Page 67 of Anger Banger

“I canceled it. Your schedule is clear for the next week. I have everything under control.”

“I’m going to make this up to you. Missing your trip. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

He’s feeling guilty for something that isn’t his fault. “You don’t have to make anything up to me. Stop worrying about work or me. You had major surgery. You need to rest and get better. We can talk about all the ways you’re going to please me sexually once you’re healed.”

He grins at me. “Yes, mistress.”

The first twenty-four hours are a little rough, but the pain pills help, and he starts feeling better once he’s able to eat again. Pop’s recliner comes in handy the next day since it’s still painful for him when he tries to sit up or lie down. We spend the day hanging out, watching TV, and snacking on the gift basket treats.

By the second day, he can get around better and the struggle becomes keeping him from doing too much. I swear, men are impossible.

We return to my bed that night and cuddle up together while a spring storm lashes rain against the windows.

“Thank you for staying with me.” His fingers play through my hair. “You do realize that I’m never going to believe that you don’t like me now, right? You may as well go ahead and admit it.”

“Like is such a strong word. How do you feel about tolerate? I tolerate you.” He doesn’t believe my teasing words any more than I do. That hour I spent alone waiting for him to have surgery made it clear to me that I can’t deny it to myself either. It’s not just physical. I care about him.

“Nope, sorry, not buying it.”

Rolling onto my side so I can look him in the eye, I let myself ask the question that’s been haunting me since the beginning.

“Will you tell me something, honestly?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you leave this place to rot? Why would you ignore all our pleas until the courts had to intercede? You’ve done so much here, and you genuinely seem to care so why not before?”

“You know I only inherited recently. My dad owned this place, along with a lot of real estate.”

“You didn’t know that he wasn’t maintaining things? Surely, when we filed a lawsuit against him…”

“Maren, I haven’t seen my dad or had anything to do with him since I turned eighteen, and very little the couple of years before that. I had no idea of the lawsuit or anything that was going on until he had a sudden heart attack, and everything went to me.”

He hadn’t been in touch with his dad for ten years? That changes a lot of what I thought I knew about him. Resting my head on his shoulder, I slide my hand into his. “Why were you estranged from him?”

“Because he was a greedy monster who never treated me as anything but another investment. One that didn't pay off when I refused to follow in his footsteps and go into finance. He always told me that he cut me out of the will. I think the only reason he didn’t was because he had no one else and he’d never give to a charity.”

“What did you do? Once you turned eighteen?”

“My uncle—my mom’s older brother—owns a home repair and renovation business. I learned a lot from him and worked for him until recently as a handy man.” He runs his fingers down my arm. “I’m good with my hands.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

All this time that I’ve blamed him when he just had a shitty parent screw him over. We have that in common. “I’m sorry that I called you a slumlord.”

His lips press to my forehead. “You’re forgiven. Once I saw this place, I knew you all had every reason to be furious.”

“Not at you, though. I can’t believe the judge made you come in his place. That’s so unfair.”

His chest rattles with a chuckle. “He didn’t. When dad died, it was made clear I was assuming his responsibilities as inheritor and executor of the estate, but they couldn’t make me serve a sentence for him. I could either fix this place up or sell it.”

“What?” I sit straight up and stare down at him. “You didn’t have to live here?”

A little half smile appears, and he shakes his head. For a long moment, I stare at him, thinking back. He never specifically said he was sentenced to be here. We assumed it because he said that he inherited the place and then moved into the worst trailer. I never contacted the lawyer because it didn’t seem necessary. He was here and doing what we demanded.

“But…then why would you?” It doesn’t make any sense.

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