No one else has been in my house since I moved here. After Grandpa died I sold his place and used the money to buy this one. I didn’t need anything that big, and other than the movers and the realtor, no one has been here since I closed on it. So, even having someone here for such a brief visit was a bit of a mental strain, and I fell asleep shortly after she left.
Stretching over, I grab my phone from the charger to see four missed calls, from three different numbers.
Okay…..
I pull up my voicemail, and the first one is from Gabe, telling me my car should be ready around one, and that he needs to talk to me before I go to the police station.
The second is from Stephanie, checking in.
The last voicemail is from the sheriff's department apologizing, and saying they can take my statement over the phone, but please call them at my earliest possible convenience.
And the last missed call was 10 minutes ago, from Gabe again, but he didn’t leave a message this time.
Time…what time is it?
I shake my phone to take me back to the home screen, 12:11 P.M. Shit, how did I sleep so late?
Getting up, I try to wake up enough to call Gabe back. Dealing with finances on the car situation is gonna be a bitch, and I still haven’t posted an update online. So much stuff needs done. I didn't even feel like showering last night, so I took a super quick one after Stephanie left. Not even bothering to dry my hair, I look like a dandelion after sleeping on it wet. That’s ok. No one is gonna see it anyway. Wrapping my hair up in a messy bun, I wash my face and grab a clean bra and a long flannel out of the closet–getting dressed on my way to the kitchen.
Iggy is sitting on top of the coffee maker, looking imperious. While I don’t like her up on the counters, I let her remain queen of all she surveys for a while longer so I can grab a bowl of cereal and pour milk on it before flopping back to the couch to try to wake up.
I curl my legs under me and hit the button to return Gabe's call while I wake up with my sugary overload drenched in moo juice. He picks up on the second ring, and instead of people in the background I hear a loud hum noise–well, maybe they have a fan in the shop–I’m sure it gets warm in there. “Hello, Miss Candice, thank you for callin’ me back,” He starts before I can say anything.
“Oh, no problem, er, you said you needed to talk to me before I go into the police station, but now it doesn’t seem like I need to do that.”
I hear his low chuckle on the other end, “No, ma’am, you do not.” The laugh is a bit heavier now, gruff and kind of growly, but not unpleasant. “I also won’t be able to pick up my car right now. I need to call Stephanie or figure out how to get to the shop. I only have the one means of transportation.” I don’t mention that maybe if I don’t pick it up yet, I won’t have to pay for it yet–I hope they won’t press the matter.
“Yes’m, I'm sorry again about last night. Leo told me what happened. I’m sure I came off soundin’ like an ass, but it wasn’t my intent. As for a ride to the shop to get your car, well, I reckon I can help you out there. I just pulled into your driveway.” I let out a loud squawk, nearly dumping half my cereal on the couch trying to stand up. “I’m sorry, can you please repeat that?”
The phone hangs up, just as the doorbell rings.
Where the hell did I leave my pants last night?
Scrambling back towards my nest I yell, “Just a minute,” at the top of my lungs. Iggy, seeing my struggle to get back into my pants as either time to play or time for a walk, decides to skitter down from her perch, across the floor, and claw her way up my still naked leg.
Fairly certain I am now bleeding down my thigh, I manage to get the waistband tucked over my stomach squish before opening the door. Gabe is standing there, eyes crinkled and trying not to laugh at either my appearance or the iguana hanging off my hair.
I realize a moment too late when I open the storm door that I haven’t put on any de-scenter this morning. I look up into thescruffy face of Gabe. His pupils blow wide, the whiskey color of the iris almost completely eclipsed, all humor dropping from his features.
“Omega,” he croaks out, right as I slam the door in his face and turn the deadbolt.
Chapter 8
Leo, Gabe, and Xan were late last night. At least they called to let me know, but damn, my lasagna was disgustingly dry by the time they got home. You can only keep pasta under the warmer for so long before you have a big noodle brick.
It’s just as well they brought takeout instead of trying to eat it. Though, once again, if they had let me know in advance I wouldn’t have bothered cooking.
Assholes.
Plus they were eating cookies, fucking thin mints–love those things. Leo and Gabe both denied it, but I could smell it. I wouldn’t have been so upset if they had just brought me some, but no. Stuck at home with no chocolatey mint deliciousness.
I am fine with getting takeout, but there is other shit that needs done too. If they aren’t even going to appreciate the timeand effort I put in-
Full stop–I’m staring down at the mess in front of me, banana bread batter slopped over the side of the bowl. Taking my aggression out on baking is clearly not working. I set the mess aside and go to wash the crushed banana mixture off my hands before taking off my apron and dropping it in the top of the washer.
Reaching up to fist my now clean hands in my hair, I tug hard. I need to get out for a while. They don’t like me to leave the house, especially unsupervised. However, since I’ve taken over most of the household duties, I’m taking it upon myself to go to the grocery store. Maybe, if I am feeling particularly benevolent, I will take them all some lunch, after I buy myself a box of cookies–that I won’t share.
While part of me wants to pry the hard lasagna out of the pan and box it up, I know they would eat it, just to make me happy. So instead I go to the fridge and start getting out all the parts for an awesome loaded sub for myself…and the stuff to make Leo, Gabe, and Xander’s favorites. Because their taste is shit…but I digress.
