Page 21 of Holding On

Chapter Six

Becca

Ethan Baxter? I'm cleaning for Ethan Baxter? Why didn't my boss tell me this was Ethan's house? I thought I'd be cleaning for some old guy, like maybe a visiting professor here to teach summer classes. Not Ethan Baxter, star quarterback and local celebrity.

I used to see him around town before the accident but I've never been this up close and personal with him. When he opened the door, I'm sure my jaw dropped, and not just from the shock of seeing him, but also because he's so damn good-looking. That lean, athletic body. Dark hair, cut short and spiked on top. A face that's fitting of a quarterback; part pretty-boy, part sexy man. Why are so many quarterbacks hot? Is it a pre-req for the job? Or just a coincidence?

"Hey, Mom," he says into the phone. "No, I don't have any plans."

I'm trying not to listen but I can't really help it when we're in the same room. Maybe I should leave and give him some privacy.

Taking my mop with me, I go in the kitchen but it's connected to the living room so I can still hear his conversation.

"Yeah, she's here," he says. "It's fine. They're doing a good job."

He must be talking about the cleaning service. I bet his mom hired us.

"No!" Ethan's voice becomes frantic, almost panicked. "Don't put him on." I hear him sigh, and then, "Hey, Dad."

He must not get along with his dad, or maybe they've been fighting about something. Ethan clearly didn't want to talk to him.

"Stop calling my doctor," he says in a clipped tone. "I'm not a fucking child. You can't go behind my back like that." He's quiet and then, "I don't give a shit if you already made the appointment. I'm not flying out there. There's nothing that guy can do to make it heal any faster. It needs time, so just leave me alone." I hear a slamming noise and peek out and see Ethan's phone on the coffee table.

"Fuck," he mutters, shaking his head. He takes some deep breaths while I remain in the kitchen, afraid to move or make noise.

After a few minutes, I return to the living room to finish mopping the last little area I didn't get done. It's right in front of the black leather couch where Ethan is sitting.

"Hey." He rears back when he sees me. "I forgot you were here. Where were you?"

"In the kitchen."

"So you heard my whole conversation?" he asks in an angry tone. "You were listening in?"

"No, I was mopping the floors."

"But you heard me. You heard me talking."

"Yeah, but I wasn't listening. I was working."

"Don't you dare tell anyone about this." He leans forward, pointing his finger at me. "If you tell anyone anything about me, or about anything you see or hear while you're in this house, I'll get you fired."

What the hell? He's threatening me?

Before that call, he seemed nice. But now he's back to being a jerk, like he was when I got here.

I stare at him. "Do you want me to leave?"

He glances away. "No. Just hurry up and finish." He takes the remote control and turns up the volume on the TV.

What an ass. Just because he's mad at his dad doesn't make it okay for him to take it out on me. I didn't do anything wrong. And I wasn't purposely trying to listen in to his phone call.

Wanting to get away from him, I go down the hall and clean both the master and the guest room, then the bathrooms. I end with the kitchen, cleaning the floors and counters and filling the dishwasher with all the dirty dishes I found scattered around the house. Lastly, I clean the fridge and notice there's almost nothing in it. Just some cans of pop and a Chinese take out container. Doesn't he ever buy groceries?

After I wipe down the fridge I check the cupboards, which hold dishes but no food, except for a jar of peanut butter and a box of protein bars.

Returning to the living room, I find Ethan asleep on the couch, his broken leg resting on the coffee table.

"I'm done," I say, wondering if he's really asleep or just has his eyes closed. He doesn't respond so I loudly clear my throat. He startles and his eyes open.

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