Rowan tells Nero he can be happy running a clean business he bought with dirty money. He tells him that one day he’ll be able to think of his old life without the urge to trash his surroundings and scream into the void. He tells him it’s fine to feel bored and empty sometimes, or most of the time, if that’s the price of staying alive.
And he tells him that everything will be fine as long as he finds himself a woman for the night. After all, women always used to make things better.
But it seems like even that’s not true anymore.
At least none of the women I’ve been with over the past few months did the job. As soon as I slip out of bed, that hollow, nauseating emptiness creeps right back in.
So now, I’m trying something else.
I put Blake’s list on the dusty counter in the kitchen and wash my hands at the sink just as a firm knock sounds against the front door.
“Come in,” I call out.
The door creaks open, and the floor vibrates with the thud of Sandro’s footsteps. A second later, he swaggers into my living room wearing a Handy Heroes T-shirt. There’s a six-pack dangling from one hand and a cigarette from another. He halts in the middle of the room and looks around. “Holy shit.”
He’s probably having the same thought I had when I first walked in. This place isn’t fit for human habitation. But that’s the point. I bought this house to keep myself so busy I’ll have zero time to be idle or think about the past.
I tip my head at the cigarette. “Put that out.”
He glances around. “You got an ash tray?”
“Use whatever you want.” A burn mark isn’t going to make a difference.
Sandro winces and puts his cig out against the closest wall. “The fuck, man?”
“It’s got potential.”
He gives me an incredulous look. “Not that I’m questioning you or anything, but…wasn’t there anything else available? Or were you that eager to get away from me?”
I wave him off. Sandro wasn't a bad roommate. The two-bedroom apartment we’d shared since we arrived at Darkwater Hollow is more than big enough for both of us, but I was getting tired of the way he kept looking at me. All concerned and shit. Like he’s worried one day I’ll bolt.
He walks over to the window and moves a yellowish curtain aside. “That shed looks like it’s one rainfall away fromdisintegrating. What’s the rent? They should be paying you to live here.”
“Rent? I bought it. It was a good deal.”
I got the idea from a client. The guy heard through the grapevine that the Jacksons would sell the house on Landhorne for practically nothing, and he thought I might be interested.
There’s a play here—restore the house and flip it for a nice profit. When I drove by and saw the state of this place, I thought it would be a while before I ran out of things to do.
Besides work, there’s nothing to do in Darkwater Hollow. It’s the world’s most boring fucking place.
When Sandro and I first bought Handy Heroes, we had our work cut out for us. It was a three-month crash course in construction and subcontractor management. I learned how to deal with suppliers and clients. Sandro picked up all the rest. The company came with three employees—a project manager, an architect, and an estimator. Somehow, we managed to convince all of them to stay and teach us everything they knew.
But now that we know the ropes, there’s more downtime.
I fucking hate downtime.
I walk over to stand at Sandro’s side and glance out toward the dark backyard. Through the broken fence, I can see Blake’s back porch light is on. Is she outside? Cooling down after our confrontation? Having her chew me out shouldn’t have given me a thrill, but it did.
At least it was something new.
Sandro drops his hand away from the curtain and wanders into the kitchen. He spots Blake’s list on the counter and picks it up. “What’s this?”
“A list of repairs I told the girl next door I’d take care of.”
Am I really going to fix all the shit she listed?
Eh. Why not?
