“Well, I just wanted to check in with you and see if things were still going okay. Think you’ll be back to visit soon?” I roll my eyes at the question. I’d been home two weeks ago, the week before that, and the week before that.
“It’ll be a while. I want to spend some quality time here. As you said, I need to meet some new people.”
“Okay. We miss you.”
“Miss you, too.” I hang up as I pull into the driveway.
Once inside, I hang my keys on the hook and toss my shoes aside. I need food, beer, and a night on the couch. It’d been a long day at the end of a long week, and for once, I had a quiet weekend to look forward to. No long drives to grab stuff out of the house or help my father with his downsizing. A full two days to myself. And I have big plans for them, too. Plans thatconsisted of moving from the reclining chair to the bed and back several times.
I grab a frozen pizza and check the directions for the proper oven temperatures. At some point, I’ll need to buy some real food and possibly some kitchen equipment. Tonight, though, this seemed like the perfect solution. I set the oven temperature and grabbed a beer. Wandering through my place, I cringe at how sparse it is. The plan to bring almost nothing with me made sense when I was worried about dragging a bunch of stuff this far. If I was honest, it was also an excuse to get rid of things I didn’t want to deal with and get a clean start here. After helping my dad clean out his house this past year, the last thing I wanted was stuff. I wouldnotbe the person with a basement full of garbage.
Considering the way things looked here, I probably went a little overboard. Nothing a bit of retail therapy couldn’t fix. Shopping for furniture and decorations would need to go high on the never-ending list of tasks. I could find some ideas from my laptop tomorrow. I walk to the bedroom and strip out of my work attire. Getting out of my suit and into my lounge pants and a t-shirt was one of the best feelings. The oven beeps as I finish, letting me know it’s preheated. The upside of eating a lot of frozen food is that I have the timing down perfectly.
After the pizza’s in the oven, I double-check the back of the box for the timing—perfect, enough time to watch an episode of my favoriteNetflixshow. I settle in the chair and flip through the menus until I find what I want. Tucking my bare feet under the blankets, I hit play.
A shrill noiseI can’t place jolts me from a dream. I open my eyes slowly, then snap up from the recliner. The room is filled with smoke.
Fuck. The pizza.
I leap up and run for the oven. Thick, black smoke billows out of the gap at the top of the door. I turn off the oven and prepare for what I’ll find. I take a deep breath and open the door. A wave of heat and smoke hit my face, and I start coughing and gasping. I grab the potholders on the counter and pull the cookie sheet full of black char from the oven. I dump it in the sink before shutting the oven door with my hip. Next up, dealing with the constant shriek of the smoke detector. I spot it on the ceiling near the edge of the kitchen island. I clamber up onto the countertop and reach for the button.
Nothing happens when I hit the button. I click it a few more times before scowling at the device. I don’t see any other buttons to try. In a last-ditch effort, I find the battery slot. It’s screwed shut. I jump down from the counter way too hard for my aging knees. After a groan, I go to the hall closet and find the toolbox. Pulling out a screwdriver, I return, haul myself onto the counter, and unscrew the little door. I yank the batteries out, and the sound stops. I sink to the counter and lie across it for a minute. Fuck, the quiet sounds good.
Staring at what used to be pizza, I sigh. I guess it’s another takeout night. Great start to my new life here. At least I know the best delivery places.
I lower myself to the floor, a little more gingerly this time, and wave my arm in the air, attempting to dissipate some of the smoke. I know it won’t help, but I need to do something. I grab a trash bag from under the sink and dump the pizza inside. I’m not sure anything will get the burning scent out of my place, but at least taking this out would stop it from continuing. I grab my sandals from the front door and hurry to the back stairway.
My place shares a dumpster in the alley with a few neighbors, including the basement apartment. I shiver as I walk out the door, regretting that I didn’t bother with a jacket. I shove the brick in place to prop open the back door, then dash across the alley and heave the bag into the dumpster. A rustling sound catches my ear, and I turn quickly, catching a glance of a critter moving in the shadows. I shiver again. It’s a cat. It has to be a cat. Or a raccoon. I can handle a raccoon. Not a rat. Nope. Definitely not a rat.
I turn to run back inside, but I can tell something’s wrong as soon as I turn around. The door I propped open is closed. Only the barest hint of light shines through from the gap underneath. “No, no, no.” I try the knob a couple of times, even though it locks automatically. That’s why the brick system exists.
Fuck.
I walk around the front of the building and down the steps to the basement entrance, moving quickly to stay warm.Please let her be home. I’d seen her come and go a few times, but we’d never been formally introduced. The landlord told me she traveled a lot and kept this place as a crash pad in the city. Would it be too much to ask for tonight to be one of those nights? I cross my fingers and toes. No lights. I knock a few times, a little louder than I usually would. No answer.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I head back up the stairs, sit on my stoop, and put my head between my knees. So much for a stress-free weekend. I take a few deep breaths. I can fix this. A gust of wind whips past me. I really should’ve put that coat on. Or some thicker pants. Even a real pair of shoes would be helpful at this point. Hopefully, a quick call to my landlord will solve my problem—preferably before I die of hypothermia.
I tap the contact for my landlord and wait for the call to connect. I’m sure he has nothing better to do than drive acrosstown in the middle of the night to fix my mistake. The phone rings six times before sending me to voicemail. “Hey, it’s Colt Addington over on Oak Street. I managed to lock myself out. I know it’s late, but, um... could you call me back?” I huddle against the edge of the stairs. Maybe the wall will block some of the wind. I send a quick text with the same information, just in case he checks there first.
There’s every chance the guy’s already asleep. I start mentally running through my options. Sadly, I don’t come up with a lot of choices. I don’t have my wallet, so checking into a hotel for the night isn’t an option. Even if they’d let me pay with one of my stored cards on my phone, I’d still need some sort of identification. A locksmith might be an option. Does that still work if I don’t own the property? I try to remember the information in the lease, but nothing pops into my mind. Okay, I’ll wait thirty minutes for my landlord to reply and then figure out Plan B.
A splash of water hits my arm, and I turn my head upward. Suddenly, the sky opens up, and rain starts to pour.
Yeah, that’s about right.
My thin clothes soak through instantly, and I start shivering. Okay, it’s time for Plan B. I unlock my phone and take a deep breath. My hand hovers over the call button. I count to ten, hoping I come up with a different choice. Nothing comes to mind, so I hit call.
Chapter Four
NATHAN
My watch vibratesagainst my wrist, and I groan. It cannot possibly be morning already. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ignore it for a minute.
Wait. I didn’t set an alarm. It’s Saturday, and I don’t need to be anywhere. Besides, I always wake up early enough on my own. Usually too early. I groan and squint against the darkness, trying to read the Caller ID on the tiny screen.
Colt.
