“I’m a little late,” he says, giving me a bright smile. “I’m Danny Coutcher, if it wasn’t obvious.”
No. No, it wasn’t.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“I’m supposed to meet with Boone Mason this afternoon.” He stops. “Am I at the wrong house?”
He looks around for the house number. I should have sympathy for him, but I’m too distracted to laugh about it.
“No, you’re at the right place,” I say.
A guy is coming by at six.
“He mentioned someone was coming but not until six. He’s not home yet,” I tell him. “I’m Jaxi. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Oh. Shit. That’s right. I had it in my head that I was supposed to be here at four, but he said he was getting home at four, didn’t he?”
I nod. “I think you’re very early.”
He takes a deep breath. “I tell you what. I’ll go grab a sandwich and kill some time, then be back around six.” He rummages around his folder and pulls out a brochure. He hands it to me. “Give this to him in case he wants to take a look at it before I get back. Or you can look at if you’re the partner that he wanted to look at it too.”
A ball of lead coalesces in my stomach.
I take the pamphlet from Danny.
Savannah’s Premiere Apartment Rentals is printed in bold red font along the top of the front page.
I just want to go over a plan I have and see what you think.
My knees wobble, my legs turn to jelly, as everything snaps together in one big, sad puzzle.
This doesn’t mean anything. It could be a coincidence.
Danny is speaking, but I can’t focus. All I can do is hear my own words in my head and the sound of blood racing through my body.
You’re fine. The shoe dropped. Now you can go on.
This is a good thing. It’s a hurdle, and now you can jump it and leave it behind.
“Does that work for you?” Danny asks, probably for the second or third time.
“Um, let me ask you something,” I say, forcing a swallow. “Boone was going to show these to me and see what I thought. They look great. Do you have anything available now?”
I fight back tears and hope that he doesn’t hear the way my voice threatens to break.
“Anything available?” he asks, lifting a brow. “As in, a unit? To rent?”
I nod.
He shifts his weight. “Yes. We have a few units vacant.”
“I’d like one,” I say in a rush. “Boone was looking for me. Do you have a two-bedroom?”
I keep the words short. I focus on the transaction part of the conversation and not the idea of packing up our things.
Of Boone not wanting us here.
But that has to be it. There’s really no other explanation for this. And if I call and ask him and he has to admit his plans—that he needs some space—that will make it awkward.
I’m sure he was going to come home and play it off somehow. He wouldn’t be cruel. But it’s different now that I know. I’d have to play dumb and pretend I didn’t see what was really happening, and I’m not stupid.
I won’t pretend to be.
Danny presses his lips together. “Off the top of my head, I think we have a couple of two bedrooms. One might not be in that building,” he says, pointing at the brochure I’m holding like a live grenade. “But I can call Sheila, my assistant, and ask.”
“No, that’s fine. The building is irrelevant. What’s the price?”
His forehead wrinkles. “Twelve-hundred a month.”
I almost drop the pamphlet.
I can afford that—for a while, at least. The Kapowskis wouldn’t allow me to refund the advance for nannying, saying I’d need it for Rosie. And I have a little money from selling my car.
I have to live somewhere until I can find a job or relocate completely. This will work.
“Can I just do a couple of months? Three, at most.”
He scratches his head. “We don’t do that. But, since you’re a friend of Anjelica’s, I can make an exception.”
Who is Anjelica?
“I’ll take it,” I say quickly. “One of them. I don’t care. Three months.”
“Okay. Um, sounds good. Come down tomorrow and we’ll go over the rental application. The address is on my card that’s tucked inside the brochure.” He motions toward my hand. “You’ll tell Boone I was here?”
I nod. “Thanks for coming by. We appreciate it.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I don’t wait for him to turn around. I don’t say goodbye.
Instead, I bolt inside before the tears stream down my face.
Twenty-Two
Boone
I turn off my car.
I open the door to climb out but stop to reach back into the console to grab my phone.
Jaxi didn’t answer any of my calls on the way here. I know she was okay a couple of hours ago because Mom was here. But why is she not answering now?
An unread text message pops on the screen as I shut the door.
Danny: I got my schedule mixed up. I apologize. However, I dropped off a couple of brochures with Jaxi. She’s going to come by the office tomorrow to sign some papers. Glad I could help you out.
My feet stumble, and I stop walking. A sinking feeling fills my stomach.
Me: She’s signing papers for what?
Danny: An apartment. I thought Anjelica said it was an apartment complex so I came prepared to discuss that. You probably thought I was crazy asking to meet with you over an apartment rental.
I look up at the house. Oh, fuck.
My phone buzzes with another text. I squeeze it in my hands as I jog toward the house.
Bouncing up the steps three at a time, I try to rationalize why Jaxi would be signing papers for an apartment.
It makes no sense.
None.
My stomach churns as I open the door, threatening to spill the contents of my lunch onto the tile.
“Jaxi!” I shout. My voice echoes. “Are you here?”
I peek in the kitchen.
No luck.
“Jaxi!” I shout again.
My heart pounds as I walk down the hallway and into our room.
She’s sitting on the bed, her hands in her lap, staring at the door.
At me.
Her eyes are dry but red and puffy. The lashes that slay me are clumped together.
A chill runs down my spine as I take her in.
What the fuck happened here today?
“Are you okay?” I ask slowly. “Because I feel like I missed something huge.”
She nods. I think she tries to speak, but the words get stuck in her throat.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” I walk to the bed and sit beside her. “Talk to me, Jax.”
She stares at the doorway. It’s a refusal to look at me. A slight sigh escapes her lips, but other than that, she doesn’t move.
My brain screams at me to take action—to do something. To shake her, kiss her, scream at her. To do anything that will stop the volatility burning inside me.
“I need you to talk,” I say. “Is it Rosie? Isn’t she with Mom?”