“I’m excited to see where you grew up.” It’s not a lie. I want to know more about him. Everything about him. And this deteriorating home is part of his story.
Dax leads me into the house. The front patio is spongy, and I imagine myself falling through. Dax barges his shoulder against the front door, forcing it open. The hinges squeak, and the door thuds against the interior wall.
Dax sucks in a breath, gritting his teeth as he holds his ribs.
“Oh my gosh, you’re hurt,” I panic.
He sucks in another breath, removing his hand as he stands upright. “No, I’m good. I just forgot to use my other side.”
“You know, you can still get those X-rays.”
He looks at me with dismay. “Don’t start that again.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “Fine. How about you give me the grand tour?”
Dax steps to the side. “Right this way, my lady.”
I use every trick my mother ever taught me about keeping a happy disposition on the exterior, masking all the emotions inside. It’s not the fact the house is small that’s tripping me out. It’s how dark it is. There are some shabby curtains covering one window, but the other three are boarded up.
Dax closes the front door and steps ahead of me. “Don’t go in the kitchen,” he says, motioning to the left. “There’s so much mold, and the drain is clogged, giving it a really funky smell.”
I grimace as my mouth pools with saliva. “Eww.”
“Plus, the fridge died a long time ago,” he adds. “It’s so gross.”
I cross my fingers and ask, “Are you telling me this so everything else will seem better?”
Dax sniggers. “Just getting the warnings out ahead of time.”
“Well, I don’t cook at my own home, so I wasn’t planning to go into your kitchen.”
We walk through the living room, which I assume is now home to spiders. Cobwebs fill the ceiling corners, dead bugs litter the light fixtures, and dust cakes the table and chairs.
Dax points out the bathroom, but after the kitchen warnings, I don’t dare peer inside. Dax moves ahead and stops in a doorway.
“This is where I hang out when I come here,” he says.
He moves aside, and I enter the space. There’s a chest against the wall with one out of three drawers missing, and a double bed with a beige sheet covering the mattress.
“This would be better than sleeping outside,” I say, inspecting the bed.
“Sometimes,” Dax says, moving into the room. “But it’s easier to hide outside. Lance knows I like it here.”
“Does he come here looking for you?”
Dax sits on the edge of the bed. “Not in a long time because I stopped coming here. Now he thinks I avoid this place.”
“Which makes it easier to hide?”
“Yep. I just can’t come too often or he’ll work it out again.” Dax pats the space beside him, and I sit down. “So, what do you think?”
I don’t answer because the dust is playing havoc with my nostrils. I finally sneeze, making Dax laugh.
“Maybe we needed to buy that vanilla candle you liked,” I tease. “Give this place some ambiance.”
“You mean, give it a better smell?”
I throw a palm upward. “I was trying to be nice.”
