Hold On (The 'Burg #6)(124)

“Yeah. Though I haven’t viewed it yet, it’s still a front-runner.”

She looked down, reached out, and he heard her clicking.

He turned to the toaster.

He put a bagel in, and turned back to her, leaning his hips against the counter and seeing she was now bent, her face closer to the screen, her finger still clicking.

“So what do you think?” he asked.

She lifted slightly up, again giving him her gaze.

“This price can’t be right,” she told him.

“You saw the bathrooms,” he told her.

Her eyes flicked down then back to him.

“Yeah, they suck. But Merry, that price? This is a lake house.” She straightened entirely. “Okay, so maybe it’s a really big pond, but that pond is big and it’s still waterfront property. The kitchen is amazing. The floors are incredible. And it’s a lake house. The views are…” she trailed off.

“Needs a new roof,” he shared when she said no more. “A new furnace. New windows. It’s got no air conditioning, so the summer is gonna suck if that isn’t put in with the heating. And, babe, everything they did was cosmetic—that kitchen, the floors, paint. They didn’t get to the bathrooms. There’re two and a half of them, they’re f*ckin’ ugly, and gotta go and those’ll cost a whack. They’ve had four offers fall through after inspection. In the shape it’s in, it’s been on the market nine months and they’ve dumped the price twice. Now they’re gettin’ smart with a new price. But still, they gotta dump it even more for me to be able to cover the mortgage and do the work needs to be done.”

“It’d be worth it,” she stated immediately.

He again grinned. “You’re that sure?”

She looked at him, looked to his laptop, reached out, clicked, picked up his laptop, and turned it to him.

On the screen was a picture of the property, a view from the porch that pointed lakeside. In the shot, there were the edges of the arms and seats of two Adirondack chairs, the white wood planks of the porch floor, the vibrant green of healthy grass, and the calm, deep blue of a small lake.

Listing pictures usually sucked, but that one could be on a postcard.

“I’m that sure,” Cher confirmed.

He looked from the laptop to her and grinned again.

“It has three bedrooms,” she told him something he knew. “And a study. And I can see you with a kickass grill on that porch. You got a kickass grill and you wanna fry a burger, you don’t need a skillet.”

She shut up, turned the laptop her way, and again started clicking.

After a couple of seconds, she muttered, “I like thinking of you here.”

Garrett stopped grinning.

“This place isn’t home,” she went on, attention still to the computer. “It isn’t you. This…” She lifted her eyes to him, turning the computer back his way. “This is you, baby.”

On the screen now was the living room. It was huge. Beamed ceilings. Big TV mounted over a gray stone fireplace. Wood floors. Thick rugs. Leather furniture.

His mind’s eye conjured visions of her curled in the couch and Ethan with a controller in hand, sitting in the armchair.

And his gut got warm just as it went sour.

He liked the vision.

But it activated and he saw Ethan’s head turning to the door. Cher getting up from the couch and walking that way.

There were uniforms outside, waiting to give the news, create the hole that’d never be filled, lay down the hurt that’d never go away.

The vision blurred and focused.

The door opened and uniforms were outside.

But it was Garrett getting the news. Garrett and Ethan.

“Merry?”

He focused on her.

The bagels popped up.

He turned to the toaster, grabbed a plate, opened a drawer, and looked inside.

None of his silverware matched. He didn’t even remember where he got it. He left everything they’d had in the home he’d shared with Mia. When he rebuilt his life after Mia, he’d picked up whatever to make-do.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t cook. He didn’t hang out at his place unless it was to watch TV, and all he needed was beer and chips to do that.

He had his Harley.

He had his boat.

He had his truck and a life with no strings, so if he wanted out, a break to take off, to live life, he did it.

And came home feeling empty.

Hell, he was already empty.

The f*ck of it was, he had no clue if it was better to stay empty or get filled up, get used to that feeling and endure losing it. Losing it to a fight that leads to a breakup. To stupid shit that leads to a breakup. To something tragic that leads to heartbreak…and more empty.

He knew the answer to that getting shot of Mia.

It felt worse being empty. Having no one to be with. No one to share with.

Nothing to live for.

Still, the thought of the loss paralyzed him because he’d felt it before.

He put these thoughts aside, nabbed a knife, and was about to turn to the fridge to get the cream cheese when he saw Cher’s hand setting it on the counter by the plate.

Then she fit her front to his back, wrapped her arms around his stomach, and pressed her cheek to his lat.

She said nothing.

She just held on.