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Shortly after they’re snuggled up with soft blankets and their favorite stuffed animals, the doorbell rings again.
I curse the gods for the interruption, thinking of ripping Finnegan’s head off for having the nerve to show up after running away like a baby at the sight of my son. The man clearly has no experience with kids. If he did, he would know to knock softly after the sun goes down because a ringing doorbell is sure to wake them.
I pray they’re tired enough to sleep through it as I rush to the door. I can’t risk it getting rung again.
“Have you lost your fu—”
My words fall away when I see an unfamiliar man in the hallway.
Finnegan’s door is sealed up tight, but my anger at him doesn’t ebb.
“Can I help you?” I snap, directing my irritation at the stranger. He rang the bell after all.
“Ms. Kendall Stewart, I presume?” he says with such distaste I want to slam the door in his face.
“Yes?” I hiss instead because I’m saving all of my rudeness for the man across the hall.
“I’m Wyatt Crosby. I own the condo.”
I give him a belated smile on the off chance that he’s here to tell me he changed his mind. In a perfect world, he’d cut me some slack and tell me I can continue to live here rent free, or at least give me the full thirty days.
“Your brother waived the thirty-day eviction notice,” Mr. Crosby continues.
The world is so far from perfect. I’d do well to remember that.
“Yes,” I say because I had this conversation with Ezra already.
“Which means you have forty-eight hours to vacate the premises.”
“Forty—no. Ezra said I have a week.”
“Forty-eight hours,” the man says, holding out an envelope.
I stare down at it, refusing to take it because doing so is an agreement to what he’s saying.
“Ma’am,” he says, waving the thing as if he believes I can’t see it although I’m staring directly down at it.
Begrudgingly, I take it.
“Can I get a few more days?”
The man shakes his head.
“Can’t you cut me a little slack? I have three kids I have to worry about.”
“Your lack of preparation isn’t my concern, Ms. Stewart. What I can give you is forty-eight hours to vacate instead of calling the cops. You nor your kids are on the lease.”
“Okay,” I whisper, near tears before backing into the apartment and closing the door.
I don’t bother rushing to the bathroom to climb in the shower to cry this time. I never would’ve made it anyway.
What I can be grateful for is that the doorbell didn’t wake the kids, forcing them to witness their mother breaking down and sobbing in the middle of the living room.
Chapter 8
Finnegan
I’m no stranger to early mornings but hitting the gym before the sun rises to avoid Kendall sucks. The scent of mentholatum mingles with the regular lemony smells of the gym, giving the entire room a hospital smell that leans more toward the geriatric wing.
I smile and nod my head when an elderly gentleman gives me a little wave, but I have to point to my earbuds to indicate I’m listening to something when he tries to chat me up.
I stick to cardio, first the treadmill then the elliptical before finishing up on the stair-climbing machine because I’d likely pull a muscle or drop a heavy weight on my foot if I tried doing those with my head so damned jumbled.
I’m a sweaty mess when I finish and no closer to solving any of the world’s problems as I ride the elevator up to my floor.
The now familiar chaos in the condo across from mine greets me when I get closer, and for some reason it doesn’t grate on my nerves as much as it did before I knew that it was Kendall over there. Kendall and her kids more specifically.
What does irritate me a little is having that damn shark song stuck in my head all damn night while I tossed and turned. Not getting a good night’s sleep always has the ability to annoy me. A lack of sleep bothers me so much that I don’t even go out late anymore. In recent years, I’ve looked for women who have things to do the next day in an effort to get to bed at a decent hour. Mediocre sex wasn’t worth the loss of sleep, and I realize just how old I feel as I unlock my door and slip inside.
I grab a quick shower, rushing more than usual just so I can stick my face to the peephole. The condo across the hall typically goes quiet about this time, so I know they have to leave. Sure enough, not ten minutes into spying on the door, it opens. I watch Kendall shuffle two older kids, one boy and one girl, along with a younger boy, out of the apartment. She asks them to wait as she locks the door before they head toward the elevator. She doesn’t once look in the direction of my door, and I hate that it hits me in the gut in an indescribable way that I’m not even a consideration this morning.
