Next to Me Page 2

  "Drinking and hiking?" He smiles. "That's all there is to do?"

  "Pretty much."

  "I passed a bowling alley on my way into town. And I think I saw a golf course."

  I shrug. "Well, there you go. There's all kinds of things to do. So why are you moving here?"

  "I'm not moving here, at least not for good. I'm just here for a few months. I'm fixing up the house next door. It might get kind of noisy at times with the equipment, but I'll do my best to keep it down."

  "And you're going to live in it while you work on it?"

  "That's the plan," he says, leaning back on the couch.

  I can't imagine anyone living in that thing. It's a dilapidated house with peeling paint and missing shingles. Why would anyone try to fix it up? It should be condemned.

  "What are you doing to it?" I ask.

  "Renovating it," he says confidently. "Top to bottom. The inside, outside. It's going to look great when it's done."

  He's delusional. There's no way that house can be salvaged. It's really old, and Mr. Freeson lived there forever and never did any maintenance on it. The support beams are probably rotted out or eaten by termites. I'm surprised the house hasn't collapsed by now.

  My house is just as old, but my stepdad was diligent about maintenance. He was always fixing stuff. Since the accident, I've done my best to take care of everything, but it's hard when it's just me. It's a small house on a small lot but it's still a lot to keep up, especially when you're only 21 years old and know almost nothing about home maintenance.

  "I can't wait to get started." Nash nods toward the house. "As you can tell it needs a lot of work."

  "Did someone hire you to do it?"

  "No. I own it."

  My brows rise. "You actually paid money for that?"

  He laughs. A deep, easy laugh. "Come on. It's not that bad."

  "It looks like it's falling apart."

  "The structure's fine. It's just been neglected. I'll get it back to how it used to be."

  "I think you're crazy." I blurt it out, then cover my mouth. "I'm sorry. That was rude."

  He smiles. "Don't worry about it. Most people would agree with you. The house does look pretty bad. But I have a way of seeing things that other people can't. To me, it's not a crumbling old house. It's a house waiting to be saved. Waiting for someone to step in and take care of it. Breathe some life into it again." He reaches in his back pocket and takes out his wallet. He pulls out a business card and hands it to me. "That's what I do. Home renovation and construction, although we're starting to expand beyond just residential properties."

  The card reads, Wheeler Construction and Renovation. Your Best Choice for Building and Remodeling.

  "You own a company?"

  "Sort of. My dad owns it and my brothers and I work for him, but when he retires, we'll take it over. Oh, and to answer your earlier question, I didn't buy the house. I inherited it."

  "You're related to Mr. Freeson?"

  "I'm his grandson."

  "I didn't know he had any family. He never had any visitors."

  "I didn't know he was my grandfather until after he died. He was my mom's father but I never knew him because I never knew my mom. She took off right after I was born and I haven't heard from her since. Anyway, one day I got a call from a lawyer telling me I owned this house. My grandfather also left behind some money so I'm using that to pay for the renovations."

  "He only left it to you and not your brothers?"

  "My brothers aren't related to him. They're half brothers. After my mom took off, my dad got married and had three more boys."

  "So how long will you be here?"

  "Just long enough to fix up the house. I'm hoping to finish up by September."

  "And then what?"

  "I'll put it on the market. Try to sell it." He pauses. "Well, I should let you get back to whatever you were doing. You gonna be okay?"

  He smiles again. That same wide smile he gave me earlier that causes creases to form around his eyes. He has beautiful eyes. I wish I had blue eyes like that. Instead I got boring brown to match my boring brown hair.

  "Callie?" I hear his voice and realize I'm staring at him, not saying anything.

  "Yeah." I pretend to swat a fly away, hoping maybe he'll think I was staring at a fly and not him. "I'm fine."

  "You didn't hit your head when you fell, did you?" He holds my chin as his eyes dart all around my face, looking for signs of injury. I must've really seemed out of it just now if he thinks I have a head injury.

