In Her Wake (Ten Tiny Breaths 0.5)(38)
And now they’re moving to Miami.
What the hell happened? There’s no way their aunt and uncle are okay with this. Livie’s, what, fifteen? Just starting her sophomore year of high school?
Something must have happened.
I fall back into my chair with a heavy sigh, letting my eyes roll over the two-bedroom condo I bought almost a year ago, the walls still white and without a single picture hung. I just got a couch the other week. Before that, I was watching TV in an armchair. It’s a place to stay, nothing more. It’s never felt like home. And now it feels more like a trap.
How far away is Miami, exactly? I quickly type into Google. “Twenty-one hours to drive.” My stomach sinks. I was actually considering getting a place out by Lansing and renting this out. So I could be closer to Kacey. Then I realized how f**king creepy that is.
Now she’s moving to Miami. But for what?
Maybe to start over . . .
Maybe to let go of her past.
That could mean all kinds of things—good things. Like maybe she’ll be ready to meet some guy. To let herself fall in love.
Unfolding the piece of lined paper that I’ve carried around in my pocket for over two years now, I read the words for the thousandth time and realize that I don’t want her meeting some other guy. Falling in love with some other guy.
I want her to meet me. Trent Emerson. The guy who wants to feel the warmth that I know exists within her. The guy who’s tied to her forever, whether she likes it or not. The one who needs to somehow make things right with her because I made everything so wrong.
Before I can fully think through what I’m doing, I’ve copied Tanner’s email address into my own email and fired off a message, inquiring about an apartment.
By the time I’m out of the shower, I have a response. A one-bedroom is available beginning next week, if I have references.
I don’t. But I have money. That’s the thing about living the way I have for four years. Besides this condo and the Harley I bought three months ago after getting my motorcycle license, I haven’t spent a dime. I’ve got plenty sitting in my account.
Enough to cover six months’ rent.
In a matter of twenty minutes, I’ve secured a furnished one-bedroom apartment in the same building as Kacey Cleary, leaving me spinning. I was afraid this Tanner guy might get suspicious, having another person offer cash in place of references, and the exact same length of time. But if he is, he’s not letting it get in the way of a deal.
Is this really happening? Yes, it is. And she’s not going to ignore me anymore, I decide. I’m going to make her see me. But I can’t rush this; I have to get it right. I’m only going to get one chance.
Chapter 21
I can barely hear anything with the blood rushing into my ears as I watch my new landlord lumber through the common area with Kacey and Livie trailing behind, pink suitcases bumping along the path. It’s not much more than what I came with, given that I rode my bike down, figuring I’d just buy what I need.
For a few days there, I was afraid that I’d just handed Hank Tanner six months’ rent for nothing. That Kacey would have bailed. There was nothing stopping her from backing out. Maybe she hadn’t paid the guy upfront, after all.
But I can breathe now, because she’s here.
Through the gauzy curtains, I see the awkward Tanner thumb toward my apartment and I instinctively take a step back. I’d kill to hear the conversation. Especially if it’s anything like the “no orgies” rundown that he gave me before handing me my keys.
Within minutes, they’ve disappeared into the apartment beside mine.
And so I wait.
Tanner reappears a few minutes later, a fat envelope gripped within his meaty hand.
And . . . what now? Are they going to hang out in the courtyard? Do I just walk out and sit down beside them? No, that won’t work.
After twenty minutes of pacing, I settle back into the desk that I’d strategically pulled up to the window so I could attempt to get some work done. As far as anyone knows, I’m in Rochester, working away in my home office. Luckily my mom doesn’t do drop-ins. I stopped by her place the day before I left and gave her an extra-big hug, so big that I saw anxiety flickering in her eyes. I can’t forget to text her every day.
I don’t think she’ll ever stop worrying about me. Not in the way a mother worries about her child. The way a mother worries about the son who should have died. Twice.
But I’m not going anywhere now, not when I’m sure I can help Kacey. I just need a chance.
And I get that chance. Hours later, after they’ve gone and come back with grocery bags dangling from their fingertips, the door slams shut and a flame of red passes by, a laundry basket with bedsheets in hand.
I dive for my own sheets, gathering them into a bundle, my jug of Tide in my free hand. And I head for the set of stairs that lead down to the laundry room. Machine doors slam on the other side and my heart begins racing. Am I really ready for this?
I can almost hear the note that sits in my back pocket answering me, giving me courage. The courage that I will need if I want to make her smile again. Because it’s all I want to do.
To make her smile again.
Taking a deep breath, I push through the door.