Just like that.
I guess it was some sort of test. Because apparently, I need to keep proving myself these days.
Now I send updates, and more often than not, I get a quick ‘looks good’ or a thumbs-up in response. Seems I’ve earned his trust.
The truth is, I don’t actually mind the long hours.
I started bringing Gus along with me so he wouldn’t be alone all the time. I figured, since he’s an older pup and prefers sleeping over running around like a lunatic, he wouldn’t get in anyone’s way.
Turns out, he’s one hell of a therapy dog.
The crew took to him immediately, and he soaked up the attention, but there was one person he was most excited to see.
The second Eddie walked in, Gus’s tail started wagging so hard his entire back end got involved. Eddie’s face broke into a smile as he dropped into a crouch, scratching behind Gus’s ears and telling him he was the bestest boy.
I lost count of the number of times I found Gus parked at Eddie’s side. Not bothering him. Not pawing or whining. Just sitting there like being close was enough.
And every few minutes, without fail, Eddie’s hand would drop to offer another scratch behind the ears, another absentminded pat on the head.
Eddie may have a problem with me being on the job site.
But Gus is more than welcome.
Plus, there’s another reason I don’t mind the long hours. Another reason I spend most of my time here, even if I can barely admit it to myself.
The cabin, once myonlysanctuary, has taken on this ominous feeling. Not dangerous exactly.
Just… off.
And nothing specific has happened, beyond a handful of calls from Drake’s lawyer, imploring me in his measured tone to do what’s “best for everyone.”
But have you ever felt like someone was watching you?
And then you turn, and there’s no one there?
That’s what the cabin feels like now. All the time.
I don’t know if it’s my brain in overdrive or if I’m finally realizing how many threats can live in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to emerge.
Let’s be honest. What exactly am I going to do about it? Fight them off with a mop? Sic Gus on them and hope for the best? I don’t own a gun, not that I’d know how to use one if I did. And I highly doubt waving around a butter knife is going to send anyone running.
So I stay where I feel safer.
And that’s here onsite.
Right before the job started, Nolan had state-of-the-art security installed across the entire property. The kind of setup you’d expect in a federal building, not a private residence.Cameras everywhere. Coverage so tight you probably couldn’t fart without it being logged, time-stamped, and analyzed.
Overkill, to be sure, but at least I know if someone makes it through the system, there’ll be a record of it—a trail, someone to go after. Which, honestly, feels like the best-case scenario these days.
Or maybe I’m being ridiculous. Too little food, too little sleep, and too little sex is turning me into someone I don’t particularly want to know.
All I have to do is survive until the trial and then… well, who the fuck knows what then?
Hopefully my life will improve, but I’m done waiting for miracles.
I’ve always hated Valentine’s Day. Even when I was happily coupled, I couldn’t stand the holiday. There’s something stilted about being forced to prove your love on one designated day of the year.
But it’s downright loathsome this year, especially as I watch Romy bounce around the job site, happy as a Disney character, collecting bouquets of flowers like she’s starring in her own romantic comedy. Deliveries keep showing up, one right after another, and for all I know, every single one of them is from Eddie. I’ve counted five so far. Who the hell gets five bouquets of flowers on Valentine’s Day? I swear to God.
