Page 39 of Axe-ing for Trouble
Yes. I let Ripley out, and they were running together. It was cute, so I fed it.
Lumbersnack:
That is so fucking dangerous. You can’t do that.
Trouble:
It’s fine.
Lumbersnack:
It will come back tomorrow expecting more.
Trouble:
That’s the plan.
Lumbersnack:
You cannot befriend dangerous wildlife. You could get hurt.
Trouble:
Stop being so overprotective, Lumberjack.
Lumbersnack:
If you fed a baby, it means its mom is nearby and could kill you.
Trouble:
Oh, I saw the mom. But it may have been the dad. It had huge antlers. That was a little scary. But we went back into the house. You’re really overthinking this. I’m fine.
Chapter12
Jude
Ipulled into the driveway, rolling my neck again. It still wasn’t helping. Chloe had insisted I spend the day in the office, learning about the new software she’d implemented. Its purpose was to track shipments and load values. Apparently, it would be installed in the trucks this winter. The online training program had sucked up several hours of my afternoon, along with what was left of my sanity.
Now I was home, working up the nerve to go inside, where Mila would undoubtedly be doing something to drive me over the edge permanently.
Like dancing in her underwear, or playing one of my guitars, or reading poetry aloud to Ripley. Every day was a delightful new surprise wrapped up in an excruciating test of my self-control.
For years, I’d come home to a clean, quiet, peaceful house after a hard day’s work. That was before a hurricane of a woman swept in with her constant chatter and restless energy.
I never knew what I’d walk in and find.
Her clothes were all over my house. Bras hanging from doorknobs, hair ties next to the sink, and the smell of lemons everywhere I went.
It was distracting.
My home, my sanctuary, had been overtaken.
In this moment, the lack of my quiet, safe space annoyed me, but honestly, more often than not, I looked forward to seeing Mila and talking to her about how she’d spent her day.
As I climbed out of my truck, the morning’s conversation with my brothers played in the back of my head. It was true—I barely knew her. But the connection between us was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. But I didn’t know how to even begin to explain that to them.
Though she’d lied, it was undeniable: I trusted her. Though some of her methods may have been questionable, she was a good person who was trying to do the right thing. And against my better judgment, I found myself getting pulled in, wanting to help.
