Page 17 of Perfectly Complicated
Rourke
There are firemen outside the condo building where I live. Real live firemen with a fire truck and a crowd of people, huddling on the sidewalk. Apparently, the universe isn’t done throwing curveballs at me yet. This time, it’s not because I’m being cast as the lead role for the Christmas pageant.
My condo sits on the top floor of what used to be an old textile factory, now called The Foundry—a hulking brick building from the 1920s that some developer turned into the kind of hip industrial loft that belongs in Brooklyn, not a small coastal town.
Original brick walls, exposed steel beams, and restored hardwood floors give the place a historic touch while everything else has been updated with all the amenities I could want, if I were ever actually there: stainless steel kitchen, quartz countertops, and massive windows overlooking the harbor. It’s the kind of upscale place that attracts people who want luxury alongside a piece of history. For me, I just thought it was fun to live in a renovated loft near the water.
“What’s going on?” I ask a firefighter who’s keeping people out of the way. “I need to get to my place.”
“Not happening,” he says, shaking his head. “Some idiotin a downstairs condo left a space heater running and caught his curtains on fire. We got the fire under control easily, but the smoke and water damage from the sprinkler system compromised the entire structure. The building’s uninhabitable until it passes inspection.”
“You mean I can’t stay here?”
“Not unless you want to get in trouble with the fire marshal.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” I ask, dragging a hand through my hair. This can’t be happening. Not now, when I hardly have the bandwidth to deal with one more thing.
He shrugs. “Hotel would be your best bet. Take what you can and leave the rest for the insurance adjuster.”
Perfect.Homeless for the holidays.
There aren’t hotels in Sully’s Beach, so I call all the extended-stay places within driving distance, only to find out there’s a convention in Charleston and everything is booked.
Maybe I can find a beach house rental, but probably not for tonight. And I can’t drive back and forth for practice if I’m hours away. I’m pretty much stuck crashing on a friend’s couch until I can find something better.
After grabbing what I can, I text Jaxon and Miles to ask if I can stay with them, only to not get a response. I know Brax and Jaz have a baby and the last thing new parents need is a houseguest, but with my condo uninhabitable and nowhere else to go, I head toward Rose & Thorn, a weathered two-story white farmhouse with a wraparound porch on a tree-lined street.
I knock, then wait on the front porch. From somewhere inside, baby Rosie screams before footsteps approach the door.
“She’s here,” Brax’s voice says as the door swings open. “Please tell me you brought food because we’re living on crackers and—” His face falls when he sees me. “Oh. It’s you.”
“Yeah, who were you expecting?”
“I thought you were…never mind. Somebody’s bringing us dinner.” He shifts Rosie as he looks over my bag. “What are you doing here?”
“My condo had a fire. Whole place is condemned and all the hotels are booked.”
His eyes widen. “That’s horrible, man. You need a place to stay?”
“Would that be okay with you and Jaz? At least until I find someplace else.”
“Come on in.” He steps aside, bouncing Rosie, whose red face suggests she’s about to lose it. “I would give you Leo’s old room, but Jaz just turned it into Rosie’s new nursery. Which means only the couch is left.”
I walk inside, dropping my bag by the door. “Couch is fine. I didn’t mean to interrupt your family time.”
“You didn’t interrupt anything…except another scream-fest, courtesy of our daughter.” She lets out a wail to prove her point.
I look over at Brax’s exhausted face. “Want me to try?”
Brax frowns. “You?”
Just then, Jaz appears in the hallway wearing stained sweats and a weary smile. “Hey, Rourke. Did you just offer to hold a screaming baby?”
“Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s just…” Jaz stares at me. “She’s been fussing for hours. She’s teething and miserable, and nothing seems to work.”
Brax turns to his wife. “Don’t scare him off. The man offered to give us a break. We should take it.”
