap and rust.
Then I heard it. A high-pitched screech cut through the hum of the building, sharp enough to crawl up the back of my neck.
“Jesus,” said New York behind me. “It’s been doing that?”
“That’s not a ‘doing that’ sound,” I said. “That’s a ‘something is very wrong’ sound.”
The boiler sat against the far wall like an angry metal beast, vibrating slightly, the pressure gauge twitching like it couldn’t decide whether to panic or explode. Every few seconds it let out another shriek. Metal on metal, furious and desperate.
I set the toolbox down realizing that Dottie had snuck back to the kitchen and left me and New York by ourselves. I crouched, listening, and tilted my head. The pitch was off, fast and dry. I reached out and rested my palm against the side. It was hotter than it should’ve been.
“Shut it off,” I ordered.
She froze. “Like… completely?”
“Yes. Now. Grab that lever and pull it down.”
New York lunged for the switch and flipped it down. The screech died instantly, leaving behind a heavy, ringing silence.
“Okay,” she said. “That felt dramatic.”
I exhaled. “You were seconds away from burning out the pump.” I popped the front panel open. Inside was a mess of pipes and valves that had been serviced just enough to keep limping along. No one had actually fixed the problem. They’d just quieted it.
I shook my head. “They never bled the line.”
She blinked. “I know some of those words.”
I grabbed a wrench and loosened the valve slowly. Air hissed out first. Then water followed, steady and clean.
Behind me, I heard New York’s footsteps moving. I glanced over my shoulder. She stood by the laundry area, her eyes narrowed, taking in the washers, the old folding table, and the shelves stacked with mismatched detergent and lost socks.
“You looking for something?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. Just… inventorying.” She gestured vaguely. “New duties.” She hooked her thumbs toward herself. “Laundry person. Apparently.”
That word again. Duties. Like she’d already accepted this wasn’t temporary. That she wasn’t bailing.
I turned back to the boiler, tightening the valve and then adjusting the pressure regulator before tapping the gauge lightly until it settled where it should.
“Try it now,” I said. “The switch.”
She flipped the switch back on.
The boiler rumbled to life, with a low, steady hum.
Her shoulders dropped immediately. “Oh my god,” she breathed. “That’s… that’s quiet.”
“That’s how it’s supposed to sound,” I said. “It was starving for water and screaming about it.”
She laughed softly, rubbing her arms like she’d just realized how cold she’d been. “So I don’t need to call anyone?”
“No,” I said. “You’re good. For now.”
She looked at me, her focus on my face a beat too long. “You just saved me… how much?”
I shrugged. “Couple hundred. Maybe more if they decided to upsell you on panic.”
“I do panic very well.” She nodded and then reached into her pocket. “Okay. So. Send me a bill. Or I can do cash. No. I can’t do cash right now, but I can send you a check?”
I straightened slowly. I should’ve said yes. I should’ve named a number.
I didn’t.
“It’s fine,” I said instead.
Her brow furrowed. “Fine like… fine fine?”
“Yeah.”
“Listen…”
I held her gaze. “It’s on me.”
I didn’t know why I said it. The words were out before I could stop them, sitting there between us. What the fuck was I doing?
She hesitated. “I don’t want favors.”
“I didn’t offer one,” I said. “I fixed a problem.”
She studied my face, like she was trying to figure out what angle I was working. “Still,” she said. “I should pay you.”
I shook my head. “Another time.” Which was also not something I should’ve said. I packed the tools away, my mouth tight. “You’re going to want a full inspection,” I added. “Roof, plumbing, wiring. Not all at once. But soon.”
She nodded immediately. “When can you do it?”
You.
I should’ve said I was booked. I should’ve said I didn’t do that anymore. I should’ve protected the line I’d already crossed.
Instead…
“I can come back later,” I said. “If you want.”
She smiled then. “I do.”
That feeling in my chest came back. Stronger this time.
I grabbed the toolbox and headed for the stairs, irritation buzzing under my skin. I was mad at the situation, mad at myself, mad that I cared.
And as I reached the bottom step, I realized something else that pissed me off even more.
I wasn’t in a hurry to leave anymore.
And that was going to be a problem.