Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
TY
Despite the reason I’m here right now, I am in fact not running a charity.
Granting a wish for a sick kid is one thing, but piecing this basket case back together is another thing entirely.
I’m just trying to do a good deed by not letting this girl—who is so clearly barely clinging to her sanity—get mugged or worse.
I didn’t realize I’d signed up to be her therapist when I offered her a jump.
She’s said so much I’ve missed half of it, but one thing stuck out to me.
Maybe it’s the reason I haven’t run for the hills yet.
Because she said she has no one else. A heaviness settles over me.
In a city of millions, she’s alone. Or at least she thinks she is.
It’s something I’ve become too familiar with since my move, and I hate that someone as bubbly—albeit unhinged—as her feels that way.
If helping her remedies that for even a minute, it’s worth the earful and whatever other consequences.
“And that’s not the worst part,” she continues, though I haven’t caught the last few words she’s spoken. “It’s bad enough that I forgot to water them for a day, but I just realized I’ve been using the wrong water the entire time for the pitcher plants.”
What’s all this water talk? I peek at her from under the hood, afraid to make eye contact, but her hands are pressed over her eyes.
“I killed them!” she wails, pacing in a little circle.
“I hope they at least deserved it.”
She drops one hand and peeks at me. “What?”
“The people you killed.” I dip my head back under the hood, securing the final clamp just as she clutches her invisible pearls, looking appalled.
“Plants! I killed plants!”
“So what?”
She does not take kindly to my nonchalance. “So they aren’t mine. I’m taking care of them while this couple is out of town. It’s my job. I’m a plant sitter.”
I straighten up and wipe my hands on the thighs of my pants. “A plant sitter?”
“Yes. I own a business.” Her inky brows fold. “And wipe that look off your face because I know it sounds weird, but I like it. I like babysitting plants.”
The corner of my mouth quirks up involuntarily. When I lean back under the hood, there’s a tap at my shoulder.
“You don’t have anything else to say?” she asks.
“I think you’ve said more than enough for the both of us.” I straighten up and turn to face her. “Start your car.”
She tilts her head but listens and turns back toward her car. I walk to mine, sliding in the driver’s seat and starting it. Easily, it kicks on, and I wait for hers to do the same. I listen as she tries, once, twice, three times. It sputters but doesn’t take.
Jumping from the car, she yells over to me, “It’s not working!”
I lean out, popping my head up over the top of my door so I have a full view of her. “I know. I can hear it.”
She throws a hand into the air, muttering something as she paces toward me. She looks pretty in the evening light, even if she doesn’t seem quite stable at the moment. I don’t blame her, from the bits and pieces I picked up from her ramble, she’s been goin’ through it.
“Take a deep breath.”
She scowls. “What do I do?”
“Try again.”
“Right. Of course.” Starting toward her car, she stops mid-step before turning back toward me.
Her eyes meet mine, and then she shakes her head, her black hair billowing as she does.
Turning to face her car, I watch as she retreats, her hips swaying.
I let my eyes travel down the length of her legs.
They’re smooth, as tan as her complexion will allow, and toned.
Toned legs, crop top, spandex shorts. I know why she’s here.
Before meeting with Catch-A-Dream, Coach instructed us not to visit our wing of the facility.
Due to the renovations, it was being used for the cheerleaders.
Today was the last day of Kings Cheerleader tryouts.
There’s no reason anyone else in our entire complex would be wearing something like this.
It also explains why she’s here so late.
She’s a cheerleader. And she just made the team.
Am I really checking out the girl that’s on the verge of crashing out? The one my contract explicitly says to avoid?
She turns to face me, her frown flipping into a pretty smile as she slips into her driver’s seat.
Yes. Yes, I am.
I lean over the top of my door as the brunette mumbles something to herself, takes a deep breath, and throws her elbow into starting her car.
I chuckle at the visual, but something she did works because it stammers to a start.
Jumping from the driver’s seat, she bounces up and down, shrieking and clapping. “You did it! You did it!”
I step out of my SUV and close the short distance between our vehicles. “You got it to start.”
“You did the cable thing.”
“I did.”
