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But not today. Today I’m determined. And just because my enemy happens to look like one of those Instagram models you’d follow to look at him with his shirt off, doesn’t mean that I won’t kick his ass to save my house.
“Hey asshole,” I shout as I skid to a stop behind him. “Stop.”
Again, nothing. Is he deaf as well as hot? Is he in some meditative trance as he destroys the house? He raises the hammer again, and I throw myself in front of him and raise my arms. “STOP!”
He shouts in surprise, trying to redirect the swing of the hammer so it doesn’t hit me. His grip on the tool falters and he loses his balance. The sledge hammer, avoiding landing on my head, ends up hitting him right in the calf. A groan of pain comes from him as he crumples to the ground holding his leg, and as he grimaces, one of the headphones in his ears falls to the ground.
Oh. So that explains that.2CalebBlinding, white pain. That’s all there is right now. Holy fuck, I’d always wondered what it would be like to get hit with a sledgehammer full force—not. Fucking hell this is an experience I could have lived without.
My whole mind is nothing but expletives. Ones that I’d like to scream at the woman who inexplicably jumped in front of my sledgehammer. Why would someone do that to someone doing demolition? Does she have a fucking death wish?
Okay. Breathe. The crest of pain is fading a bit, and as it goes down, I take note that my leg isn’t broken. At least I don’t think that it is. That’s encouraging. Some ice and rest for a couple of days and I will be fine. But I’d much rather not have a swelling lump on my shin the size of a goose egg because a stranger decided to meddle in my house repairs. On my own property.
Slowly I stretch out from the curled up position the pain had forced me into, and sit up. Music is still blaring in my ears. Aggressive rock that helps me keep going with tasks like breaking apart a fucking wraparound porch made of rotted wood. I pull out the one earphone and pick up the one that fell out, and I look at the woman in front of me.
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“Am I crazy?” she shouts. “I’m not the one knocking down a hundred-year-old house with no thought for its history or who it’s going to affect. If you think that I’m going to let you do this, then you have another thing coming. Who the fuck do you think you are, just coming in here from New York and thinking you can take over everything? I know people like you. You disgust me.”
She keeps talking, but at that moment I choose to tune her out. The pain is subsiding to a more manageable level but fuck, it is swelling quickly. Slowly I stand even though she is still ranting about the house and what I was going to do it.
Up until now, I’ve managed to live a life free of crime, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to strangle this woman if she doesn’t stop yelling at me. “Would you shut up? Please. For just one fucking minute while I try to figure out what the fuck just happened.”
She glares at me. “This is my family home, and you have no right to tear it down. I’m not going to fucking let you.”
It’s my turn to glare. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s people making assumptions about me. Yelling at me for no reason is next on the list. (Causing me to injure myself in the leg with a sledgehammer, that’s a close third.) “Last I checked,” I say, putting as much acid into my tone as I can, “I paid a lot of money for this property. I signed the deed. It’s mine, and I can do whatever the hell I want with it. And if you’d taken a minute and maybe stopped to ask me what was going on instead of launching yourself in front of a swinging sledgehammer, I would have told you that I’m not tearing down the house. In fact, I’m planning to restore it completely.”
“Some restoration job you’re doing,” she says, twisting her face. “Is your idea of restoration turning it into some glossy mansion that’s going to be on the front of an architecture magazine?”
I roll my eyes. “No. The wood on this porch is completely rotted because the gutters are shit and have been dumping water directly on it for who knows how many years. I don’t particularly want that to spread further, so I’m replacing the wood and reinstalling the wrought iron railing. I took measurements and photos from every angle so I could do this as accurately as possible. I’ll gladly show you. Even if it is none of your business.”