  I back away. "I didn't hit my head. I'm fine. I just felt a little dizzy for a moment. It's hot and I didn't drink enough water this morning."

  "I'll get you some."

  Before I can tell him no, he takes off for my kitchen. I hear glasses clinking, then the sink running. I just met this guy and he walks around like he owns the place. And yet, it feels kind of nice to have someone here. To not be alone. I'm always alone in this house. I hate being alone.

  "Here." He hands me the glass and sits next to me. "I'll stay a few minutes. Make sure you're okay."

  "Just go. You don't have to stay."

  "Maybe I want to." He looks around. "It's a hell of a lot better than my place."

  "I guess that's true." I take a sip of water.

  "How's the knee feel?"

  "Better. I'll keep it elevated until I leave for work. It'll be fine."

  "Where do you work?"

  "At the bakery downtown. It's also a coffee shop."

  "What's it called?"

  "Lou's."

  "That's it? Just Lou's?"

  "Yeah. He's not very creative with names but he's a good baker. People even come from other towns just to buy his stuff."

  "Are you a waitress there?"

  "No. I work in the kitchen."

  "Sounds like a decent summer job."

  It's not a summer job. It's a year round job that I've had for the past ten months. Lou knew my family and felt bad when they died so offered me a job. He wanted a full-time person but since I wasn't doing so well when he hired me, he only made me work five hours a day, which includes my half-hour lunch break. And I still work those same hours. Just five hours a day, five days a week.

  "I'll have to stop by sometime. I have a weakness for pastries, especially donuts. And I like those flaky things with the fruit center. I don't know what they're called."

  "Danishes. We make all kinds. Blueberry, raspberry, lemon. They usually sell out by ten."

  "Then I'll have to get there early. What time do they open?"

  "Six. And we close at two. It's a breakfast and lunch place."

  "It's already nine. So when do you work?"

  "Ten to three. From two to three I help him close and clean up."

  Why am I telling him all this? Probably because I'm so desperate to talk to someone. I'm always here by myself, and when I'm at work I stay in the kitchen, so don't talk much there either.

  His cell phone rings and he pulls it from his pocket and answers it. "Yeah?...Okay...Can I call you back in a minute?" He hangs up.

  "You should go," I say.

  "Yeah, I've gotta see what kind of mess I've got going on over there."

  "You've never been in the house?"

  "Just once, right after I found out it was mine. But I didn't stay long so I didn't get a good look at it." He smiles. "It was nice meeting you. Sorry again for the truck. I'd like to say it won't happen again but unfortunately it will."

  "At least I'll know what that sound is now."

  He walks to the door. "If you need anything, my number's on that card I gave you. Call me anytime."

  "Okay. Bye," I say, but he's already gone.

  Nash. That's a weird name. He's kind of a weird guy. Inviting himself into my house. Walking around like he owns the place. Fixing my knee after just meeting me. That's weird.

  What am I saying? I'm the weird one. Crazy is more like it. Sometimes I can barely get through the day without falling apart. It's been
this way for three hundred and eighty-five days and I'm starting to think it'll never get better. That I'll be this way forever.

  Chapter Two

  Nash

  "Hey, it's me," I say to Jake, holding my phone to my ear as I step over a pile of magazines on the floor. The whole house is full of old magazines and newspapers. "I was just talking to the neighbor."

  "Yeah. So who is it? Some old guy?"

  "No. It's a girl. Probably around 20 or 21." I pick up one of the magazines from the floor. It's dated January 1992. Clearly, my grandfather was a hoarder.

  "Is she hot?"

  I walk over to the window, looking out at her house. "She's not bad."

  Actually, she IS hot. Really hot, but I didn't want to tell Jake that. If I did, he'd be driving down here this second, trying to go out with her. Jake's my half-brother who sleeps with most any girl who shows interest. And a lot of girls show interest because he knows how to turn on the charm. They also love that stupid dimple in his cheek, which I think makes him look like a kid, but he's my kid brother so I'll always think he looks like a kid.

