This was fine. Everything was fine. James was still the same pushover he’d always been, and I’d be out of here in two weeks. I just needed to keep my head down, save up some cash for a deposit on a new place, and not let his passive-aggressive bullshit get under my skin.
I turned on the shower, waiting for the water to heat up. Steam began to fill the small bathroom, fogging up the mirror. I stripped off my clothes and stepped under the spray, letting the hot water beat down on my shoulders.
As I stood there, I couldn’t shake the image of James’s face when he’d looked at me. That hardness. That flash of something I’d seen in his eyes before, years ago, when I’d pushed him too far one time and he’d actually shoved me back. Just once. Then he’d apologized immediately, practically in tears, like he’d committed murder.
I scrubbed shampoo through my hair, working it into a lather. The bottle was some organic bullshit that smelled like tea tree oil. Everything in this apartment was organic or sustainable or ethically sourced. It was exhausting just being around it.
By the time I got out of the shower, James was back in bed, covers pulled up to his chin, facing the wall again. Playing dead. Whatever. If he wanted to pout, that was his business.
I got dressed in yesterday’s clothes since they were the only dry things I had and grabbed my keys. The garbage bags in my truck would have to wait. I didn’t have time to dig through wet laundry to find work clothes.
“I’ll be back around six,” I called out as I headed for the door.
No response.
“James.”
“I heard you.”
His voice was muffled by the pillow, but I caught the irritation in it. I almost said something, almost turned around and told him to grow the fuck up, but I bit it back. I needed thisplace. I needed him to let me stay. Starting a fight on day one would be stupid.
So instead, I left, pulling the door shut behind me maybe a little harder than necessary.
The stairwell was cold, and I could hear someone’s TV blaring through one of the doors as I passed. The same curry smell from last night, or maybe it was a permanent fixture in the building. When I pushed through the front door, the morning air hit me like a slap. It was crisp and damp, a typical Seattle autumn.
My truck was right where I’d left it, and miraculously, no one had stolen my shit from the bed. I climbed in, started the engine, and sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel.
My phone buzzed. A text from my dad.
Dad: Haven’t heard from you in a while. Everything okay?
I stared at the message. The old man had a radar for when things went wrong in my life. It was like he could smell failure from across town.
Me: Yeah, all good. Just busy with work.
I sent it before I could second-guess myself, then tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and pulled out into traffic.
The drive to the Belltown site took twenty minutes, and I spent most of it trying not to think about the look on James’s face when he’d seen the mess I’d made. It shouldn’t have bothered me. It didn’t bother me. He was being dramatic about some spilled coffee grounds and dirty dishes. But that’s what he did. He overreacted to everything and made mountains out of molehills.
But something about it sat wrong in my gut.
I cranked up the radio, letting some classic rock station drown out my thoughts, and focused on the road ahead.
Work was work, of course. The site manager was pissed about something with the electrical subcontractor, and I spenttwo hours mediating between grown men who acted like children. By lunch, I had a headache that wouldn’t quit and a growing sense that this day was going to be a long one.
I grabbed a sandwich from a food truck and ate it in my vehicle, scrolling through rental listings on my phone. Everything was too expensive or too far away or required first and last month’s rent plus a deposit. I’d blown through most of my savings on that trip to Vegas with the guys from work last month. Yet another thing Brittany had been pissed about.
You’re irresponsible, Kent. You’re almost thirty and you have nothing to show for it.
I deleted the rental app and opened a different one. Dating apps. Maybe that’s what I needed. A distraction. Someone new. Someone who wasn’t going to nag me about my life choices. Maybe and old woman with some cash and a spare room.
I swiped through a few profiles, not really paying attention. Blonde. Brunette. Redhead. They all looked the same after a while. Smiling. Posing. Looking for something serious or something casual or something in between.
I closed the app.
My phone buzzed again. Another text.
Mark: Hey Kent, it’s Mark. Heard you and Brittany split. You need a place?
