Page 12 of Small Town, Big Storm

“No, I mean why are you bothering?I thought we agreed to sell.”

He shrugs yet a-fucking-gain.“You made a proclamation.I haven’t agreed.”Tap.Tap.Tap.“Plus, the will hasn’t even been read yet.”

“And?”I ask.Then when he doesn’t reply, add, “That’s not going to change anything.”

As soon as my legal obligation is done, I’m out of here.

Yet even as I think that, my mind drifts toward a slender brunette with anger in her eyes, secrets written across her face, and a daughter cradled against her chest.

“Why not?”Rain says.“Maybe we can fix it up enough and rent it out as an Airbnb or something.”Tap.Tap.Tap.Up comes another tile.“Or maybe,” he says, something threading through his tone that immediately has me clenching my teeth together, “it can be a home base for you now that you’re with the Hawks.”

With the Hawks.

To anyone else that would be an innocuous statement—hell, it would even be a thoughtful one, offering to fix up a place for me to stay near my job.

But instead, it feels like a slap to the face.

A reminder of all that I’ve failed at.

And all that’s so seriously fucked up—the past, the present, the fucking future.

And great, now I sound like a character fromA Christmas Story.

Ba-ha-ha, I’m the Ghost of Christmases Fucked.

Because we sure as shit never had any good ones inthishouse.

Unfortunately, Rain takes my silence as an agreement to his offer of fixing up this shithole.“I was thinking we could redo the kitchen.”Tap.Tap.Tap.“First get rid of the eighties tile and the shitty appliances.I know you like to cook—or you used to, anyway, so we could really do it nice.Built-ins and marble countertops, change out the lighting for something more modern.I have a lead on a vender who does custom metal work and they make gorgeous fixtures.”He puts down the chisel and picks up his phone, starts scrolling through it.“I think they’ll be at the next craft fair at Bits & Bobs.”He holds it up, a photo of a killer light fixture on the screen.

But…

I can’t do this.

“Blossom can probably arrange a good deal,” he goes on, “and we could?—”

Wecould?

We?

“Fuck no,” I grit out.

A pause as he drops his hand, his phone bouncing against his thigh.“Right.Well, there are other options for lighting.We?—”

“It’s not about the fuckinglighting.”

He nods like I haven’t just bitten his head off and taps away at another tile.“Yeah, I get that.We should focus on the big stuff first.The bathrooms are atrocious, and I’m half-convinced the tub is going to fall through the floor of the upstairs one.Plus, I don’t think the laundry room has had a working water line in the last five?—”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”I clench my hands into fists at my sides.“Or are you being purposefully dense?”

“So, not the laundry?—?”

“No,” I snap, “not the fucking laundry or the bedrooms or the godawful, mold-filled disasters that try to pass as bathrooms.Not this ugly kitchen or the front porch that looks like a stiff breeze will blow it over.My home base won’t be here, not fucking ever.Not in this fucking house, not in this fuckingtown.Not—” I cut myself off before I say something unforgivable.

Before Iadmitsomething unforgivable.

I close my eyes, grinding my teeth together, barely resisting the urge to punch my fist through the smoke-stained drywall.

Because the last time I stood here, the last time I argued here…