Page 10 of Enemies in Paradise

“Sure, you didn’t,” Zach says as he walks past me.

His teasing rarely bugs me—it’s just older brother stuff—but Cassie’s gaze implies she believes Zach’s accusation. After the way I snapped at her this afternoon, she probably thinks I did the same to Charly.

Georgia scoots past me to Charly, and my eyes inadvertently find Cassie’s. I know I should apologize for going off today, but the hard set of her mouth doesn’t give me any encouragement.

Finally, I force words out. “Sorry about Molly and your pants.” It’s not much, but it’s a start.

“I’ll send you the bill.” Her mouth twitches in what might be a smirk or a smile.

I can’t tell, but Zach’s laugh makes it feel like a smirk, and my entire face heats.

I swallow the rest of my apology and push away my embarrassment. I don’t care what she thinks of me. She’s already made up her mind, anyway. It’s also not in my best interest to make Cassie feel welcome and wanted here. The opposite, in fact.

I turn toward Georgia and Charly, whose head is buried in Georgia’s shoulder.

I’m not needed here anymore.

“I’ll be downstairs if anyone wants me,” I say to no one in particular. I whistle for Molly, then both of us take the stairs, two at a time, that lead to my bedroom in the basement.

I try hard not to think about the fact that I’m twenty-four years old, living in my parents’ basement. Meanwhile, there’s a beautiful woman in my house who’s got her stuff together enough to buy the shop my grandpa can’t even wait a couple months to sell.

So… not my best day ever.

As I gaze around the room, that’s been mine since childhood, I remember Grandpa’s remark about talking to the city council. Both my room and his remark make my stomach ache.

The posters on the wall are the same ones I put up in high school, even though my hockey allegiance has switched from the Anaheim Ducks to the Utah Miners. My bedding is black and orange—I really loved the Ducks—and worn threadbare. I haven’t fit in the desk chair for at least five years.

And I haven’t spoken in front of a group of people since … high school, probably. The persuasive oral report I gave on WhyHockey is the Best Sport, a topic I knew well. But I stammered my way through it and was grateful to get a C.

How am I supposed to stand in front of the city council and convince them to make major changes to Paradise when I’m still living in my fifteen-year-old self’s man cave? This is not how a man lives… stuck in the past. Afraid of talking in front of other adults. Unable to explain myself to my own grandfather.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, remembering all the instances where I have let myself down. Feeling relieved I could use Mom’s Alzheimer’s as an excuse to drop out of college and come home. Staying together with Grace for too long because it was easier than breaking up with her. Letting my nerves not only get in the way of starting a conversation with Cassie but also make my hands shake so much, I humiliated myself in front of her.

I’m tired of it. I decide right then and there to make a change.

I open my eyes again and take in this teenage-boy room. Dad’s been telling me for months that I should move into the apartment above the garage. Zach built it after Mom’s diagnosis and lived there for a few years, but it’s empty now that he’s married Georgia and moved into her place. For the months since he moved out, I’ve been thinking that maybe I’d move in.

Why stay here when I could be there?

I walk out of my room to the storage area, where I find a couple of empty plastic bins. Then I go back to my room and yank my top drawer out of the dresser. I’m about to dump everything into the bin when I see a T-shirt I haven’t worn since at least high school.

I set the drawer on my bed then hold up the shirt, a Killers concert tee Grace got me when we went to the show. She thought I loved them, so she loved them and got us tickets, then bought me the shirt.

I only ever wore it for her.

I toss the shirt to the top of my bed, then sort through the rest of the clothes in the drawer. There’s a mix of shirts, sweats, jeans, and underwear. Before Mom got sick, she couldn’t stand the mess in my drawers, so she’d put my clothes away for me. I guess I keep hoping she’ll be able to straighten things out for me again.

She won’t. I have to come to terms with that.

An hour later, my dresser and closet are empty. I have two full bins of the stuff I want to keep, and another pile of things that need to go.

I carry both bins up the stairs, debating whether to go out the front door to avoid my family or out the back door, which is the more direct route to the apartment.

I man up and take the direct route.

Most of my family is at the table when I get to the kitchen, plus Cassie, of course. I force myself not to make eye contact with her.

“There he is!” my Granny says.

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