  I'm 25 and he's 23, so it's not like we're that far apart in age but he acts younger than his age. But he's going to have to grow up now that I'm not there this summer. That was one of the reasons I left. He needs to grow up, and he won't do that if his big brother is always around.

  "Maybe I'll drive down there this weekend," he says, a smile in his voice.

  "You're not sleeping with her."

  "Why? You planning on going out with her?"

  "After Marissa, I think I'm done with women for a while." I lean against the kitchen counter and feel it give a little. I turn and see the counter is rotting along the edges, causing it to pull back from the wall.

  "Forget Marissa," he says. "That was six months ago. Don't let that bitch control you anymore."

  "She's not controlling me. I don't even talk to her anymore."

  "And yet you moved to get away from her."

  "I'm here to renovate the house. It had nothing to do with her."

  It's a lie and we both know it. The truth is, Marissa is one of main reasons I left. We used to be engaged but that ended when I stopped by her apartment one night to surprise her and found her in bed with another guy. A guy she works with at the law firm. A scrawny ass rich guy whose dad runs the firm. Apparently Marissa had ambitions she hadn't shared with me. She always told me she went into law to protect the poor and the innocent, but the truth is she just wanted to make lots of money. And I'm sure she will, sleeping with the boss' son.

  Living in Chicago, I kept running into her. We went to the same coffee shops, the same restaurants, the same gym. She even lived in my apartment building. That's how I first met her.

  When I'd run into her after our break-up, she'd say a quick hello and smile at me as if we were just tenants in the same building. There was no emotion there. No regret. I loved her, or at least I thought I did, and she cheated on me and didn't give a shit. It got to the point I couldn't take running into her anymore. I needed to get away.

  That's how I ended up here. I figured now was the perfect time to fix up the house. I'd planned to do it last year, when I found out I owned it, but Marissa didn't want me to. She wanted me to sell it. She told me she'd miss me too much, living two hours away while I was here fixing it up. I believed her lie, but the truth is she just wanted whatever money I could get from selling it. The house is close to a large state park with a lake so this area becomes a tourist destination in the summer. Rich people from Chicago would love to tear this house down and build an expensive summer home in its place. I'd probably get top dollar for the land but I'm not willing to sell it. Or the house. I just tell people I'm selling it so they won't question why I'm keeping it. But the reason why I am is because it's a connection to my grandfather, which is a connection to my birth mom. The only connection I have to her.

  Now that I'm here and seeing how shitty the house looks, it might be better to tear the thing down, but I'm not a quitter. Unlike Marissa, I don't give up on things just because they aren't perfect or fancy or something that would impress my friends.

  "You and Marissa ended six months ago," Jake says. "You need to get out there and at least get some action."

  "I'm not like that and you know it."

  "Yeah, you're a relationship guy, but this thing with Marissa should've proved to you that relationships suck. Sex with no strings? That's the way to go, especially at our age."

  I've always had relationships. Starting at age 14, I had a girlfriend. It was completely innocent. We held hands and kissed. That's all. It lasted a year, and a few months later, I had another girlfriend. She was older than me so that relationship was not innocent. Not at all. That girl had experience and taught me things. Things I probably shouldn't have known about until I was much older. We dated for three months, and after we broke up, I went right into another relationship, and it continued that way up until Marissa. One relationship after another, each lasting at least a couple months but usually longer.

  "Just go to a bar, find a girl, and have a one night stand," Jake says. "It'll be good for you."

  "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't do it here. It's too small of a town. Chances are I'd run into the girl at the grocery store."

  "It's not that small of a town. You said they had a Home Depot. They don't put those in small towns."

  "Doesn't matter. It's still small compared to Chicago. Small enough that I could run into the girl."

  "Then date your neighbor." He chuckles. "She can be your girlfriend until the house is done. At least it's convenient."

  "Stop worrying about my love life and worry about your own. Now why'd you call me?"

