“That’s not superfluous. You should pay him back for that.”
Mr. Middle-Finger laid on his horn again.
“Fine,” she said. She’d just rewrite everything when Chad wasn’t around.
He hopped to one side and bent to pick up the notebook. “You’d better get back in the car before that guy runs us over. I think he’s late for a drug deal or something.”
Notebook in hand, Chad settled back into the car. Lindsey blew out a breath of exasperation and then hurried behind the wheel again. She was glad for the small opening that allowed her to merge into traffic but left the impatient jerk behind them stuck in the parking lot.
While she tried to concentrate on driving back to Owen’s place, Chad scratched out line after line of her IOUs. Lindsey gripped the steering wheel tighter and tighter until she thought her fingers would snap off.
“This really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Chad asked when he happened to glance up from his self-appointed task.
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“I was taught to have some pride and not to take charity from anyone, okay?”
“Are you ashamed?”
“God, yes. You have no idea. It eats at me constantly. I can’t afford to take care of myself. How am I supposed to take care of a baby?” She lifted a hand. “Don’t say it. My father already did.”
“Say what?”
“That I should have thought about that before I opened my legs.”
“Your father said that to you?”
She winced. “That was one of the nicer things.”
“I thought you didn’t have any family. You never talk about them.”
What was there to say? “They didn’t want to help me. Didn’t want to even look at me. So I left.”
“You’re sure they don’t want you?”
“I’m sure. Do you think that’s easy for me to take? Are you telling me to get lost too, that I should quit mooching off your family and try mooching off my own?” That familiar irrational feeling of having nothing and nowhere to go began to claw at her. She hadn’t felt it since Owen had invited her into his home, and she’d forgotten how frightening it was. She was shaking so hard, she had to pull the Jeep over so she could catch her breath and regain her composure.
Chad pressed the notebook he’d been desecrating into her hand. “Here. I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. I think I get it now.”
She clutched the notebook in one hand and wiped at her leaky eyes with the other.
“If keeping a running tally is the only thing allows you to accept help, angel, then you should keep doing it.”
She sucked her lips into her mouth to stop their trembling. Maybe it was stupid of her to think she could ever repay the Mitchell family’s generosity with something as trivial as cash, but she had to start somewhere. What else could she offer them? Her gratitude? That didn’t seem nearly enough.
“Can you drive a block past Owen’s house? I want to show you something.”
He stared at the dashboard for a long moment before meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”
Her grin wobbled. “Not that hard to do these days.” She took a deep breath. “I might have overreacted.”
He shook his head. “You should have clocked me, angel.”
She tapped a fist lightly against his jaw, having forgiven him the moment he’d pressed the notebook back into her hand. “What do you want to show me?”
“A way for me to shift your undying gratitude away from my bratty little brother.”
“Sounds interesting,” she said, though she couldn’t imagine what he meant. She returned the Jeep to the road and drove right past Owen’s house—where the ruined party was now being disassembled. “Are you sure you just aren’t trying to get out of cleanup duty?” she asked.
“It’s just a block and a half farther.”
He had her stop in front of the same ugly-as-sin house Owen had pointed out to her on a walk they’d taken together weeks before—back when she’d been hopeful that Owen might fall for her, before she’d met Chad. Turning her attention from the dilapidated Tudor-style monstrosity, she lifted both brows at Chad. The For Sale sign was still in the yard for a reason. “Why are we here?”
“I’m going to buy the place. Make it my home.”
She tried to smile encouragingly but could only laugh. She hoped he was joking.
Chapter Twelve
The next afternoon, Chad hopped up the steps of his future home—the one that Lindsey had laughed at. Guffawed at. He’d show her how great this place could be. She just lacked the ability to see its true potential, so he wouldn’t let her see it again until it was finished and as lovely as she was.
Owen had already lifted Chad’s wheelchair up onto the rickety porch, so Chad settled into the seat. He still hadn’t found the courage to try the crutches again, but he would. Tomorrow. He swallowed a knot of apprehension. He’d try the crutches again tomorrow. And he’d be extra careful about the edge of the ramp next time. Might even try going up and down steps. He blew out a breath. God, he didn’t want to fall again.
The realtor opened the front door, and Chad took another deep breath—please let this house work for us—before wheeling himself over the threshold. The living room was small—cozy—and free of furniture. He mentally pictured where to put a sofa, recliners, and the big-ass TV he planned to buy. The fireplace had seen better days. The hardwood floors needed refinishing. A crack in the ceiling ran from the corner of the room to the doorframe of the dining room.
He took a marble out of his pocket and set it on the floor. It didn’t roll. He picked it up and wheeled over to the corner where the crack originated and tried again. It rolled slowly toward the center of the house. Not bad. But he wouldn’t tell the realtor he thought that.
“The foundation is sagging,” he said.
Owen’s realtor checked the listing sheet she’d brought along. “There’s no mention of that in the disclosures.”
“Then I’m sure they’ll negotiate.”
“There have been several couples that have looked at the place, but no offers yet. The sellers might negotiate. I’m surprised it’s still on the market, but kitchens and bathrooms sell a place and . . .” She crinkled her nose in disgust.
Chad had looked through the pictures posted with the listing online, and he knew what to expect. A lot of work in his future. And in Owen’s.
They followed the realtor through the wooden arch into the dining room, and in his head, Chad was already adding crown molding and an updated light fixture to the space. A soft wine color on the walls would really bring out the red tones of the wood. A six-paneled casement window reached from floor to ceiling and was the focal point of the room. Unfortunately, it provided a great view of the neighbor’s fence. Chad would be adding a fence too, because a home without a dog wasn’t really a home. And the only thing homier than one dog was two of them.
“This is a great window,” Owen said.
“It needs some work.” Chad wheeled over and tried to open it. The window had been painted shut. He planned to strip the paint and refinish the wood beneath anyway, but it was another bargaining chip in negotiations.
He’d left Lindsey at home because he wasn’t sure he could handle more laughter out of her, but now he couldn’t help but wonder what her opinion of the space would be. Would she like the place? Grow to love it? Why was he thinking about her as part of his new home? She might never want to live there with him. He was setting himself up for more heartache he couldn’t handle.
Dumb, Chad. Real dumb.
The kitchen was at the back of the house. The outdated room was more than an eyesore. Unless the appropriate reaction to having sore eyes was wanting to rip them out of their sockets and stomp on them. The cabinets were circa the Dark Ages, and the vinyl tile floor—which reminded him of a school cafeteria—was chipped and grimy. The fluorescent light in the drop ceiling was not doing the place any favors. And those dark brown flecks coll
ected in the corners weren’t crumbs; they were mouse droppings. Nothing an exterminator couldn’t fix, however. Unless the little bastards had chewed through the wiring.
“Total gut job,” Owen said.
“It’s small,” Chad said, a touch disappointed. “No room for an island.”
“If you took this pantry out . . .” The realtor grunted as she wrestled with a narrow door that scraped on the floor as she pulled it outward.
Chad did his marble test again, and again the marble rolled toward the center of the house. “Foundation is even worse over here.” But he was pretty sure it was one or two replaceable joists, not the slab foundation, causing the issue. He planned to crawl under the house to have a look, though. Could be termites causing the joists to fail, and if that was the case, he might have to take a pass on the place.