Well that was uncalled for. Any guilt about not wanting to change my routine for him melts off my shoulders at hisquestion. But I decide to be the bigger person and ignore him.
I simply repeat, “My house, my rules”—sounding like a broken record—before calmly cleaning up the last of my dishes, chantingit’s just a few weeksover and over in my head. I leave him standing in the kitchen as I go back into my office to finish the syllabi for the classes I’m teaching at the start of January, with Gigi right on my tail. I’m only a teacher’s assistant this semester. It was meant to give me time to adjust to a new school. I tried to explain to them that I’ve been a teacher’s assistant before, during my masters, but looking back, I’m happy they said no, that I had a semester to get used to the school and the students. I didn’t think the change from masters student to Ph.D. student would be so steep, but it is. Just creating the syllabi has been hard, and I’ve been studying molecular biology for years at this point. I miss the days when all I had to do was lab work, with a few classes sprinkled in. The joys of moving up in the world of academia.
As soon as I finish my last syllabus, my mind quickly wanders back to Liam. He’s always been a grumpy asshole, that’s nothing new. But other than the last time I spoke to him, over seven years ago, he’s always been nice to me. I mean, he was short with me then too, but never an asshole. That was always reserved for everyone else but me. I can’t say I’m not surprised he asked me why I was being a bitch, but at the same time, I am surprised I was on the receiving end of his bad attitude. For some reason, that leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth. All it does is remind methat he isn’t the Liam I used to know and love, and I’m not that same little girl with a crush.
A few hours of non-stop work later, I can safely say that two out of the three classes I’m teaching next semester are ready to be taught, while the third is about twenty percent complete. Satisfied with an afternoon well spent—and late evening, apparently—I look at the clock to see it’s already past eight.
It’s well past the time to close my laptop for the day.
I roll my shoulders, stretching out after being stuck behind my computer for longer than I’d like to admit, when I’m pulled out of my thoughts of what to eat for supper by a loud crash. It sounded an awful lot like one of my dishes breaking, followed by a very long string of expletives from my roommate.
“Are you okay?” I ask, before I’m even fully in the kitchen, worried that he might have hurt himself.
“Does it look like I’m okay?” he asks gruffly, pointing at the ground where his sandwich is now splattered amongst the broken shards of one of my pink plates.
“I’m not asking about the sandwich or the plate, I’m asking about you, but fine, I won’t care. Have fun pickingup your mess,” I say, walking around him to grab a premade salad and protein shake from the fridge before making my way to my bedroom.
I was hoping, after spending some time alone, he’d be in a better mood, but no such luck.
Closing the door, I can’t help but lean against it, salad and shake vibrating in my hands, as I try to settle my heartbeat. I don’t think I’ve ever been so mean to someone in my entire life. And twice in a row at that! I don’t know what it is about Liam, but he really has a way of bringing out the grump in me.
That’s a lie. I know the reason. It’s the same reason why I’ve been avoiding him for the past seven years, and the reason I didn’t want him living with me. It’s probably why I’m giving him the same attitude he’s giving me.
With my heart rate finally back down to a decent pace, I make my way to my bed to eat my salad. Do I wish I was eating at my kitchen island? Yes, of course. However . . . I’m getting way too much entertainment from hearing Liam bitch as he hobbles around the kitchen, trying to clean up his mess and make a new sandwich. Do I feel bad? Sort of. I’m not one to just watch someone struggle, I’m always trying to help or find a solution. Just standing back is almost painful.
Before the freak out seven years ago, if anyone asked me who my favorite person was, I’d answer Liam. Even if I wasn’t in love with him, he would have been my favorite person. When I was a little girl, I used to tell anyone who would listen to me that Liam was my best friend. He was always at our house, or if I was lucky,he and Ronan would bring me to Liam’s house. There, his mom, his sister, or Hannah, would braid my hair and paint my nails and make cookies with me. I continued to stop by even when Liam and Ronan left for school, and even when the girls moved away. I still try to make my way to Mr. and Mrs. Jones’s house whenever I’m in Vancouver. They even came to visit me once or twice when I was doing my undergrad and masters, saying they caught a long layover in Montreal, but I know for a fact they booked a flight with a twenty-four-hour layover on purpose. They even came to the island a few weeks after I moved into this house.