  "Remember that Victorian we put a bid on?"

  He's referring to the restoration of an old Victorian house that a rich elderly woman left to the city in her will. It's been declared a historic landmark but needs a lot of work done on it before it can be opened to tourists. A lot of other companies put in bids, knowing they'd get publicity if they ended up working on the project.

  "What about it?" I ask.

  "It looks like we're going to win."

  "No shit? Why didn't Dad call and tell me?"

  "He wanted to know for sure before he told anyone. He has a meeting today to answer any final questions and then we'll know."

  "So why'd he tell you and nobody else?"

  "Because if we get the project, he's putting me in charge. I mean, Dad will still oversee it, but I'll be the day-to-day person in charge of it."

  I'm surprised my dad's doing that, knowing how important this project is. But I did lecture him before I left that he needed to give Jake more responsibility. It's the only way to get him to grow up. Jake is smart and a hard worker and has good people skills so would make a good leader. He's just never had the chance to do so because Dad's always put me in charge.

  "Jake, that's great. That project's going to get a lot of press."

  "Exactly. Which is why I can't do it. If we win this project, you need to get your ass back to Chicago."

  "I'm not going back. You can do this, Jake. You've got Bryce and Austin to help out."

  Bryce and Austin are my other half-brothers. Bryce is 22 and Austin is 20. My stepmom purposely had one kid after another. She wanted us to be close in age, thinking we'd get along better that way. Instead, all four of us fought constantly, like most siblings do, but when my stepmom died a few years ago, the fighting stopped. She died suddenly from a heart attack, which shocked the whole family and made us stop wasting our time fighting, realizing any of us could go at any time. Her death is also the reason I went to work for my dad. He broke down after she died and he needed my help. So I quit my EMT job and took over the business until he was able to come back to work, and then I just kept working for him and have been ever since.

  "Those little shitheads don't know what they're doing," Jake says.

  "They do when it comes to construction. That's your weak area, Jake, and y
ou know it. I've got a scar to prove it."

  "One freaking nail gun incident and you never let me forget it."

  "I'm just saying, your strength is people skills so use that to your advantage. You can do this, Jake. I know I give you shit all the time for slacking off, but without me there, I know you can step in and make it happen."

  "I guess. Maybe you were holding me back. You always were a bossy son-of-a-bitch." He laughs but it's true. I tend to be a control freak on the construction site. One, because I don't want any of my guys getting hurt. Two, because I want to be on time and on budget. And three, because I want to please my dad.

  Number three is stupid because he'll never be pleased. He's a good dad, and I'm blessed to have him, but when it comes to my work, it seems like whatever I do is never good enough. He expects more out of me than my brothers. Even when they screw up, he goes easy on them, but me? He freaking lays into me. I screw up one little thing and he raises his voice. Pounds his fist. Acts like the world is ending.

  Part of the reason for that is because I'm the oldest and he's trying to prepare me to take over when he retires. Construction is a tough business and you have to get used to clients who are demanding and unreasonable and always yelling at you. So I get why he treats me that way, but I still don't like it.

  "Nash, I gotta go," Jake says. "I'll let you know what happens with the Victorian. Or Dad will call you."

  "Is he still pissed at me for leaving?"

  "No. He's over it. The possibility of winning this project put him in a good mood. Otherwise, yeah, he'd probably still be pissed at you."

  My dad was pissed when I told him I was moving here for the summer to work on this house. He said I was neglecting my responsibilities. I just let him go off on me and kept quiet. There was no use fighting over it. I was going whether he liked it or not.

  "I'll call you later, Nash."

  "Yeah, bye."

  I shove my phone in my pocket and make my way to the garage, trudging through piles of newspapers and magazines scattered all over the kitchen floor. Who the hell lives like this? It's a damn fire hazard, not to mention a hazard just trying to walk through all this shit without tripping. If I didn't know the old man died of a heart attack, I would've guessed he'd tripped on all this junk and killed himself.