“I told you one more time and I’d evict you,” the landlord said, his voice stiff. Clearly this wasn’t his favorite part of the job.
Adding this complication to an already volatile situation was like throwing gasoline on a fire. Finley straightened her shoulders and gritted her teeth. “Fine. Then consider us evicted. Bye.” She slammed the door in his face and stalked into the bedroom, me on her heels and Maple toddling along behind us.
I watched as Finley grabbed a duffel bag from her closet and started stuffing the clothes from her dresser inside. She looked up at me and I expected some smart quip about me getting what I wanted. Instead, her eyes were simply sad.
“Will you go pack up that bureau?” She tipped her chin to the tall dresser in the corner of her bedroom. “It’s Marcus’s stuff and I can’t bear to go through it right now.”
“Of course.”
While I packed up a few framed photos, dog tags, a folded flag and a box of old letters, Finley threw clothes and shoes and toys into a couple of bags.
“What about the furniture?” I asked when she looked like she was through.
“Maple will need a crib...but the rest...” She shrugged.
“We’ll get her a new one.”
Finley breathed deeply for the first time since we arrived. “Let the property management deal with it. It was all secondhand anyhow.”
I lifted Maple into my arms and took a couple of the bags from Finley. “Fine by me. Let’s roll, baby.”
Chapter Fourteen
Finley
When we reached the handsome Craftsman-style house faced in creamy natural stone, its deep wooden eaves seemed to reach out to shelter us. My stomach settled the tiniest bit. Grey turned and pulled his black SUV into its two-car garage. As we unloaded the car, it suddenly struck me that I'd never seen Grey's home before. How strange. That night when we'd first run into each other at the strip club had been over a month ago. And it was starting to feel like he'd been part of our lives forever. So how was it that he'd always come to us, never the other way around?
But even more striking was the house itself. I looked around in awe as Grey led us to our guest bedroom upstairs. The huge kitchen boasted speckled granite countertops, stainless steel fixtures, and an island where I could picture Maple sitting in her high chair to watch me cook. The first floor's sliding glass doors led out onto a broad cedar deck overlooking the lush green lawn—impressive, considering northeast Texas's brutal summers. In one corner stood a sprawling fifteen-foot pecan tree; in the other, a pool glimmered bright blue, safely fenced off with a black wrought iron gate. Upstairs, the master bathroom was dominated by a long, deep soaking tub that Maple would love at bath time. I fantasized briefly about melting into its soothing hot water myself. I floated through the house in a fog, wondering if this was all real. It seemed too good to be true.
Grey laid our bags on the bed, then turned to rest his hand on my shoulder. “I'll go get the last few things out of the car. You two just make yourselves at home, okay?”
I suddenly couldn't trust my voice to stay steady. “Sure,” I muttered, not sure whether that tight note was bitterness or grief or simple exhaustion.
Grey paused a moment, watching my face, then nodded and went back downstairs. His footsteps on the hardwood faded, leaving me alone with the dark pit in my stomach. The notion of playing house here seemed too ... I didn’t know the word. Presumptuous? Inappropriate?
This place was almost as spacious and beautiful as Brant's mountain lodge. Grey had obviously done well for himself after quitting the SEALs. My pride twinged. I couldn't deny that this was a better environment for Maple than anything I could have provided on my own.
My eyes grew misty as I folded our clothes into the dresser and hung them in the closet. I could hear Maple scuffling and giggling as she explored under the bed. Everything was just so unfair. This was the life we should have had. The house I'd bought with Marcus could have been just as nice as Grey's was. It had held all of our hopes and dreams. The big family we'd planned for, the untroubled childhood that Maple deserved. Instead, she got a terrible mother who couldn't take care of her own fucking daughter without handouts. No matter how hard I tried, it just wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough. And I was starting to fear that I might never be.
Get a grip, Finley. Having a pity party won't help anyone. I knew I was just feeling sorry for myself. The last few days would shake anyone’s confidence. But those pathetic thoughts kept pouring through my mind like a flash flood, muddy and dangerous and unstoppably fast. I should have tried harder. I hadn't truly done my best. Every small moment of weakness—buying convenience food instead of cooking, sleeping instead of working, letting my fake smile slip while I was on the clock—was another dollar I'd stolen from Maple's future.
But dear God, I was just so mind-bogglingly tired. None of my struggling and scraping ever seemed to make any progress. Was there even any point of trying to climb out of this hole? Life would just slap me right back down again. Heads, reality wins. Tails, I lose.
Too late, I heard footsteps stop at the bedroom doorway. “Fin?”
I quickly glanced out the window, trying to hide my tears while pretending to admire the prairie view. “Y-yeah?”
Grey didn't buy my calm act for a second. I could hear it in his deep, solemn sigh. But he didn't push me to talk about why I felt so upset; he already knew damn well what was wrong. Instead, he held out his phone and said, “Call the strip club and quit.”