I understand that he’s in pain, and that it seems like his life will never be the same again. I know I haven’t seen him in over seven years, or interacted with him as an adult, but this even grumpier version of the boy I used to idolize is painful to watch. So painful, that it’s taking the taste right out of my favorite salad and smoothie.
Chapter 4
It seems that Sloane Callahan has not only grown up, but she’s grown a pair too. I never thought I’d see the day where she would raise her voice or even sound so stern. I didn’t think it was possible, and I didn’t know if I should laugh or bite back. She was the most docile little thing growing up. Sure, she’d put up a stink to follow us around all the time, even spent a good amount of time at my house with my mom or my sisters before Ronan and I moved away for school, but she was never loud, never pushy, just always there, like a wallflower.
About seven years ago though, she somewhat dropped off the face of the earth. She stopped texting me, was never available for supper when I was in town with her brother. Justpoof, disappeared, and Ronan never tried to get us in the same room anymore. I doubt he even knows why she’s been avoiding me, now that I actually take a minute to think about it.
Damn, did she put me in my place. First about the plants and music, then about the shit attitude I gave her after breaking her plate. I should apologize for that. For that and for the semi hard-on I got from her rollingher eyes at me. Who knew I had a kick for sassy little things with big, doe, brown eyes and shapely legs that seem to go on for miles?
I haven’t even been here a day, but I already don’t want to leave.
I shake my head in an attempt to get the thoughts of my best friend’s little sister’s legs wrapped around my waist out of it.
I try to stand from my bed to go shower, but pain shoots up my left leg and all thoughts I had of Sloane’s legs, or any woman’s legs for that matter, wrapped around my waist completely disappears. I sit back down on my bed, clenching my teeth at the pain.
“Fuck.” I can’t wait for this to be over. To get back to my life. They said I shouldn’t be feeling this much pain at this point. They said I should be walking on my own without a cane or anything by the spring. That’s a little more than three months away, yet I can’t even put a quarter of my weight, much less my full weight, on my damn leg without wanting to pass out from the pain. Not to mention, the boot is still a pain in the ass.
With the pain dulling to the regular constant throb, I decide to try to make my way to the bathroom again. I can’t not shower. I didn’t shower yesterday or this morning, and with the night sweats I get due to the accident, I can’t skip another day. It’s just such a chore to shower. I’m afraid I’m going to slip and smack my head, or not be able to get back up.
Taking a deep breath, I grab my crutches, careful this time not to put too much, if any, of my weight on my left leg, and stumble my way to the bathroom across the hall.Like every other part of the house, I see that Sloane has painted this room an unconventional color. Somehow, the light purple in here matches the light blue of my room, the pink of the living room, and the green of the kitchen cabinets. I can’t say I like it, but I can’t say I hate it.
Looking around in the bathroom to figure out how I’m going to safely get this done, I see that Sloane took care of me even with all my comments. I guess she’s not taking it personally—she must remember that I’ve always been an ass, even all these years later. Though I’ve always tried to be nicer to her than anyone else.
She put a clean towel out on the counter, and my shower chair in the corner of her large shower. She even moved all her soap bottles. The only bottle in the shower is my three-in-one. And just like that, she makes me feel like a total asshole for snapping at her in the kitchen. She was only making sure I hadn’t hurt myself, and yet I acted like a complete dick. I didn’t want to, especially not to her. She’s letting me live here, invade her space. She set up her shower for me.
I really need to change my attitude with her.
It doesn’t help that, for some reason, just having her in the same room as me, or even hearing her in the next room, makes me want to wrap her long black ponytail in my fist.
Once again, I couldn’t sleep. I was hoping the change of scenery would mean I was going to sleep through the night from here on out, but no such luck, which means I’m even more short fused when I see Sloane in the kitchen with her little ball of fur in her arms. To say I insulted her and Gigi—her wiener dog—would be an understatement. Apparently, calling the little brown thing a mutt was a big no-no—she didn’t even want to leave me alone with the damn dog.
