In their defense, I am hard to love. I know that. My shield goes up as soon as a voice is raised. Beer cans thrown at your head hurt, but not as bad as the hateful words slurred with a venom emboldened by a vodka bottle. That’s easy pain compared to watching a new acquaintance you just brought home take in the shit show of your stepdad in a midday bender at four in the afternoon.
That’s a humiliation that never dies. It follows you year to year, in hushed locker room conversations, and in snappy comments made by passersby in the cafeteria.
Honestly, both of those are nothing compared to the devastation of looking at your mother in the midst of the chaos, silently pleading for her help, and having her tell you that the issue is you.
You are a burden. You are the problem.
That’s a lot of crap for a little girl to carry around.
It’s not a walk in the park for an adult, either.
“I know what you could do,” Libby says cheekily. “You could make friends with the boy next door.”
I roll my eyes and try to ignore the way my insides tighten at the thought.
“It’s kind of fate,” she says. “What are the odds that you broke into his house? It’s kismet, Jaxi.”
“It’s not fate. I’m just a dumbass. Besides, your whole giddiness right now is starting to make my stomach a little queasy.”
She scoffs. “That queasiness is probably from the testosterone you absorbed from being around him today.”
I close my eyes again. “Where do you come up with this? Have you had too much sun?”
A bird squawks in the background. “Oh, please. You’re not blind, deaf, or dumb.”
I shove my elbows into the pillows and sit up. “Nope, I’m not. But I am without a permanent residence, have very little in my savings, and my wound is a little fresh from the roller coaster of the last year.”
“So?”
“So, you think now is the time for me to make a play at the guy you’ve made out to be Bachelor of the Year?”
My face heats as I recall the tidbits of things that Libby has told me about Boone—things that I didn’t even realize I remembered.
Like how she watched him help an old man get his cat out of a tree. And how he took all of her freezer items and put them in his when their appliance fizzled out last summer and a new one couldn’t be delivered for three days. And how a lady two houses down mentioned to Libby that it was her first birthday alone in sixty years, and when Libby mentioned that to Boone, he insisted they take her to dinner. He went out and bought a cake that was entirely too big and a huge tub of ice cream.
Libby talked about that for a week.
“I’m not saying you have to make a play for him,” Libby says. “I’m just saying that you’re going to be lonely for the next week, and he’s home alone next door. That’s all.”
“That’s all. Right.”
She blows out an air of frustration. “What are you going to do? Just sit in my house and watch Netflix?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay, well, that doesn’t sound like a terrible plan, actually, but you can’t do that. You have to enjoy things, Jax.”
I gaze up at the ceiling. “I really enjoy historical sagas on Netflix with handsome leading men.”
“There’s a handsome leading man next door.”
“Stop,” I protest. “I deserve to block out the world for a hot minute. I need a minute to get my bearings so when I land in Hawaii, I’m refreshed and ready to hit the pavement—or beach, I guess, running.”
I wiggle my toes and think about how they’ll be buried in sand in just a couple of days. My pale skin will be sun-kissed, and the stress I’ve endured lately will be behind me.
Thank God.
“I can’t believe you’re going to be a nanny for a family in Hawaii,” Libby says. “I didn’t even know you liked kids.”
“Eh, I don’t. Not really.” I shrug under the blanket. “But it’s a favor to Mr. Kapowski to help his daughter. They’ll pay me, and it just happens to be in Hawaii. I can like kids for that.”
She laughs.
“You know,” I say, my body stilling, “I really think Mr. Kapowski knew things weren’t going to end well with Chuck.”
The mood changes in an instant. I can almost hear Libby get angry.
“Why didn’t you tell me what was happening with your landlord?” she asks.
“Because there was nothing to tell you, Lib. He was just an asshat and made things as terrible, as uncomfortable as he could. He never physically did anything.”
She pauses. “Until he …”
Her voice falls because she doesn’t want to say it.
But I will. “Until he insinuated that I could pay my increased rent with my vagina.”
My skin crawls as the blood beneath it boils. The scent of his breath—stale coffee and sardines—is forever imprinted in my mind.
Quietly gagging, I rip the blanket off me.
My brain takes the opportunity to do what I’ve been struggling hard not to do—replay the event of the last month. It comes at me in vivid shots of memory.
Chuck’s smarmy grin when I opened the door. The way he positioned his body so I couldn’t shut him out. His notice that the rent was increasing and my shock and horror at that fact, considering I was already overpaying for the opportunity to live in one of the dankest apartments in Columbus.
The way his eyes lit up. The scent of sardines. His words, “Then pay with your pussy, pretty lady,” followed by the sound of wood splitting as his fist slammed into the door to hold it open.
Shouting. Police sirens triggered by the neighbors. Me looking like the aggressor as I held a baseball bat, poised to swing.
I close my eyes and try to block it all out.
“Will anything happen to him?” Libby asks.
“They told me that they’ll watch him, but
