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Dr. Carlisle had mentioned starting physio once my knee and wrist were healed, but unless he was paying my bills, that wasn’t an option.
At least I had my swimming days and my years of working out to fall back on. I knew enough about stretching and muscle building to strengthen them up on my own.
Not that it mattered if I didn’t have a job. I didn’t make a ton of money stripping, none of us did, but it had been my only steady income for nearly a year. And it wasn’t like jobs were falling out of the sky.
Most places wanted to give part-time hours but demanded full-time availability, and their idea of a “competitive” wage was laughable. I usually stuck to seasonal work and physical labor because the pay and hours were better, but even the crews and warehouses in the area seemed to have taken a page out of the retail and restaurant handbook. Tons of places advertised that they were hiring, but none of them were calling people back or actually hiring new staff.
It was the same goddamn hamster wheel I’d been on since I was seventeen. Unless the world, or my circumstances, drastically changed, this would be my life, working myself into an early grave.
The melodic chimes of the designer doorbell cut through my rising anger at how my life was in the shitter and the light at the end of the tunnel was looking more and more like a train.
I opened the security app on my phone to check the door camera. Whoever was there could fuck right off.
“The hell?”
Caleb, of all people, stood in front of Evie’s door dressed in scrubs. His big arms were crossed over his chest as he looked up at the camera.
I had the option of turning on the speaker and telling him to go away. Instead, I stared at the screen.
We hadn’t had any contact after he’d dropped me off over a week ago, and his parting shot of “have a nice life” when he’d handed me over to Evie had made me think he was as done with me as I was with him. So why was he here?
His shoulders heaved as he sighed and rolled his eyes. He rang the doorbell again and gave the camera a pointed look.
I flipped the speaker on. “What do you want?”
“Open the door.”
“Go away.”
“Is that any way to talk to someone who came to help you?”
“I don’t need your help.”
“I’m not arguing with a security cam, so either open the damn door, or I’m ringing the bell until you do.” He did, and the chimes echoed through the house. “I have all the time and patience in the world,” he sing-songed, pressing the bell again.
“Give me a fucking minute.”
He smirked triumphantly. I focused on exiting out of the security app and not on smashing my finger onto his stupid face. No point breaking my phone.
My blood pumped hard as adrenaline poured into my nervous system. I yanked the front door open with more force than was necessary.
“Still got anger issues?”
“Still got asshole issues?” I crossed my arms. “What do you want?”
“To check on you.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m really beginning to wonder if you know what that word means.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” He peered past me into the house.
“Why do you want to check on me?”
“Because I’m a nice guy.”
