Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
I grew up feeling this way.
But while I’m no longer anxious about which version of my dad I’m about to face, since he’s locked up for good this time (fingers crossed), I am worried about what Jake and I are walking into.
I can’t forget what was here and what I snorted and swallowed. My mouth waters at the memory.
It was bitter and beautiful, and I’m terrified the cops didn’t do a good enough sweep.
Not to mention the absolute filth dear old dad left behind. This place was disgusting. The kitchen especially.
I shift the bags of clothes in my arms to free up my hand so I can push on the front door, knowing it should swing open without much effort since dad busted the lock (what a great guy), but I freeze when I notice the shiny new hardware.
The deadbolt and handle have both been replaced.
Even the wood that was damaged looks to be secure now. It’s no longer splitting.
“Um. Do cops fix up houses after searching it for drugs?”
Jake reaches my side, dropping a duffel at his feet, and mumbles, “No. That was me.”
“What?”
Instead of elaborating, he brushes against me and reaches into my pocket to dig for his keys while his other arm cradles Bella. She purrs and rubs her face against his neck.
I stare at Jake’s split lip. I think about kissing it.
“What was you?” I ask again.
“This.” He tips his head at the door. “I fixed it the other day when I came over and grabbed your stuff.”
His tone is so fucking melancholy right now, it kills me.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say. “I would’ve gotten a new one eventually.”
Jake’s shoulder jerks, like this is nothing. No big deal.
When I can easily list this in a category of the nicest things ever done for me.
“Fuck, Jake. Thank you.”
He doesn’t respond or even acknowledge my appreciation, and I watch as he singles out a shiny new key on the ring and unlocks the door with it.
Then he steps aside, motioning for me to go in ahead of him.
I step inside the house, and I lose my breath.
The kitchen has been cleaned up, looking exactly as it usually does when my father doesn’t go off on a bender and break in and fuck up my life. Everything is back in place.
And clean.
The table and chairs have been moved and wiped off, and every piece of trash and food and dish has been picked up, put away, or tossed.
There’s nothing on the floor that shouldn’t be there.
There’s no food laying out on the counter. The table is clear.
Meaning there’s no trace of drugs. No baggie of white powder or lose pill.
And the house smells… good. Like lemon disinfectant.
The old floor tile even has a shine to it.
I peer back at Jake after he steps inside the house. “You did this, didn’t you.”
Again, he shrugs.
“Jake.”
“Where do you want me to put my stuff?” he asks, avoiding this conversation and my probing gaze.
He keeps his focus on Bella.
Maybe he can’t let himself feel good about this right now, or good about anything. Not after what happened today. And I get it, I do, but Jesus Christ…
“You have to let me thank you for this,” I say, and the tone of my voice, the desperation in it, finally lifts Jake’s gaze.
He sets Bella down when she stretches and stirs, then he straightens up to look at me.
“You have to know how much I appreciate you right now. And how much this means to me. Because I can’t act like this isn’t a big deal, Jake. I don’t know how to do that.”
His neck rolls with a swallow.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Okay.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Did you do anything else? Tell me now. I’m worried what another surprise from you will do to me.”
I’ll blurt out I think I’m in love with you. I know I will.
Jake’s eyes move to the stairs. “I paid the trash guy to take your mattress so you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”
“The one my dad ruined?”
“Yeah.”
“I could’ve done that.”
“You’ve dealt with enough. And I wanted to do it. I like doing things for you.”
We stare at each other as something warm fills my chest. I suddenly feel amazing.
Yeah, I totally would’ve blurted that out.
“You’re sweet, Jake.”
“No, I’m not. I just really like you.”
I laugh a little, and Jake starts to smile, finally allowing himself to feel something good, but when the split in his lip stretches, he curses at the ground instead.
I drop the bags of clothes near the stairs and then move to the freezer, grabbing a bag of frozen peas out of the door.
I walk over to him and gently press the cold plastic against his face.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, taking over and holding the peas himself.
He steps around me and picks up the duffel, then he turns and gives me a look that tells me we’re done laughing and appreciating and almost smiling, and he quietly asks me again where he should put his stuff.