Page 12 of The Deadbeat Next Door

“I wish it was that easy, Aunt Carrie. But thanks for the support.”

“I just…” I took a deep breath to hide the fact I was crying, and tried to figure out a way to make him see he deserved to be happy. He was so caught up in mistakes he’d made in the past that he couldn’t see the present clearly, couldn’t see how much happiness he deserved. But I’d said everything to him before and it had made no difference. Instead, I told him about my librarian date and made him laugh. I wished that was enough.

***

“I’ve never seen anyone cry while they’re gardening,” Cody’s warm voice washed over me, cocky and a bit smug. Of course he could afford to be smug, he hadn’t let down two young people who depended on him. “Are you planting onions? Or did you have another bad date?”

I put down my hand trowel and glared at him. After my phone call with Harrison, I’d changed and gotten to work on my garden, an activity that never failed to calm me. It had calmed me, but it hadn’t stopped the tears. “You’re trespassing on private property,” I said. I tried to look scary, but my tears probably ruined the effect.

His smile widened. “I saw my neighbor in distress and I came over to make sure she’s okay. I don’t think anyone could accuse me of being in the wrong here.”

Gah, he was such a jerk. “If you were really worried about me,” I said, brushing at another tear that had escaped. I just couldn’t stop crying. “You wouldn’t have made that snide comment about a bad date.”

“Well, you do have seriously bad taste in men. I just wanted to see if there was anyone else I needed to talk to.”

My blood ran cold. “What do you mean, anyone else?”

He shrugged. “Betty told me where to find that guy who stranded you at Vince’s. I figured I’d have a little talk with him about the appropriate way to treat a lady.”

I was on my feet, my sadness giving way to an uninhibited rage. I may not be able to fix all of Harrison or Kayla’s problems, but I could certainly make sure my meddling neighbor stayed out of my life. “Don’t you dare go talk to him. I handled it just fine.”

“Maybe I want to make sure he knows to stay away from you.”

“What? Are you my bodyguard now?”

“Somebody should be.” He crossed his arms over his chest and a flame of something like anger lit his eyes. “You certainly don’t seem to do a very good job looking out for yourself.”

Something in me snapped, some basic, primal part of me rushed forward and took control of my body. Before I’d even realized what I was doing, I’d chucked the trowel at Cody and screamed out a guttural expression of anger and frustration. I’m not good at sports, I couldn’t hit the side of an elephant with a ball and I close my eyes when I should be catching something. I’m also not violent, I’ve never hit or hurt anyone, and believe me when I say plenty of people I’ve encountered in my life deserved violence. But Cody brought out something I didn’t even know I had in me. I flung that trowel and I hit him square between the eyes.

I immediately freaked out. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. I’ve never…I didn’t mean…I would never.” Cody was bent over clutching his face and I pulled in a deep breath and prepared myself for the worst. I walked over and put a hand on his back. “Are you okay? How bad is it?”

“It fucking hurts,” he said. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“That’s not important right now, we need to assess the damage and get you fixed up.”

He straightened a bit, his hand still cupped to his forehead, and I could see blood dripping down his face. Oh, my god, I could have killed him or put out his eye if the trowel had hit him just a little bit differently. I was a bad, bad person, and I shouldn’t be allowed around dangerous objects like trowels ever again. I’d give up gardening in penance…Or whatever. I did my best to calm down, so that I didn’t freak him out. “The light’s pretty dim out here,” I said. “We should go inside, so I can get a good look. I’ve got first aid supplies.”

“You promise not to throw anything else at me, in there?” Did his voice sound weak? I shouldn’t be happy that all his smugness was now gone, should I? I was so going to hell.

“I solemnly swear never to throw anything at you ever again,” I said. “I won’t do anything to cause you any sort of physical harm.”

“Okay,” he said. “Lead the way.”

I took him by the hand that wasn’t covering his face and led him inside.

***

It’s not easy to lead a man who’s a good foot taller than me and almost twice as wide into my small house, especially when he’s in pain and covering his eyes. I may have walked him into the porch railing and forgotten to mention there was a step, causing him to stub his toe and hop around for a minute, cursing and swearing. I might have also forgotten to mention the lintel at the front door, causing him to stumble and fall against me, dripping blood on my t-shirt. All that may have happened, but I don’t like to dwell on past mistakes. It’s best to move forward and focus on what I can control: the present.

A present that included a man sitting in my small guest bathroom, making it look even smaller as he sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat. I did not want to pull his hand away from his face and see what I’d done to him. I did not want to know how my irrational moment of rage had marred his perfect, gorgeous face. But I’m not a coward and I couldn’t just leave him sitting in my bathroom and do nothing.

I got all the bandages and ointment I owned, as well as a clean cloth and I set them up along the sink. “Okay,” I said. “Take your hand away.”

He dropped his hand and my heart sank. There was so much blood. His face was covered in blood and I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. With shaking hands, I wet the cloth and began gently wiping his face. “Do you feel dizzy or nauseous?”

“No,” he said, his voice a bit husky. I wiped the blood from his nose and mouth, moving as carefully as I could.

“You hit me on the forehead,” he said. “It’s probably best to stop the bleeding first.”

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