Mollie surveys the damage, struggling not to cry. It's obvious, as she looks around at the ruined bed and fallen plants by her window, that if she were alone, she would cry.
"Fuck." I grimace. "I'm so sorry, Mollie."
She presses her lips into a thin line. "It's fine. Let me see if there's anything worth saving."
In the end, most of her clothes are salvageable, along with three bags full of figure skating clothes and accessories. They, along with a plush stuffed sloth, were spared by being on a shelf in the closet. A handful of toiletries are deemed okay. The contents of herbedside drawer are not, though. The little particle board furniture is already cracking and peeling from being soaked in water.
I help her carry everything downstairs. Three duffel bags, twelve garbage bags. And the sloth. We pile everything into the back of my SUV and then drive back to Lake Union. When I park near the communal dock where my houseboat floats, I look at her.
"Hey." My hand flexes when she looks away, out the window. The urge to touch her and somehow make this right is strong. "How about you take the stuffed animal? I'll get everything else."
Mollie turns and gives me a shaky smile. "You mean Slothra?"
I give her a blank look. "If that's what it's called?"
"It's like Mothra, but she's a Sloth. Slothra."
"I have no idea what that is. Mothman?"
She looks shocked. "You're old, though! How do you not know about Mothra, Godzilla's mortal enemy?"
"Exactly how old do you think I am?" I shake my head.
She follows, accepting the huge stuffed sloth and snickering. "Not a fan of old monster movies?"
I frown. "No?" I say while grabbing as many bags as I can.
"Oh man. I'm going to make you watch the classic ones."
Mollie seems to have dropped her morose mood in exchange for her usual sarcastic teasing. I'll take what I can get.
We carry her stuff through a password-protected gate, and down the dock to the very end of the row of impressive floating homes. I call my place a houseboat, but really it’s a palace built on the water. My home is two stories tall, almost 3,000 square feet, painted royal blue with a matching powerboat parked beside it. I let Mollie open the neat white gate and cross the real grass, heading in the front door.
Once inside, I get a whiff of cedar, and the specific cold-clean of lake air that gets into everything when you live on the water. At night, you can hear the dock lines shift and the hull settle. It’s a sound I've fallen asleep to for three years and still notice every time. In the morning, the light off the water reflects in long moving lines across the ceiling. In the evening, it’s peaceful, the sunset painting everything in a golden glow.
"The door lock code is 55454," I tell Mollie as I lead her inside. "I'll get you the gate code too, since you'll be here for a while." I set her bags down in the living room and turn, catching a sad expression on her face once more. "Shit, sorry. I keep bringing up the fire damage."
Apologizing to Mollie feels unnatural and awkward to me. Having her in my house? Even though I’m basically forcing her to stay here, it’s also torturous.
The lovely object of my fixation is suddenly in my house, taking up space, about to unload her girly shit all over the place. And my heart and dick couldn’t be more excited about it.
Which in turn, makes me miserable. God, I’m like a mopey teenager.
"It's okay." She clears her throat. "Where's Gordie?"
"Gorgeous Gord? He's chilling on the sun deck upstairs. Let me go grab him."
I take the stairs two at a time up to my room. The sun deck is shared by both of the bedrooms up here, mine and the guest room she'll be crashing in. It's the only one that actually has a bed. I use the other spare bedroom as a gym.
I find Gordie sprawled across a sun-warmed patch of deck, his massive body taking up roughly 70% of the available real estate. His tail starts thumping the moment he sees me. He rolls over like a puppy despite weighing more than most of my teammates' girlfriends. I scratch behind his ears and lean down to his level.
"We've got company, bud. Try not to embarrass me."
He follows me downstairs, his nails clicking on the hardwood. Gordie recognizes Mollie immediately. Tongue lolling, he bounds toward her with zero regard for personal space. She catches him by the scruff, and something in her face softens the way it always does around him. Mollie talks a big game about how hockey players are annoying, but she's never pretended not to love Gordie.
"Hey, gorgeous boy." She wraps both arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his fur. "At least someone in this house is happy to see me."
I’m happy. It’s just complicated. I say, "I made you breakfast. That doesn't count?"
