by Chelsea Fine
He yanks me up against his body and closes his hand over my mouth as I warm against the hard muscles of his chest. “Would you keep it down?”
Teetering, I have to lean against his leg so I don’t fall over, which forces me to press even more of myself up against his broad frame. All I can think about as he stares at me in the moonlight is how pretty his long eyelashes are and how I’m really starting to like the smell of oranges—even though he’s breaking us into some rich guy’s house.
“I’m trying not to draw attention to us,” he says. “And you yelling isn’t helping.” He swallows and looks away. “And this is my home. Kinda. So you can calm down.” His fingers lightly brush against my throat as he lowers his hand from my mouth.
I can’t tell if the gentle touch was an accident or not, but my hungry body doesn’t care. It just wants him to do it again.
“This is ‘kinda’ your house?” I say, frustrated and turned on. “What the hell does that mean—oompf!”
He pulls me inside and I topple over the windowsill and into the house. He catches me before I fall to the floor but I’m already in a rage as I straighten in his arms.
“Are you crazy?” I glare at him, the tips of my breasts brushing against his chest as we stand face-to-face.
“No. I’m just in a hurry to get your loud mouth out of earshot from the neighbors.” He shuts the window behind us.
Looking around, I take in the inside of the mansion. It’s large and dark and…
Completely abandoned.
I turn and stare at him. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
22
Daren
I hold up a hand. “Before you freak out, just remember you’re the one who insisted we stay at my place.”
She shakes her head as she looks around. “Did someone rob you or something?”
I scoff. “I wish it were that simple.”
“So what’s the story then?”
“You want the story?” I nod. “Once upon a time, my mom left and my dad became a raging alcoholic. Then three years ago, he lost his job and, instead of looking for a new one, he decided to drink and gamble away all his money. He managed to burn through his life savings, lose the house, and rack up three DUIs all in a matter of nineteen months. I got two jobs and tried to keep all the bills afloat, but last year, when his drunk driving nearly killed Connor and the poor guy had to have two major surgeries just to walk again, the hospital bills started piling up. So now most of the money I make goes toward Connor’s medical debt, the house I grew up in is in foreclosure, and my reckless father is serving two years in county jail.”
She rubs the back of her neck. “So you live here?”
I inhale through my nose. “Technically, no one lives here. The bank repossessed the house two months ago and put it into foreclosure. But since the market for large homes moves so slowly, it hasn’t been listed for sale yet so it’s just been sitting here abandoned. And because I can’t afford to take care of both myself and the medical bills, I’ve been sleeping here.”
She furrows her brow. “I don’t get it. Why are you paying medical bills for the guy your dad hit? Isn’t insurance supposed to do that?”
“Yeah, but neither my dad nor Connor had insurance. But Connor has a family and a good job and a mortgage…” I shake my head. “I just didn’t think it was fair to make a good sober man pay for my dad’s irresponsible behavior.”
Anger boils inside me as I think about my father’s response when he first found out he’d nearly killed Connor. He was still hammered as he waved it off: Well too bad. Connor will just have to find a way to pay his own damn bills.
I wanted to disown him, right then and there.
Kayla looks around again and breathes out a laugh. “Well at least this place is nicer than the Quickie Stop.”
I snort. “Everything is nicer than the Quickie Stop.”
She nods. “Good point. So… where do we sleep?”
“Upstairs. Come on.” Grabbing her suitcase, I lead her through the dark kitchen into the equally dark living room.
“Did the bank turn the electricity off?” she asks as we stop at the bottom of the staircase.
“No. But I try not to turn on the lights at nighttime. I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that a homeless guy is living in an abandoned house.” The moment they leave my mouth, I immediately regret my words.
I just told her that I’m homeless. Homeless.
I don’t need Kayla’s approval, but I certainly don’t want her disdain. And telling her I’m homeless isn’t going to help.
Who am I kidding? I do want her approval. I shake my head. Story of my life. Always chasing after the approval of women. First my mom. Then Marcella. And finally Charity.
And I lost each one. My mom didn’t want me, and Marcella was forced to leave me. And Charity… well, Charity was my first love and I blame myself for the events leading up to her death. I’m no good at hanging on to women, as desperate as I am to do just that, so the fact that I care about the look in Kayla’s eyes right now scares the shit out of me.
I let out a nervous laugh. “God, sorry. I won’t blame you if you completely freak out right now.”
She slowly shakes her head. “I’m not going to freak out.”
I eye her skeptically. “Why not?”
She cocks her head and quietly says, “Because I’m homeless too.”
23
Kayla
Things have definitely changed since yesterday. Yesterday, I was the bitter daughter of a crazy man who was handcuffed to the arrogant son of a wealthy one. Tonight, I’m the poor daughter of a much beloved man who is handcuffed to the desperate son of an alcoholic.
“You’re homeless?” Daren repeats with a baffled expression.
It’s the first time I’ve said “I’m homeless” out loud, and I thought it would feel different coming out of my mouth. Shameful, maybe? Sad? But instead I feel… fine. Maybe even a little brave.
