Page 43 of Where Happiness Begins

I don’t answer now either. I can’t find the words to say just how badly he’s hit the nail on the head and how much more I want from him. Suddenly, I want to hear all about what’s going to happen next. He’s gone through it, and it looks like maybe he’s not as different from me as I thought he was. Maybe he fucked up just as badly. I don’t know that he ruined his family like I did, but at this point, I can’t get any lower than I am, and if he has something that can make me want to live even an inkling more, I’d say I want to hear what it is.

Frank leans back in his chair, looking smug. I can’t fault him for it. He did make his point, in the end.

“Now, are you ready to get your head out of your ass and get to work?”

This time, I don’t hesitate. I have nothing else to lose.

“Yes.”

And so we truly begin.

Chapter 18

Iwake up to a ruckus coming from down the hall.

I worked yesterday and didn’t get home until three thirty in the morning, so even though my phone tells me it’s 8:00 a.m., I still want to bang my head against the wall. Whoever’s making all that noise better be happy I’m not grumpy in the morning.

Slippers on, I trudge over to where the sound is coming from, then stop dead in my tracks when I find all the honey-colored cabinet doors ripped off their hinges, Carter piling them on the floor, one of them still hanging halfway onto its hinges. Every inch of my messy cupboards is exposed, threatening to send me into a panic.I really should have done a better clean-up before he moved in.

“What’s going on here?”

He looks up from where he’s crouched in front of the island, noticing my presence for the first time.

“I’m removing the cabinets,” he says, then goes back to unscrewing a door as if that was the most normal answer in the world.

“I can see that,” I say, stepping closer to him while rubbing sleep off my eyes. “The question is why.”

He lifts his head. “I opened a cupboard to grab a cup and almost left with the door, and I thought that was enough. Found a sanding machine in the garage.” He lets out a grunt that has no right to sound sexy as he throws the door on top of the others. “I’ll sand and paint them before reinstalling them properly.”

Something clenches in my chest. That sanding machine. Dad bought it a few years ago, thinking he could do some of the work in the house by himself, but my health took a turn for the worse at that time, and he never got to pick it up again.

He never will either.

A crease forms between Carter’s brows. “Hope you don’t mind.” Then he turns and looks up at the kitchen, which looks like a whole mess. “Yeah, maybe I—”

“Thank you,” I say, voice choked up for some reason. Maybe because he’s getting a step closer to achieving what Dad would’ve wanted for this place, or maybe because he’s removed a huge weight off my shoulders by taking the lead on this project I knew needed to be done but couldn’t get myself to pursue, or maybe just because he’s taking his precious time to do this for me. “I really appreciate it.”

“Course,” he says, still frowning, studying me for a moment, then another. Finally, he breaks the contact to look at his phone, then stands. “I’ll have to finish this later, though. The band’s recording today.”

“Can I come?” I ask, partly because I have no plans and partly because I have a feeling if I stay here alone and continue looking at this ongoing project, I’ll feel never-ending grief I’d rather avoid.

Carter pauses wiping his hands to ask, “You want to?”

“Sure. It’ll make good content.” Anything to get me out of this place. I go get a cup from the—now open—cupboard to make some tea. “Oh, I could make it some sort of interview too afterward.”

“Sure, yeah.” He scratches his head. “I need to stop by my place while we’re in Boston, though.”

“Boston?”

“Yeah.”

“Your job’s in Boston? Like, you drive there every day?”

A pause, then, “Yeah?”

“And you have a place there.”

“Are we just stating facts here or…”

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