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“Two weeks,” Donovan says. “That’s all I’m offering. Then you have to find somewhere else to stay.”
“Copy that.”
He leaves, and I’m left with a new set of keys, wondering what just happened.
2
Donovan
Fuck me and my bleeding heart.
Should’ve left the stray where he was, but no. I had to invite it home.
Which is why I have Jason-goddamn-King in my house. The guy who spent years calling me “dick boy.” Who shoved me off the edge of his father’s boat and into the water any chance he got. Who never missed an opportunity to remind me that I was a loser.
Yeah. That guy.
I guess I’m a sucker for a fall from grace.
I have a murphy bed which I pull down from the wall for him. I’ve made his bed (something a spoiled kid like Jason probably doesn’t know how to do anyway) and now it’s just a matter of showing him around the house.
Which mainly boils down to—“That’s my record player. It came from my father. Touch it, and I’ll cut off your hands. You can use the bathroom down the hall. We share the shower, so be kind to it. Help yourself to the kitchen, but it’s every man for himself—I’m not your mother and I’m not packing your lunchables every morning. Any questions?”
“Where should I put this?” He lifts a six-pack of lager.
I’m not a beer guy, but I share his bounty and crack one open with him.
Jason does not look like the Jason I know. The man I grew up with was a legend. Bright. Full of humor. Magnetic in a way that you couldn’t help but be drawn to him, even if you hated his guts.
This Jason looks worn. Tired. In need of a shave. He’s got a beard that crawls up his jaw the way ivy takes over an abandoned house.
“Nadine and I got a divorce,” he admits into his second beer. For such a big guy, he’s a lightweight.
There’s a pool of light between us from the lamp hanging over the kitchen. We stand at the kitchen bar across from each other, elbows on the counter, beers trapped between our hands.
“She took the house?”
He nods. “I wasn’t going to stay there.”
“Who knows?” I ask.
“You,” he shrugs. “And me. And Nadine. That’s it.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Not even your parents?”
“Especially not my parents,” he scoffs. “Can you imagine?”
The bully apple doesn’t fall far from the tree so, yeah, I can imagine. Jason’s father is a world-renowned hard-ass. I guess I don’t blame him for sleeping at the hospital if the alternative is admitting to his father that he failed his first marriage.
“They’re going to find out eventually,” I tell him.
“Yes,” he says, “I’m banking on that eventually.”
I still have half a beer left, but I check my watch. “I need to get some sleep. Morning shift. You good?”
He gives me a thumbs-up. “Better than good. Seriously. Thank you for this.”
Then he does something completely idiotic—he steps around the counter and gives me a hug.
