Life's Too Short (The Friend Zone #3)(33)

I squinted at her. “Did you just pull that out of your bra?” I asked, watching her put it on.

“Yeah. Leggings don’t have pockets. Plus it gets cold and won’t squeeze from the tube unless I keep it somewhere warm. I call it my boob stick.” She smacked her lips. “Want some?” She held it out.

“No. I don’t like the way that stuff tastes.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda gross. But it makes your lips super soft.” She pressed her lips together again and put the tube back in her bra.

I dropped my eyes to her mouth for a flicker of a second. Her lips did look soft…

I looked away from her.

A car pulled into the driveway of the house across the street.

“Oh, so now he’s home,” she mumbled.

“Who?”

She rubbed her hands on her arms. “Brent. He lives there with his boyfriend, Joel.”

“How old’s your brother?”

“Twenty-one. Joel is too. They’re high school sweethearts. He’s been living over there since he was fifteen.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Your dad let him?”

She shrugged. “He was over there all the time anyway. It was just across the street. And Dad still made him come home for dinner every night and holidays. It was sort of a win-win. Brent got out of this house, and Dad got to put shit in his room.” She laughed dryly. “Joel’s family is nice. Brent’s in a good place over there. He’s got the most potential of all of us to end up somewhat unscathed by this fucked-up family,” she muttered.

We watched Brent get out of the passenger side. He stopped and looked at us for a second before waving. Then he went around to the trunk and grabbed some grocery bags and went into the house with another young man.

“So what does he do for a living?” I asked.

She scoffed. “Lose money? He was a student. He went to college for business, but he graduated last spring. Absolutely refuses to get a job. He’s always got some disastrous side hustle he’s super into.”

“Like what?”

“Oh God, herbal supplements, skin-care products—you name it. To be fair, I did like the leggings though.” She blew into her hands. “Right now he’s trying to get me to invest in some business he wants to start. Not interested.”

“Why doesn’t he just go to a bank? Get a loan?”

She pressed her lips into a line. “Can’t. His credit is fucked. All our credit is fucked. When Melanie got sick, we almost lost everything. The medical bills were astronomical, and insurance didn’t cover even half of it. Dad had to file for bankruptcy. We were living on credit cards at the end.”

She stood up. “You want to wait for me in the car? It’s trash day the day after tomorrow. I figure since I pay for the service, I might as well fill the bin. I realize it’s an effort in futility at this point, but at least it’s something.”

I pushed up on my knees. “I’ll help you.”

She paused by the door. “You sure? There’s probably at least one of the hepatitises in there.”

“If you’re getting one of the heps, I’ll get it too,” I mumbled.

She laughed and it made her eyes twinkle and I felt instantly glad I offered.

I didn’t want to go back in there—but neither did she. And I wanted to help her. Even if the thing we were doing was pointless, making her feel less alone in it wasn’t.

Gerald was standing in the kitchen when we came back inside, blowing on a mug of soup. “He returns,” he muttered.

Vanessa gave him a look as she pulled some trash bags from under the sink. She shoved one into his chest. “Help.”

He eyed her. “Help with what? What, pray tell, do you think you’re throwing away, Daughter?”

“Trash,” she said. “And you are too.”

“There is no trash here. Everything in this house has a purpose.”

She picked up a broken vase. “Oh yeah? And what’s the purpose of this?” She jiggled it.

“As soon as I find the missing shards, I’m gluing it back together,” he said, completely straight-faced.

She let out a slow, patient breath and set the vase on the counter with a clink. “Dad? This house is seriously not okay. I understand this is difficult, but I need you to work with me. We’ve got three bags. These bags are going to get filled up and taken out. You can do this.”

He frowned. Then he turned to me. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

“Dad! Focus!” Vanessa snapped.

I put my hands up. “I’m just here to help.”

He narrowed his eyes at me and Vanessa huffed. “Three bags. You do the upstairs,” she said, pushing the trash bag into his chest again.

Gerald gave me one last narrow-eyed look and set his mug down. Then he snatched the bag and wandered off up the staircase, muttering to himself.

Vanessa watched him go and then turned to me, blowing air through pursed lips. “So, you wanna see something?” She smiled.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

She led me back down the narrow hallway and opened a door. The room was full of bikes. Full. They were piled on top of one another in some sort of macabre bicycle graveyard. Mountain bikes with bent rims, fat-tire bikes with flats, rusted children’s bikes with the training wheels still on them.