“Mom?”
Three things happen at the same time. Elliot turns toward her son’s voice as I push myself off the table to stand. Our movements are hurried and uncoordinated and she ends up running her elbow into my very solid chest. My arms instinctively attempt to steady her.
“Sorry to interrupt your session,” Sam says as he wipes his nose. “The landlord was pulling in the driveway just as I was getting back from walking Bruno and?—”
Someone pounds—not knocks—poundsat the front door.
Sam looks to the door and back to his mom. “And he looks pissed.”
“Language, sweetie.”
He has the good sense to appear chastised. “Ben says it’s okay as long as the situation calls for it.” There’s a hint of worry in his face as he looks at his mom. “Does the situation call for it?”
Elliot’s shoulders fall as the pounding starts up again. “Probably,” she mutters as she starts for the door. “It’s okay, love. Why don’t you go up to your room for a few minutes while I talk to him?”
Sam looks hesitantly at me and I nod at him, silently letting him know that I’ve got her. He nods back and heads for the stairs taking them two at a time.
I follow just behind Elliot. She’s barely five feet from the door when it flies open, banging against the wall. Standing there is a red-faced, middle-aged man. His thinning black hair is combed stiff with so much product, likely to hide the bald spot spreading across the crown.
One thing about being six foot five—you get used to looking down at the tops of men like him.
And Sam wasn’t wrong. He does look pissed. Unfortunately for him, so am I.
“Elliot, I’ve had it up to—” He breaks off the second his eyes land on me. The fury drains right out of him as he actually stumbles back a half-step, craning his neck to meet my stare.
My jaw tightens, my hands curling into fists I force myself not to raise. My voice is calm, but my glare could peel paint. “To where?”
He blinks rapidly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I—I’m sorry?”
“You should be.” My words are low, controlled, laced with heat. “You just barged into this woman’s home without her permission. Her home. Where she raises her child. That’sillegal at worst and disrespectful as hell at best. But let’s take this one step at a time.” I advance, slow, deliberate. “You were about to say something to Ms. Baker when you stormed in here. I’d like you to finish your sentence. So, let’s try again—” I tilt my head, letting the fury sharpen every syllable. “You’ve had it up to where?”
The blood that had his face boiling red moments ago has drained away, leaving him pale and clammy. Sweat beads along his receding hairline despite the chill that clings to the air from outside.
“I…I thought you were home. Maybe you didn’t hear?—”
“Didn’t hear you pounding like you were trying to rip the hinges off?” My laugh is humourless. “Yeah, we heard you.”
I take another deliberate step closer, and he panics, stumbling back until his spine hits the screen door with a hollow rattle. His eyes dart side to side, wide and frantic, the look of a cornered animal realizing the cage has been bolted shut.
I’m about to press in farther but Elliot slips between us, her presence the only thing holding me back. My rage still simmers, thrumming under my skin, begging to be unleashed on a man who thought he could speak to her that way.
“Hi, Glen.” Elliot’s voice is bright, her sunny tone almost jarring against the tension still coursing the room. She smooths her palms against each other, nervous energy masked with practiced politeness. “How has your weekend been?”
“Fine?” His answer tilts upward like a question. His eyes never leave me, as though he needs my silent approval, waiting to see if he’s said the right thing.
“Great.” Elliot wrings her hands tighter. “And Francine and the kids? They’re doing well?”
Something flickers across his face—shame, regret, maybe both. He came barrelling in here, ready to tear into his tenant, but Elliot’s first instinct is to ask after his family.
“They’re good,” he admits, softer now, the tensiondraining from his shoulders. “Ava got accepted to the University of Toronto.”
Elliot gasps, hand flying to her chest, her eyes genuinely alight. “That’s wonderful! I don’t think I’ve seen her since I made cookies for her sixth-grade birthday party. Disco balls, right?”
A reluctant smile pulls at his mouth, smaller and more human. “That’s right.” He clears his throat, straightening as though resetting himself. “Look, Elliot. I’m sorry I came in here like that. It’s just…you haven’t been answering my calls.”
“Sorry about that, Glen. I’ve been buried between the new job and the old ones, and…” Her voice trails off, softening into a tired sigh.
His expression pinches. “We need to talk about your rent.”
