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Present day
I dread every single mile of road I cover between my ash pile of a home and Caleb Goode’s house. It’s only seventeen miles, but it might as well be another planet. Because, of course, Caleb has settled his family in a cozy suburban neighborhood outside of the city.
What am I doing?
That’s been the phrase of the day. I muttered the same thing to myself this morning as I rummaged through the remnants of my home to salvage what I could—a small heap of smoke-stained belongings now piled in the trunk of my car.
And I said it again after driving away from my dad in the nursing home.
What the fuck am I doing?
As I make the final turn onto Caleb’s street, I mutter a curse to myself. Naturally, Caleb’s house has a picket fence out front. The front yard is a deep and vibrant green. The house itself is a two-story with a white-painted brick exterior and ivy growing up the side.
I pull my car into the curved driveway, staring up at the small apartment above the detached garage.
What on earth compelled me to agree to this? There must have been something, aside from the fact that they’ve offered to let me live in the rental for free. I can’t help but wonder if, deep down, I’m agreeing to live in close proximity to this pompous asshole who ruined my life when I was only fourteen for a more obtuse reason.
Like, maybe finally facing him for the first time in twelve years to tell him what an ignorant, selfish, homophobic piece of shit he is.
As soon as I turn my car off, I spot movement through the window of the apartment over the garage. A few moments later, a woman emerges from behind the small building and rushes toward my car with a warm smile.
She’s wearing a pair of high-waisted blue jeans, loose around her calves, and a soft white V-neck T-shirt.
What a little trophy she is.
She beams at me, soft and acquiescent, as I open my car and climb out.
“You must be Dean,” she says with her delicate hand extended toward me.
For the first time all day, I find myself smiling.
Reaching out, I hold hers softly. “And you must be Briar.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” she replies politely. “And I’m so sorry to hear about your house. That’s just awful.”
I force myself to swallow. “Thank you.”
In the distance, I hear a door closing. Just as I drop Briar’s hand, I spot Caleb appearing from the backyard to greet us.
At first glance, I’d consider Caleb rather forgettable. A typical white man in his early thirties, wearing a pair of black slacks and a tight polo. But as he gets closer, I swallow my resentment at just how handsome he’s grown over the years.
Symmetrical features. Enigmatic hazel eyes. Long lines and warm tones. It’s infuriating.
When his eyes meet mine, I take pride in not betraying a single emotion. If anything, my expression screams indifference.
You mean nothing to me, Caleb Goode.
He bristles at my reaction. Then cordially puts out his hand.
“It’s been a long time. Good to see you again.”
I let his hand hang in the blank space between us for a moment, hoping it'll make him sweat before I finally reach out and shake it, being sure to squeeze it enough to inflict a little pain without seeming too rough. He winces.
I watch as his jaw clicks when he releases my hand. Then he shoves his own into his pocket. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your house. Briar and I are happy to help.”
If he thinks I’m going to thank him, he’s crazy.
