Chapter Fifteen #2
After a couple of hours, I’ve removed the piece of garbage that was a sad excuse for a door, and replaced it with one that’s brand spankin’ new.
To say this was more work than I expected it to be would be an understatement.
I prepared the opening, made sure the new door is level, insulated and sealed the frame, and installed new hardware.
I even made sure to match the white paint around the trim to mine.
I did it all myself, and although I’m happy that Tris will be safe now when I’m not here, all this work has done nothing to alleviate my anger.
If anything, I’m more angry than I was before because with every step, I’ve been forced to acknowledge that I wouldn’t be doing this for anyone else.
I’m doing this for her.
Tom was right.
I glance over at Ellie, who watches me, front paws crossed, from her dog bed on our porch.
“What?” I grumble, standing and brushing my hands off. “You’re a great guard dog, but you didn’t stand a chance against that raccoon.”
She ducks her head under her paw like she’s embarrassed that I’m right, or maybe it’s all in my head.
After cleaning up, I grab a bottle of Jack and pour myself a glass.
Rocking back in my porch chair, I can’t wrap my mind around anything solid.
I sip my glass, hoping its burn will soothe the raw wound I re-opened today.
Finally admitting that I’m angry with not just myself but with Krystal, too?
It hurts. I meant what I said about not wanting to go through this ever again, but what does that make me?
I want to drown myself in this whiskey because, as loud as my mind is, nothing is making sense.
There’s no clear answer. It’s not about whether Tris has feelings for me at this point.
It’s about the fact that I know I somehow, against all fucking odds, have developed feelings for her, and I don’t want them.
I throw the amber liquid back down my throat, then pour myself another glass.
A really mature way of dealing with life’s problems, I know, but this shit is cheaper than therapy.
My heart feels heavy as I swirl my drink in my glass and remember all of the times Krystal, over the years, would find projects for me to work on, things she wanted me to fix.
I was her personal handyman whom she loved putting to work.
“It’s my own private show every time you pick up a hammer.”
By the time Rory’s car comes traveling up our driveway, I’ve lost track of time, and half the bottle beside me is empty. Ellie rushes toward Tris to greet her as she climbs the porch. Rory waves and makes a U-turn to leave, but not before rolling down the window.
“I’ll be back with Ainsley in a little over an hour!” she yells. “Tonight’s attire is Sexy Bad Ass Birthday Bitch! I’d better see glitter!”
Tris laughs and waves her off, and I choke on my whiskey.
“Are you okay?” she stammers.
“Yeah,” I croak, taking another sip.
“Day drinking?”
“Appears so,” I say without looking at her, eyes trained on the mountains in the distance, at least that’s how it appears.
Little does she know that all my attention is fully on her.
From my peripheral I see her heart-shaped lips press together as quickly as her brows furrow and relax again into a neutral expression.
A fast exchange of emotions that I’m not meant to notice, but of course I do anyway.
She turns to her door and freezes with her hand mid-air, blinking rapidly and tilting her head.
“Did someone replace my door?”
“That’s what it looks like,” I say dryly, like we’re back to how it was, short and dismissive, when we first met.
“Do you know who?” she grinds out slowly, her patience growing thin with me as she crosses her arms. “Do I owe someone money, or at the very least a thank you?”
When I don’t answer, she inhales loudly. “Wow, great talk,” she snaps sarcastically, and for some screwed-up reason, I find myself trying not to smile.
The handle jiggles, but after a moment, she still doesn’t go inside. I turn to see her staring at it.
“Any idea if they left a key?” She waves her hand around toward the door like that will somehow open in.
With a smirk, I reach into my pocket and hold the key out for her.
“Why do you have my key?” She frowns.
I hold her gaze. “Because I bought it.”
I watch as her expression goes from confusion to surprise, and finally lands on understanding.
“You did all this?” she asks, surprise still laced in her tone. “Why?”
I take another sip and let the whiskey burn, clicking my tongue against my teeth as I turn my head away, leaving her question hanging in the air.
