by BK Rivers
“I still don’t know if I should,” Lucy says after a while. “I just don’t know how to ask my mother.”
“Don’t ask her. You’re twenty-six and have the right to do as you please.” I finish my soda, stand, and walk over to the machine and refill my cup. I’ve never met anyone so afraid to stand up for themselves to their mother. Okay, scratch that, Reggie’s always been somewhat of a pushover when it comes to her mom. But not this bad. This borders on abuse.
“I have it all worked out,” I say, taking my seat at the table. Lucy glances up, eyes rapt and focused on me. “Start packing up your room and whatever else is yours in the house. Don’t tell your mom until you’re almost completely packed. Then you tell her you’re moving in with me.” I smile, feeling like I’ve solved a great mystery.
Lucy sighs, contemplates the plan while taking another bite of her lunch. I’m almost positive it will work, I just need to figure out how to convince her.
“Let’s do it,” she finally says, smiling ear to ear. We spend the rest of my lunch hour making plans to find boxes and get her packing. We settle on a move-in date of two weeks from now and head our separate ways after returning to the bookstore. The rest of the day I feel like I’m walking on a cloud. I’m excited to have a roommate again, because the truth is as much as I wanted my space a few months ago, I miss having someone around.
On the way home, I stop off at the store to grab a few groceries and a pint of ice cream to celebrate. Oh, who am I kidding? I eat ice cream all the time—I don’t need a reason to buy it. I park outside the garage when I get home because I don’t trust the garage door anymore, even though it’s been fixed. I’d rather park outside and not risk getting stuck again.
I walk through the front door and immediately step into an inch of cold water. “What the…” There is water everywhere and I hear the sound of it spraying from somewhere inside. Groceries in hand, I wade through the pool my house has become and into the kitchen where I see the problem. The faucet has burst and water is spraying like a shower all over the place.
For a minute I can do nothing but stand in the middle of the kitchen, holding tight to my groceries, thinking about how I’m going to clean up the water. My jaw hangs open, tears float to the surface of my eyes, and I break down, dropping my bags of food…and ice cream. My furniture in the living room is going to be ruined, along with the kitchen cabinets and who knows what else. Tears slip down my cheeks, only adding to the flood at my feet, and I have no other option than to dial Ace. I don’t even know how I’m going to make it through this call.
Voice mail. My call goes to his voice mail, but this isn’t the type of thing you leave a message about. Instead, I take a deep breath, snap a picture of the spraying faucet, and text it to him. That should get his attention.
Ace: What the hell?
That didn’t take long. Neither did the ringing of my phone.
“Hello?” I say, holding back a sob.
“What did you do to my house?” he asks, sounding a notch above angry.
My nose is now running, mixing with my tears. Sniffing what I can away, I answer, “I don’t know what to do. There’s water everywhere. When I got home…Ace, everything is going to be ruined.”
“Don’t cry,” he says quietly. “Have you turned the water off?”
“The faucet isn’t turned on. It burst while I was at work.” A sob breaks through and it’s like a dam breaks loose. My shoulders and knees are shaking, making it impossible to stand. So I do the next best thing, and slide to the floor, only to sit in the cold water and then cry some more at my stupidity.
“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he says. “I need you to listen, okay?” I nod, then manage to squeak out a yes. “Outside near the garage is the water shut off. I’ll guide you through turning it off, okay?” He explains where the shut-off valve is and I’m able to turn off the water. Back inside, the faucet has stopped spraying, but there is so much water.
“There is no way I can clean all this up, Ace,” I say, sniffing into the phone. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes, just hold tight,” he says, and ends the call.
Wiping the tears from my eyes and snot from my nose, I walk upstairs to grab every single towel and blanket I own. It won’t be enough to mop up the water, but it’ll be a start. Arms full and back downstairs, I toe off my sandals and drop towels on the floor and repeat the process until everything I own that can soak up water is scattered around the main level. I feel sick about all the damage to Ace’s house. The wood floors surely will be ruined, and the kitchen cabinets, not to mention my random pieces of furniture.
I just hope Ace doesn’t kick me out.
Chapter 16
Ace
This girl is going to be the death of me. First the garage door, now a water leak—did I rent my house out to a walking disaster? I can only hope it’s not as bad as she thinks it is. The picture she sent of the spraying faucet looked pretty serious, though. Grumbling to myself, I run through scenarios of what to do based on the possible situation.
I can stand outside while she soaks up the water and then have someone come in and assess the damage.
I can call for cleanup help and then have someone assess the damage.
I can tell her she’d better have renter’s insurance and have her call someone to help clean up and then I can have someone come in and assess the damage.
Or…
There’s always an “or” or a “but.” I don’t like “or” or “but.” Not one bit.
Or, I could take a deep breath, go inside the house, and check out the damage. I could be man enough to face my demons inside the house and help her like any normal man would do. Like a stronger man would do.
Everything in my body is fighting the right thing, my palms are sweating, and every couple minutes I have to swipe them across my jeans to keep the moisture at bay. My heart is racing in my chest and because of this I can’t regulate my breathing. God, I think I’m going to pass out.
