Page 16 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

“No problem.” I hesitated, my hand lingering on the helmet.

She nodded, though I wasn’t entirely convinced. “I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me, but I’ll figure it out.”

Her gaze lingered on the house. I could see the weight of it pressing on her. I wanted to say something, offer to help, but the words didn’t come. Instead, I opened the saddlebag and pulled out her stuff. She took it like she was almost dreading it. I had questions. Like why didn’t she come back sooner? Why didn’t she hire someone to keep an eye on the place?

The lawn looked like it had been mowed, but it wasn’t grass. It was weeds. I imagined that had been done to avoid the city citing her father, but nothing else had been done to the place.

“Thanks for not driving like a maniac,” she said.

8

MERRITT

Kannon placed the helmet carefully on the seat, the move as effortless as everything else he did. How did he manage to get sexier with time?

His black hair was thicker and longer than I remembered. His eyebrows, just as dark, were equally thick and made his brown eyes look darker. The long lashes were so thick it almost looked like he was wearing eyeliner. I didn’t think it was possible, but just like my first impression, I was certain he had grown. Maybe it was because I was looking at a man and not the boy I once knew.

I stood there, clutching my bag of paintbrushes, expecting him to fire up the engine and roar away. But instead, he looked at the house, his jaw tightening.

“Your dad wouldn’t have liked this,” he said, his tone flat, his gaze fixed on the sagging gutters and peeling paint. “Letting the place go like this.”

I bristled, crossing my arms over my chest. “Well, my dad let it fall apart, didn’t he? Not me.” My voice was sharper than I intended, but the words stung because they were true.

Kannon looked at me. “Did he ever tell you he needed help?”

“No,” I said, my voice quieter now. “He never asked. I flew him out every holiday, had him spend weeks with me, but he never let on he wanted me to come back. I didn’t know.” My throat tightened. I hated how vulnerable I sounded. “I already feel bad enough about it without you making it worse, okay?”

He stared at me for a beat too long, making me feel like I’d failed some unspoken test. Finally, he sighed and moved past me toward the porch.

“You can go now,” I called after him. “Thanks for the ride, but I don’t need your judgment.”

He didn’t answer, just stepped onto the warped wooden planks. The weight of him made them groan. I followed behind.

“If you fall through the porch, don’t think you’re going to sue me,” I warned. “You can see how decrepit it is. You made your point. I suck. I let it fall apart.”

He ignored me. I watched as he reached up and felt along the top of the doorframe. His fingers paused, and then he pulled out a key.

“Are you kidding me?” I gawked. “That’s not my key.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, amused, holding it up before sliding it into the lock. “Your dad always kept a spare. Guess you didn’t know.”

The door creaked open. “Not about that one.”

I stopped, swallowing the lump of denial clogging my throat. I had been so sure that I knew everything about my father. But it seemed like even the house he left behind had secrets from me.

Using the spare key, Kannon entered the house as if he owned it. My temper flared again. “What are you doing?” I demanded, following him inside. “I don’t remember inviting you in.”

He ignored me once more, too busy surveying the interior of the house. I hovered in the doorway, torn between telling him off and letting him go. He whistled low as he took in the condition of the interior. He touched the walls and bounced up and down on the floor as if he were testing it. Nothing cracked or splintered, which was a win.

Eventually, he turned to face me. The faded wallpaper behind him peeled off in large chunks. For a brief moment, his face was unreadable, his gaze darting from the ceiling to the floor and back at me.

“Who was taking care of this place?” It was not a question. It felt like an accusation.

“No one,” I stated, glancing nervously around the room that once felt warm and welcoming but now looked strange and unfamiliar.

There was silence. He did not say anything for a long time, just stood there, surveying the place.

“You’ve got a hell of a lot of work to do to bring this place back to life,” he said, turning to face me with a smirk. “It’s a long way from its glory days.”