Page 12 of Loco

I hesitated, then admitted, “I have no idea.”

He sighed but, to his credit, didn’t say anything smug about it. Instead, he marched straight for the kitchen, heading to the basement door like he somehow had my house memorized.

“I—wait, how do you know where?—”

“I helped Mrs. Hendricks with hers last year,” he called over his shoulder. “Same layout.”

I stared after him, torn between horror at my house falling apart and annoyance that Roque was swooping in again like a smug, know-it-all handyman.

A few minutes later, the gushing sound stopped, replaced by an eerie, waterlogged silence. Was it possible for silence to even be waterlogged, or was it just my home? Roque reappeared, shaking snow out of his hair like some kind of heroic lumberjack.

“Well,” he said, glancing at the wreckage of what used to be my bathroom. “On the bright side, you’ve always wanted an open floor plan.”

I picked up a soggy throw pillow and threw it at his head. The moment the pillow left my hand, I realized two things: one, my aim was worse than I thought, and two, Roque had reflexes like a damn cat. He barely moved, tilting just enough for the soggy missile to miss his face by an inch before it landed with a wet splat against the ruined floor.

He turned back to me, one eyebrow raised in amused challenge. “Feel better?”

I huffed, crossing my arms. “Not really.”

Roque glanced around at the disaster zone that was now my living room. “So, what’s the plan?” he asked, ever so casually, like I was about to whip out a five-step solution to survive my house actively trying to evict me. “Because, in case you haven’t noticed, the roads are shut down. Snow’s too deep, no one’s driving anywhere, and unless you’ve got an inflatable raft tucked away somewhere, you’re kinda up shit’s creek.” He cautiously peered up through the hole, seeing the toilet only feet away. “Almost literally with that one, too.”

I pressed my lips together, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he had a point. Instead, I followed his gaze up at the gaping hole where my bathroom floor used to be, considering my options. Calling my dad was out of the question. Not because he wouldn’t help but because it would involve admitting that I had, in fact, skipped the very basic, very important step of getting a home inspection before signing my name on the dotted line. And if there was one thing I wasn’t ready for, it was the absolute earful I would get about how reckless that was. It was also dangerous outside, and he was the type of dad who’d say, ‘fuck it,’ and try and make the drive in this weather anyway.

Roque must have read my mind because he crouched next to the mess, poking at a piece of wood jutting out from under the fallen bathtub. The moment his fingers pressed against it, the thing crumbled apart like wet cardboard. He let out a low whistle. “Yeah, definitely don’t call your dad.”

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “You know, you could at least pretend to be helpful instead of enjoying this a little too much.”

“Hey, I am being helpful,” he shot back, still grinning. “I just saved you from getting an ‘I told you so’ speech that would haunt you for years. That’s gotta be worth something.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, I’m your best option right now, as is you staying at my house.”

I hated that he was right. Again. The reality of my situation settled over me like a soggy, freezing blanket—I couldn’t stay here. Not with part of my house in ruins and the temperature dropping fast.

I inhaled sharply, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading but refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing it first. “Fine.”

His eyes sparkled with something entirely too arrogant. “Fine, what?”

I clenched my jaw. “Fine. I’ll stay at your place until I can get someone out here to fix things.”

Roque beamed like I’d just handed him a trophy. “Now, was that so hard?”

I pointed a finger at him. “Don’t push your luck, Edwards.”

Chuckling, he clapped his hands together. “Alright, first things first—we can’t just leave your house like this. Water’s still everywhere, and if it starts freezing, you’ll have even bigger problems.” Before I could argue, he was already heading toward the door. “I’ll grab my shop vac. Should help clear out some of this mess.”

While he was gone, I stood there, arms crossed, watching the water creep farther into my living room and wondering how, exactly, my life had come to this.

When Roque returned, he wasted no time setting up the shop vac, working with the efficiency that suggested he had too much experience dealing with disasters. Reluctantly, I grabbed my phone and started texting around the neighborhood, swallowing what little pride I had left.

Me: Hey, does anyone have a dehumidifier I can borrow? Minor flood situation.

Within seconds, the responses started rolling in.

Mrs. Hendricks: Oh dear! Are you okay, sweetie? I can send my grandson over to help.

Me: No need, just need to dry things out.

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