7. Cale #3
The damage to her place is shocking in the daylight—and significant.
Windows and television smashed, laptop sitting in bits on the ground next to her desk, slash marks across the couch, and holes in the walls.
The kitchen cupboards and fridge have all been emptied, ingredients and food spilled across the floor.
I don’t go near the bedrooms, but Melanie’s pale face is enough to tell me that it probably looks worse this morning than when she walked through last night.
“I’m just…” she whispers, looking perturbed as she walks past me. “I’m gonna head outside.”
I watch her go with a frown, just as Garth comes to stand next to me.
“It’ll take a few days to set the place to rights, but I’ve got time this week to do it.
We had a job in a new development across town.
This guy—some hotshot from the city—ran into money problems, so it’s all on hold for now.
” He props his hands on his hips, looking around the living room. “Do the cops have any idea who did it?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Not yet. She’s got no security, no cameras. I checked the ones on the side of my place, but they weren’t angled right to catch the asshole.”
“You’re fixing that, right?”
“Yeah, I’m fixing it.” I pause, knowing I’m going to regret telling him this, but also knowing that I can’t exactly hide it in a place like Sterling Creek. “They stayed with me last night. Melanie and the kid.”
He pauses, not hiding his surprise. “You blurring lines, man?”
I scoff. “No, not at all.” Memories of her body moving underneath mine, her breathy moans in my hair, assail me, but I brush it aside. “I was being neighborly.” It’s the same thing I told Melanie earlier, and the words taste just as wrong as they did then.
He sees right through me, slapping a hand against my shoulder. “Sure you were. I’ll go talk to her, let her know when she can escape your clutches.” He chuckles to himself, walking toward the front door. I call his name, and he looks at me over his shoulder.
“Send me the bill, yeah?” I tell him. “She’s got enough to deal with.”
His mouth quirks. “Wasn’t planning on charging her for this one, but…sure. I’ll send you the bill. Along with the other one.”
Melanie’s standing in my kitchen, her phone pressed to her ear as she argues with some insurance asshole. Oakley’s home from school and watching her with a concerned frown, looking way older than he has a right to.
“Killer.” He turns to eye me just as I nod my head to the front door. “Let’s go outside. We can throw a ball around.”
His eyes light up, his teeth flashing in a small smile. “Really? I packed my glove.”
The excitement surprises me for a second before I remember that his dad’s an absolute useless piece of shit. “Yeah, I want to see what you’ve got.”
He scrambles off the couch and runs for the guest room.
While he’s gone, I lean my shoulder against the doorframe to the kitchen, watching as Melanie paces the length of the room.
She’s wearing a tight-ass pair of jeans and a loose flannel over a cotton tank, and the urge to go up and touch her is almost impossible to resist.
She catches sight of me, a question in her eyes. “Taking Oakley outside,” I tell her quietly.
She blows out a breath, mouthing, “Thank you.”
Hurried footsteps thump through the house, and then Oakley’s at the door, yelling, “Ready! Come on, Cale. Let’s go!”
I grin as Melanie’s mouth twitches, but the shadows don’t quite clear from her expression.
She turns away, mouth moving as she replies to whatever the person on the other end of the line said.
I watch her for another second before turning to follow Oakley out, setting ourselves up on the front lawn.
After a few throws back and forward, I tell him, “You got a good arm. You been practicing hard?”
“Yeah.” He preens at the praise. “Harrison says I’m gonna be a good pitcher.”
“Harrison, huh?” I murmur, a frown pulling at my eyebrows.
There’s only one Harrison in Sterling Creek that I know of.
I went to school with the guy, a year or so below me.
He moved away straight after he graduated, but came back a couple of years ago with a kid in tow and no wife in sight.
He was real hush-hush about it all, and it had all the gossips aflutter, begging for him to dish the dirty.
“Yeah. He’s our coach,” Oakley announces. I lob the ball at him, and it smacks perfectly into the middle of his glove. He pauses, staring down at the ball, a pensive look on his face. “I think he might like my mom,” he admits, so quietly I’m sure I must’ve misheard him.
“You think?” He nods, still staring at the ball, and I clear my throat, knowing I need to play this cool. “Why d’you think that?”
Oakley shrugs one shoulder, looking over at my house. “He’s always finding reasons to talk to her. And he smiles weird. Not like he smiles at other moms.”
He throws the ball back to me while his words sink into my mind like fangs. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him whether he thinks his mom likes the coach back, but I don’t let it fly.
I’m not using the kid like that. It’s not right. And anyway, Melanie doesn’t owe me shit. If she wants to date her kid’s baseball coach, I’m not out to stop her.
It’s none of my business.
Shaking off the sudden stiffness in my shoulders, I order, “Back it up, Killer. Big throw coming.”