“I will.” I force the world’s most awkward smile, closing my eyes in a long blink. I’ll be home soon, and since I don’t have to get up to go to work in the morning, I can start—and finish—that bottle of sangria I’ve been saving for a special occasion.
Embarrassment burns on my face, bringing hot tears streaming down my cheeks. I angrily wipe them away and I step in a snowbank. My shoe fills with snow and I clench my jaw. It’s the icing on this shitty-ass cake I call my life, that’s for sure.
I’m trembling by the time I get to my car, and intend to sit here a minute and let it warm up. But when I see Mike open the front door, I tear out of my spot. I’ve never been more thankful for my four-wheel drive in my life.
The McMillans look at me as I speed away, and I can already see Mrs. McMillan clucking her tongue and shaking her head as she gossips about me to her neighbors. And God knows what Amber is going to say to her “besties” from high school she still hangs out with.
Who still call me Weird Rory because they never fucking grew up.
Curse of a small town, I know.
I speed the whole way home, crossing all the way through town. I live in a large, old house that was divided into three apartments fifty or so years ago. Everything is terribly dated, but I say it’s part of the charm.
Parking in front of the big house, I pull my scrub pants on, fighting a bit to get them over my shoes, and then get out.
Missy Davis, who lives in the apartment above me, comes out with her two Yorkies in her arms as I walk toward the house. Each dog is wearing a jacket, a scarf, and boots on all four feet.
“Hey, Rory,” she says, fussing over one of the dogs, who keeps flicking the boots off her paws. “Did you hear the news?”
“News? What news?”
She motions to a For Sale sign front and center of the yard.
“What is that?” It’s perfectly clear what that is. Mr. Thomas, who owns the building, has been talking about selling for years. Maybe I was naive to assume I’d be out before that happened, but obviously I was wrong.
And I…I can’t.
My job.
My boyfriend.
They say things come in threes.
Might as well add my apartment to that list.
Nothing is going to be okay.Chapter 3Dean“Motherfucker.”
“What?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the glowing TV screen in front of us. Archer and I are sitting in the theater room in the finished basement of his house.
Archer trades his Playstation controller for his phone, holding it up with a frown on his face. I glance away from our game just long enough to see it’s the hospital calling.
“Sucks to be you,” I say and kill his character. Archer takes his headset off and answers the phone. He’s on call tonight, which is the only reason the hospital is calling at half-past eleven. “You gotta go in?” I ask when he hangs up.
“Yeah. I have a stab-wound to fix.”
“You sound way too excited about that.”
“By the smell, the nurse thinks it might have perforated the bowel.”
“Sick,” I laugh and start to shut down the game. “Sounds bad.”
“Oh, it is. They’re prepping the guy for surgery now and I’ll be assisting another surgeon on the procedure.”
We put our controllers and headsets away and go upstairs and into the kitchen. Archer grabs something to eat on the way to the hospital and goes up to the second level to tell Quinn he’s leaving. I rummage through the fridge, finding yesterday’s leftovers behind jars of homemade baby food.
I stick it in the microwave and sit at the large island counter, looking at my phone while I wait for the food to heat up. My finger hovers above the little blue Facebook icon. I hesitate and then put my phone done at the last second.
“You wanna stay for a while?” Archer asks, coming down the back stairs that empty right into the kitchen. “I don’t like leaving Quinn and the kids alone at night.”
“I can.” The microwave beeps and I get up to grab the glass container of pot roast.
“Thanks, man. And Quinn will appreciate it. She’s convinced the house is haunted.”
“Again? Are you sure it’s not more cats living on your back porch?”
“I’d rather it be ghosts this time.” He rolls his eyes. “And she and Scarlet found a Ouija board at an antique store and Quinn bought it. Now she’s convinced she summoned something.”
“I don’t get how someone can be so smart and logical like she is, yet she’s terrified of ghosts.”
Archer laughs and grabs a water bottle from the pantry. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with all of her brothers tormenting her about her childhood home being haunted.”