There’s something about sharing the same destitute state with Daren that makes me feel courageous. I’m not alone so I’m not afraid.
I nod. “My lease was up before I left Chicago, and I couldn’t pay next month’s rent, so I gave up my apartment and came out to Copper Springs without any money. Or a plan. The only thing I really have is my mom’s old car, which, fortunately, is paid off.”
“So we’re both homeless and broke, and neither of us have a plan for our life?” he says. “Whoa.”
“Whoa, indeed.”
“I guess we have more in common than we knew,” he says.
“And I guess we both have a lot riding on this inheritance.”
He nods. “It’s kind of the only thing I have to hope for right now.”
The desperation in his voice has me suddenly rethinking my plan to take all the money for myself. I didn’t have an issue scamming a spoiled rich kid who introduced himself to me as a “legendary lover,” but this guy—this penniless guy who sleeps in a vacant house and pays off a stranger’s medical bills simply because it’s the right thing to do—I can’t take money from. And honestly, he deserves it more than I do.
“Well.” Daren pulls a cookie from the bakery bag, breaks it in half, and hands a piece to me. Then holds up his own piece. “Here’s to having no plan.”
I hold up my own cookie half. “Here’s to poverty.”
“And homelessness.”
“And scavenger hunts for money,” I say.
We tap our cookies then each take a bite. Our eyes hold for a beat and I’m suddenly acutely aware that we’re alone in the dark, and a ping of desire races through me.
His eyes drop to my mouth and I absently lick my lips. It wouldn’t be completely crazy for me to give in to what I want, would it? I’m an adult, after all, and just because I don’t usually want to be with a guy doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be with one. Sure we’re in handcuffs and covered in filth, but just because the setting isn’t ideal doesn’t mean the instinct is wrong… right?
Right?
My gaze falls to his lips and we lean toward each other. His hot breath feathers across my jaw as our mouths meet, ever so slightly. I want to taste him again and shove my hands in his hair. I want to—
A flash of bright light bursts into the house and we jump back, temporarily blinded. At first I think it’s the police. They’ve discovered us breaking and entering into this giant mansion that belongs to the bank, and now we’re going to be poor homeless people in jail.
But then I realize it’s only a pair of headlights from a car turning down the street and I let out a sigh of relief. We look at each other with nervous little laughs.
“One of the pitfalls of living here,” Daren says. “You never know when you might get busted.”
“You are a true daredevil.”
“I try.” He smiles, but the sizzle in the air has vanished and now it’s just awkward between us. He looks down at our muddy clothes. “We should probably wash up. This place might not have any furniture, but it does have hot running water.”
“Oh man. A shower would be great,” I say, rolling my head back. After suffering the Quickie Stop’s icy dribbles and pet spiders all week, anything warm and critter-free would be just heavenly.
“Come on,” he says, carrying my suitcase.
We walk up the grand staircase, down a wide hallway on the second floor, and into a large bedroom on the right. He flicks on a light switch.
In the corner is a queen-size mattress lying directly on the floor, no bed frame, and covered in bedding that probably cost more than a month’s worth of rent on my old apartment. Beside the mattress is a small table stacked with books, a half-empty box of crackers, and a few papers.
Through the open double doors of the closet hangs a small collection of very expensive clothes and off to the side is a private bathroom, with an elaborate walk-in shower and separate garden tub.
Daren definitely lives in style—or used to, at least.
“Nice room,” I say. Then stare in confusion at the only window in the room. It’s above his bed and completely covered with cardboard.
He follows my gaze. “That’s so no one can tell someone’s inside the house when I have a light on in here.”
“Gotcha.” I nod then point to the books on the table. “You’re a reader?”
He nods. “Sometimes.”
“Huh.” I run a finger down the book spines. “What’s your favorite book?”
He smiles sheepishly. “All those are pretty good. But my favorite book of all time is actually a children’s book called Holes.”
“Really? Why is that?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. It’s about this kid who has a bunch of bad things happen to him even though he didn’t do anything wrong. I guess I sympathize with that or something.”
I study him for a moment, surprised by his confession, and then look around. “You don’t own a copy of Holes?”
His expression looks strained for a brief second. “Uh… I used to, but not anymore.”
I want to ask why, but the shadows in his eyes make me hesitate. My breath catches as my eyes drift to a velvet-lined box on the small table. Inside is a tremendously ornate diamond necklace. It sparkles so brilliantly it almost looks like its own source of light. “What is that?”
Daren follows my gaze and picks up the shiny necklace. “This was my mother’s. My dad gave it to her for their anniversary when I was little.”
“It’s stunning,” I say in awe. “Is it real?”
“Oh yes. It’s real and worth a sick amount of money.” He looks at the diamonds. “Over the past few years, I’ve had to sell or pawn pretty much all of my family’s possessions. But I couldn’t let go of this.”
“Because it’s too valuable?” I nod.