Get a grip, Ace. It’s only a house. What happened in there are only memories now, floating around my head like dust motes looking for a place to settle. I wish I could blow them away, scattering the bad into the wind and never have to relive them. I don’t want to dream about the things that haunt me. I just don’t…anything.
I pull up against the curb outside the house and park my motorcycle. There is something understated about the small house sitting between two larger and statelier houses. Part of the draw for this house for Marley and me was how it looked like a blip in the road. Like it didn’t quite belong with what’s around it. We liked unusual and quaint.
Why didn’t I just sell the damn house after she died? What was I trying to hold on to?
Deep breath after deep breath, I prepare myself to walk inside after five years. I haven’t sweated this much since my first day at the police academy. Beads of sweat dot my forehead and back, and I shiver as they drop down my spine. My throat is parched and I didn’t have the common sense to pack a bottle of water in the saddlebags.
Each step is like wading through molasses, and it only grows thicker the closer I come to the door. The first step onto the porch has my body ready to dry heave. I can’t do this. My trembling hands are enough of a clue that I shouldn’t be here. That I should have burned the house to the ground. I can almost feel it—the flames that would have engulfed the memories and the pain. It would have burnt them to ashes and I could have buried them with my wife.
My hand grips the post on the porch in order to keep myself upright. I’m here, and need to find the strength to push the front door open and step inside the place my nightmares take refuge. As I move my hand to the door, it opens on its own and the blotchy, tear-stained face of Stacey greets me. Her hair is wild, falling from a messy bun, and it makes the red color of her hair look like the flames I’m craving.
Fresh tears spill from her eyes as she rushes forward and collapses against me. Her arms wrap t
ightly around my waist and something crumbles in my chest as I breathe in the scent of peaches and lilies that is uniquely her. No longer needing the support of the porch post, I cage her in my arms and hold her while she cries. My hand moves in small circles on her back and slowly moves down toward the curve of her hip, a place I want to use to pull her against me.
“It’s so bad, Ace,” she says, sniffing against my t-shirt. “I don’t have enough towels to mop up the water. I’m so sorry…I’ve ruined your house.”
I ball the hem of her shirt in my fists, feeling her pain and remorse. I know this is not her fault, and it kills me she thinks it is.
“Let’s go inside, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” I smile down at her when she finally glances up to me. Her eyes are puffy and bloodshot from crying, even her lips are swollen, and for a fleeting second, I wish they were like that from me kissing her. Swallowing back the thought, I release her from my arms and step backward.
Stacey swipes the tears away from her cheeks with the backs of her hands and then walks through the door. As I take yet another long, deep breath, I’m not prepared for the sight once I pass the threshold.
There is water. Everywhere. And at least an inch deep. I bring my hands up to the top of my head and run them through my hair and huff out the breath I was holding. Stacey’s laid down towels and blankets wherever she can, and as I scan the living room, I see t-shirts, socks, and her…panties too. Everything is either floating or waterlogged and rumpled under the water.
When Stacey turns to me after I’ve had a chance to take in the sight, her bottom lip quivers and then she bursts into tears again.
“I’m so sorry,” she says between sobs. “I broke your beautiful house.” She crumples into a ball on her couch and continues to cry. The sight of the house and the flooding should piss me off. It should make me tremble with anger that the floors Marley and I refinished are now ruined, or that the brick fireplace will have to be repaired. But it doesn’t. None of that matters at the moment.
Because at the moment, all I want to do is hold Stacey in my arms and laugh at the panties floating around the living room floor. I step over her floating clothes and sit down on her couch and pull her onto my lap. She tucks her head under my arm, leaving my hand free to brush the hair off her neck and softly stroke her arm.
“Everything is going to be okay,” I say softly. “But, sweetheart, did you really think your panties would soak up the water?” And it’s no use, the laugh won’t quit bubbling up from my chest. It comes out almost like a bark, and it turns into something guttural and hearty from deep in my stomach.
Stacey sits up, swipes away her tears and narrows her eyes while studying me. “You’re laughing?” she asks, her voice like a squeal. “I’ve flooded your house and you’re laughing? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I say between laughing fits. I really can’t control it, and, surprisingly, it feels really good to laugh. “I’m having a hard time keeping a straight face when I see your lacy underwear floating across the floor. It wasn’t exactly how I pictured seeing your panties for the first time.”
Stacey smacks my shoulder with the tips of her fingers and then stands, folding her arms across her chest. “I grabbed anything that would soak up water,” she says defiantly. “What else was I supposed to do?”
I stand, towering over her, and pull her into my arms again and press a firm kiss to her forehead. It takes us both by surprise, her most likely more than me, since I can’t seem to stop thinking about kissing her.
“You’ve done enough,” I say, pushing far enough away so I can look her in the eyes. “Do you have any dry clothes?” She nods and rolls her eyes, blinking away more tears trying to start. “Pack a bag and you can come stay with me until all this is taken care of.”
Stacey’s eyes bug out as she backs away. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asks, biting the corner of her bottom lip. What I wouldn’t give to be those teeth nibbling that plump bottom lip of hers. Is this a good idea? Probably not.