I can feel her eyes burning into the back of my head, but I ignore her.
“Thank you,” she finally says before disappearing into the house.
Right on time, a little over an hour later, Rory pulls up with Ainsley in the passenger seat.
“Hey there, big fella.” She beams, excitement written all over her face.
I look her up and down, which doesn’t take long, and narrow my eyes as my lips twitch up. “Isn’t everyone sort of a big fella to you?”
She mocks being insulted. Her pink curls bounce as she throws her head back. “How rude,” she says with a laugh before trying to open Tris’s door. “But also, yes.”
I watch as she struggles and finally realizes it’s not the same door as before.
“Did you do this?”
“Why would you assume that?” I ask, surprised by what can only be her educated guess, and continue to drink.
She raises her brow at me and smirks right as the door opens.
Tris steps onto the porch, and it’s like someone’s pulled the air straight from my lungs.
Heat shoots through me from the back of my neck and straight to my groin.
She’s wearing a deep navy blue short dress with, as requested, glitter shimmering throughout it.
I feel it low in my stomach as I take her in, the way the fabric traces her curves and follows the lines of her body like a slow, patient caress.
This dress doesn’t hide her, it confesses her, with every soft defiance of gravity.
The dress may be touching her, but it feels like it’s touching me.
“You’re staring,” she says softly.
My mouth has gone dry, so I throw back what’s left of my whiskey, grateful that I have another bottle inside.
“You’re,” I stammer, at a loss. Pulling myself together, I clear my throat and reach for the anger I felt earlier, anything to stifle the desire that is roaring through me wilder than any fire I’ve ever faced. “You’re going to give someone a heart attack.”
Finally, I take notice of what Rory’s wearing and, like flipping a switch, can feel every ounce of brotherly over-protectiveness seep through me as my eyes widen. She’s wearing a dress that looks more like it falls into the category of a shirt.
“My God.” I pinch the space between my brows, suddenly feeling a need to lock them both inside for two completely different reasons. “If either of you bends over, the whole room will see your underwear. You two realize that, right?” Ainsley’s laugh reaches me from the car.
Tris chuckles before a wicked spark flickers through her icy blue eyes, full of trouble. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not wearing any then, huh?”
My mouth falls open, and I’m rendered speechless. The girls giggle and head to the car while my mind is still trying to reboot and sounding like the old modem’s dial-up tone from the 90’s. Tris is already closing the car door when my shock finally wears off.
“Wait, are you serious? Get back here. Go put clothes on!” I shout, half panicked.
Tris waves her fingers goodbye, and even from the porch, I can see her eyes sparkle through the open window. “Have a good night, Levi. Don’t wait up.”
I breathe in and hold the air tight in my chest. It feels like the rubber band is close to snapping.
I think about what I said to Tom and how I meant every word today, but when I see her, when I’m with her, it’s like I’m losing what’s left of my mind, my senses, and my conviction. I exhale, frustrated. “Damn it.”
Ellie’s head pops up briefly from her nap before returning to the bed, and I decide I might as well break open my next bottle of Jack Daniels because there’s no way I’m going to be able to do anything other than wait up.
It’s not until hours later that Rory’s car comes traveling back up the drive.
My shoulders finally relax, and I exhale a long breath.
I’ve spent every one of those hours imagining what kind of trouble the three of them could possibly get into, and each one has resulted in me wanting to hop into my truck and track them down.
The idea of Tris having another man’s hands on her tonight almost made me reach for my keys, but given how many times I’ve reached for the bottle instead, I knew better than to try a stunt like that.
Besides, she’s not mine, meaning she can do what she wants.
It doesn’t change how screwed up I am for not giving a damn about that little fact.
My stomach clenches at the thought. I sent Ellie inside when it started to rain about an hour ago and put the cap back on the bottle of Jack, but I couldn’t get myself to call it a night, so I’ve been sitting in this rocking chair pretending like it’s not for the sole purpose of making sure she gets home okay.