“It’s more than that.” He swallows. “My parents weren’t really involved with me, you know, so most of my memories of them are really stoic. But the day my dad gave this necklace to my mom, she was elated. I’d never seen her in such a good mood. She pranced around the house all giddy. My dad turned on some music and the two of them started dancing in the living room, laughing and singing along with the song. I was seven at the time and had never seen them goof around like that so I couldn’t help but watch. My mom saw me spying on them and waved me over. I ran to their arms and the three of us danced together in the living room like a happy family. It’s the best memory I have of my parents. And it was all because of this necklace.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I know it seems crazy because I could probably sell this thing and pay off most of Connor’s medical bills. But I don’t know.” He looks at the sparkling stones. “I can’t bring myself to sacrifice my only souvenir of that day for money.”
Watching him, I feel a piece of my heart break off and deliver itself into Daren’s hands, permanently. He somehow got a hold on me and now it’s too late for me to wriggle free, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.
“I like that you kept it,” I say.
He scans my face. “And I like that you like that.”
A beat passes.
“So why do you choose to stay here?” I ask, changing topics as I glide my eyes over his room. “Why not crash with one of your buddies?”
He shrugs and places the necklace back into the velvet casing. “Because even if they said I could stay for free, I’d still feel obligated to pay rent. Besides, most of my friends are snobs so I don’t really talk about my, uh, circumstances. I doubt they’d be very understanding if they knew how broke I was.”
“Then they’re not real friends,” I say, growing defensive on Daren’s behalf. He shouldn’t need to hide his circumstances in order to be accepted. “What about your many adoring lady friends? I’m sure they’re very understanding.”
He scoffs. “Like I would tell women.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiles bitterly. “My ‘lady friends’ think I’m still living the good life, surviving off of some hidden bank account my father gave to me before he went to jail. I have the Porsche to thank for that assumption. They have no idea all my family’s money is gone. If they did, they’d probably forget I existed. Women are shallow like that.”
I open my mouth to protest, but realize he has a point. “Huh. I guess it’s kind of the same the other way around too. If I looked different than I do, or if I grew warts all over my face and shaved my head, guys would probably stop paying attention to me too,” I say. “But not all women are shallow.”
He shrugs. “Most of the women I know.”
I prop a hand on my hip, my defensiveness growing into anger. “Then you need to meet different women.”
“I’m not saying you’re shallow,” he says, leaning in. “I’m just saying that if the women in this town knew just how poor and homeless Daren Ackwood was, they wouldn’t be waving to me at the bar. That’s just the way it is.”
“So you lie to them instead?”
“No, I let them believe their assumptions about me.”
“Because otherwise you’d be shunned.”
“Not shunned, exactly. Just… undesired. Women don’t want to take a homeless guy home with them.”
I sadly nod. “And if you aren’t wanted for sex then you have nothing else to offer.”
“Exactly—what? No.” The smug smile he just had on quickly vanishes. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Yes, it is. God. Would you listen to yourself?” I search his face. “You shouldn’t have to lie to get people to like you. And if you do, then those people aren’t worth your time. Where you live doesn’t matter, Daren. Money doesn’t matter—”
“I know that,” he snaps. “But other people don’t. And this town—this whole world—is filled with other people. Is it so bad that I want them to wave to me at the bar?”
I stare at him, rolling his words over in my head. “I didn’t wave at you.”
“What?”
“At the bar the other night.” I shrug. “I didn’t wave at you.”
“Right. You refused to even shake my hand. You were a little judgmental when you first saw me at Eddie’s office so you put me on your shit list and wrote me off because you assumed I was rich and arrogant.”
“Exactly.” I point at him. “I didn’t like the Daren Ackwood who had money and fast cars and a mansion in the hills. But the real you—the dirt-poor Daren who always took care of my dad’s garden and pays off some poor guy’s medical bills and smiles all the time, even when shit goes wrong—I like that guy. And I’ve never even had sex with you.” I pull back, wishing I could slap some sense into this ridiculously beautiful and dreadfully insecure guy. “So what does that do to your whole theory about women liking you for money and sex, huh?” I lower my voice. “It blows a hole right through it, that’s what.”
He stares at me in silence, dozens of emotions flicking across his eyes. My heart pounds as I meet his gaze and the room feels thick, like time has frozen us in place. Perhaps that passionate little rant of mine was too much. I do this sometimes. I want to encourage people so badly that I overstep my boundaries.
And let’s be honest here, I pretty much just told the guy that I like him. Which is all very third grade and awkward as hell, but I don’t give a damn. Daren needs to know that he’s wrong about his self-worth, that he’s important regardless of what he does or doesn’t have. And it sure as hell doesn’t sound like anyone else in his life is going to tell him that.
He keeps staring at me until it starts to feel uncomfortable. Why doesn’t he say something? I realize I didn’t really set him up for a great comeback or response, but come on. At least nod or something.
Taking a step forward, he moves to stand before me. The short chain between our handcuffs softly jingles as I tip my chin to look up at him.
He leans in a bit so our faces are just an inch apart and sinks his eyes deep into mine. Then quietly he says, “I see you.”