“Sure. There’s a spare bedroom. You can just stay there until the house is fixed.”
“All right,” she says, then turns and bounds up the stairs. I watch as she jogs away and laugh at her wet pants, but curse how they hug her legs and butt, leaving little to the imagination. She returns a few minutes later carrying a purple duffle bag and has changed into dry clothes.
“You ready?” I ask as she pulls her purse from the kitchen counter.
Her smile is a little pathetic, almost floppy. “What should I do about all this?” she asks, gesturing to everything she used to try to soak up the water.
“Just leave it for now. I’ll have a cleanup crew come in today and take care of everything. I’ll have them set your clothing out to dry and then we can pick it up later. How’s that?”
She nods and follows me out the door. Once outside, I feel lighter and notice the weight of my memories haven’t been present since Stacey threw herself into my arms. The panic attack I started to have disappeared as soon as Stacey opened the door.
“I’ll follow behind you in my car since you drove your motorcycle,” she says at the bottom of the porch. When I watch her walk to her car, I notice it’s parked in the driveway and not in the garage. I know the door was fixed, so what’s the deal with that?
“Hey, I had the garage door fixed. Why aren’t you parking inside?” I ask, raising my voice loud enough for her to hear me.
A pink blush rises to her cheeks as she squints back at me and shrugs. “I don’t trust it,” she says plainly, and climbs inside her car.
Laughing to myself, I walk back to my motorcycle, start it up, and wait for her to pull out of the driveway.
Chapter 17
Stacey
Ace kissed me. This repeats in my head the entire drive to his house. He kissed me. Granted, it was only on the forehead and under great stress…but he kissed me. And I liked it—a lot. I liked the way I fit in his arms and the warmth radiating from his chest. I liked the way the stubbly beard on his chin scratched and poked my forehead as he pressed his lips against my skin.
Because I liked it all—too much—I asked him if it was a good idea for me to stay with him. When he said yes, my skin erupted in goose bumps. His yesses are like the still, calm waters of a river—dangerous—and I’m going to have to tread carefully. If I’m careless around him, I’ll drown and suffer deeply for it. But I’ll think about that tomorrow. Right now, I’m pulling to a stop along the curb outside a single-level brick home with a tidy front yard and manicured bushes along the front of the house. Ace climbs off his motorcycle and walks over to my car, then opens the door for me.
“This is your house?” I ask, taking in the large oak tree in the front yard. Ace tugs on his left ear as a faint smile crosses his lips.
“No, I live here with my buddy, Ethan. It’s his house.”
“You’re looking a little green, Mr. Officer, you sure this is okay?”
He laughs, pulls my duffle bag from the backseat of the car, and walks with me to the front door. We walk into a small mudroom that opens to the living room, which looks nothing like I assumed it would. Sure, there’s a massive television and sound system, but the furniture is nice, plush and clean.
“What’s up, buttercup?” a guy—I’m assuming, Ethan—with shaggy brown hair says from the couch.
Ace’s cheeks flush pale pink and then he clears his throat. “I’ve…uh, I brought—”
The guy turns around and his jaw drops. “Dude! You brought a girl home,” he says, jumping up from the camel-colored couch. He leaps over the back like a runner jumping hurdles, and stops in front of us.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Ace says, stepping back and holding his hands up. “This is Stacey.” Ethan’s eyes narrow and he cocks his head to the side. “The girl I rented my house to?”
Ethan nods and then offers me his hand. “I’m Ethan, Ace’s br—”
“Roommate,” A
ce says, interrupting his friend. “The house freaking flooded so I’m giving up my room until she can move back in.”
My jaw drops as I gaze up at Ace. “You said there was a spare bedroom,” I say, confused. “I’m not taking your room and sleeping in your bed.”
“It’s fine, the couch is really comfortable,” Ace argues, then plants his hands on my shoulders and guides me to his bedroom. The room is sparse, with only a king-size bed on a metal frame, a tall dresser, a chair off in the corner, and a black wire dog crate, sans dog. The walls are bare and there are no pictures on the top of his dresser. The room is void of any personality whatsoever.
“Did you just move in here?” I ask, sitting in the chair.
Ace shakes his head and clears out two of his five drawers for me. “I’ve lived here for almost five years.” He walks over to a door, which appears to be a small walk-in closet, and pushes his clothes to the side. “You can put your things in the dresser and in the closet while you stay here.”
“Ace, I don’t want your room,” I say, standing from the chair and moving toward him. He steps out of the closet with his brows knitted together and drops his hands at his sides. “I’m totally fine with the couch. Besides, it would be weird sleeping in your bed.” Without you, I don’t add.
“You’re sleeping in my bed, end of discussion,” Ace deadpans. He moves to the bed, pulls back the gray comforter, and tears off the sheets and tosses them into a hamper in the closet. “There’s a spare set of sheets in the closet outside the bedroom, can you grab them for me?”
Nodding, I walk out of the room and run right into Ethan’s chest. His hands grip my arms to steady me, then he steps back, releasing me.