Stepping closer, her face tilts skyward, her hazel eyes sparkling as she beams up at me.
A smattering of tawny freckles spills across her cheeks, barely visible in the low light.
She’s about as high as my shoulder, and I realize that her height is the perfect height for kissing.
No awkward knee bending, no full-body curl to meet her mouth. Just a little tilt forward and…
What’s wrong with you? Kissing height? Come on.
I step back as she lifts her hand, aiming for a pat on my shoulder but misses, and the motion falls short. Clapping her hands together, she backs away. “So, what now?”
“We let them run. They need at least five to ten minutes before we move your car.” I break eye contact, my eyes dipping to her front tire, which looks deflated. “When was the last time you serviced your vehicle?”
Her eyes follow mine. “Why?”
I nod toward her tire. “This one’s pretty low. I’ll check the rest, too. When was the last time you filled them?”
“If I’m being frank, I don’t know. That stuff costs money, and in case you missed what I said earlier, I’m a little short on that right about now. Aren’t we all?”
I glance back at her as she follows me to my SUV, watching as I pull a tire gauge from my glovebox. We round her car, and I crouch to start my work.
“Well, I guess you probably don’t know much about that. I saw what you got drafted for. After all these years, I can only imagine your price has gone up.”
“Did you have to learn about that for your tryouts?” I arch a brow as I kick a tire to test it.
Her face pales.
Each of her tires is fuller than the last, which is better than what it could be, but it also means none of them are even.
My eyes drag up the side of her rusted car.
Inside, I spot a myriad of things. A box labeled kitchen, pillows stacked to the roof of the vehicle, no doubt blocking her rearview mirror.
Definitely not safe. There are other things too.
Stacks of clothes, feathered cat toys, wrappers. It looks like she lives in it.
“Everything good?” she chirps.
“Should be. But you really need a professional to look into all this. At least stop by a gas station to air up your tires ASAP, okay?”
She nods.
“And take down those pillows. There’s no way you can see out the back.”
She salutes me before backing away.
“You moving apartments tonight due to the roommate thing?” I ask.
“Something like that.”
I follow her to her driver’s door, and we work together to safely unhook the cables without electrocuting anyone. Something tells me safety is not this girl’s strong suit.
“Well, thanks. I would have been stuck here all night if you hadn’t come along,” she says as she basically dives into her car.
She maneuvers things around, shifting them out of her way so she can reach her seatbelt, a whirlwind of napkins and paper falling from her open door as she slams it shut. With a wave, she throws her car into reverse. Seconds later, I’m staring at a taped-up taillight as she exits the parking lot.
I walk over, standing amidst the chaos of debris she’s left behind. If the proof weren’t surrounding my feet now, I’m not sure I’d believe that interaction happened at all. A glossy rectangle gleams up at me from the mess at my toes, and I lean over to pick it up.
It’s a business card. Little green leaves and gold embossed letters shine in the parking lot lights.
Sprout Sitting by Avery
Avery Hinkley, Owner
And then there’s a phone number.
So the tiny tornado is named Avery.
I debate dropping it and leaving it behind, but something inside won’t let me, so I pocket it instead.
The pavers are warm beneath my bare feet as I pace around my pool.
Normally, I’d consider getting in, or at least attempting to relax in the hot tub, but I can't. My body won’t settle because my mind won’t.
I thought fresh air might do me some good.
Maybe the sounds of the day easing itself to bed would bring me some peace, but it hasn’t.
Normally, I love my life. I have nothing to complain about.
Anything and everything I’ve ever done—the good, the bad, the things I’d like to forget—it’s okay because they brought me to where I am.
And normally, where I am is good. More than good. It’s great.
High profile job. A bank account padded with millions every year.
Women throwing themselves at me from all angles.
Special treatment when I go out. Even if I don’t date anyone, don’t take advantage of everything I could, it still feels good knowing that all of that is at my disposal.
Even with my hiccups from last season, the ones that got me transferred to Vista City, I’ve been doing okay.
Until my sister stopped talking to me, refusing to move to the city like we’d arranged, and also crushing the hope that Mom would eventually follow.