Chapter Five

Avery

“ W ho the heck does this guy think he is coming into my house and implying that I can’t provide a safe environment for my little brother!?“ I practically spit the words into the receiver end of my phone while Summer tries to talk me off the ledge.

“Ave, calm down. I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. Besides, you said it yourself that those stairs were a problem.”

“That’s not the point.” I pace the kitchen, keeping my voice low so Benji can’t hear from his bedroom. “It’s the way he snooped around. Looking at me like I was some kind of charity case or something. And now he’s actually texting Benji with numbers for contractors!”

“That’s great! Maybe one of them will cut you a deal. Aren’t you even a little curious?”

“Sorry, but I’d rather take my chances. The last thing I need right now is to feel like I’m in debt to a man that morally repugnant.”

I think about Nash trying to flirt with me during my shift, and it makes me even more angry.

This is exactly why I don’t date. It’s bad enough the only men I have time for are the ones who expect me to fall at their feet when I’m trying to work.

I don’t need Nash Fontaine—or anyone else—reminding me I’ll never be anything more than the girl from the South Side whose parents bailed when things got hard.

Besides, even if I did give Nash the time of day, it’s not like the two of us are destined to ride off into the sunset together.

Guys like him are only good for one thing: breaking a girl’s heart before moving on to their next conquest.

“Avery.” Summer speaks slowly, her brows drawing together. “Please tell me you’re not planning on using those stairs before having them looked at by a professional.”

I sigh, pressing my fingers against my temples. “Of course not.”

“Then swallow your pride and call someone already. If not one of Nash’s guys, what about someone you already know? Don’t you have a friend who owns a contracting company?”

“Mike Wagner. Oh, my gosh, yes!” I do a mental facepalm, surprised I didn’t think of him sooner.

Technically, it’s his dad’s business, but Mike and his brothers have been servicing all their customers for years, now that Mike Sr. decided to stay home and run the office.

“I’ll give him a call. Maybe he can come look at it tonight. ”

“Good girl. So… are we still on for family breakfast in the morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

I disconnect the call and scroll my phone for Mike’s personal cell number.

One hour later, there’s a loud knock at the door, and I’m greeted by Mike and one of his world-famous hugs. It’s the type of hug that somehow always involves him lifting me at least one full foot off the ground and squeezing the life out of me.

“Ughhh,” I groan as he lowers me back to the ground. “Good to see you, too, Big Mike!”

Mike, who stands tall at an impressive six feet six inches, smiles with that same goofy, lop-sided smile he’s worn since the fourth grade. “So, I hear you got some stairs you need me to check out?”

“Yeah, right back here.”

I lead him to the back, and after a thorough inspection, his face is grim.

“What’s the verdict?” I ask, bracing myself for the blow of bad news.

“It’s not looking good, Ave. You’ve got termites. Bad ones.” He runs a hand over his bald head. “Look here.”

He shows me where the wood is hollowed out and a few other places that practically crumble under his fingertips.

“Can you fix it?” I ask, feeling hopeful.

“Probably, but this isn’t just a repair job.

You’ll need to get rid of these termites first. And unfortunately, we don’t handle pest management.

” He frowns and folds his massive arms across his chest. “These support beams are completely compromised. They’re not safe—especially not with Benji running around.

My advice is to call someone out to fumigate before things get any worse. ”

I lean against the wall as reality sinks in. “So, what you’re saying is...”

He gives an apologetic look. “Fumigations usually don’t take more than a few days, but with a proper inspection... who knows. Either way, you’ll need to find somewhere to stay until we figure out how bad the damage is.”

I close my eyes. I have at least a few thousand set aside for any major emergencies. Certainly, that should be enough to cover fumigation costs, but paying out of pocket for any hotel and repair costs means dipping into Benji’s tuition savings.

“I know a guy who runs his own fumigation company. Works with us all the time,” Mike says, pulling his phone out of the front pocket of his overalls.

His thumbs move quickly across the screen until my phone buzzes.

“Just sent his number to your phone. Joe’s a straight shooter—won’t overcharge you.

Give him a call and tell him you’re a personal friend. ”

“Thanks, Mike. I appreciate it. I’ll call him tonight.”

“Good. And let me know if there’s anything else you and Benji need in the meantime.” He gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “Promise?”

“I promise.” I say, even though I know I probably won’t.

The next morning at the club, I take another sip of coffee and watch Benji devour the mountain of pancakes on his plate. Miguel went overboard as usual, adding whipped cream, chocolate chips, and sliced strawberries arranged in a pattern that makes them look like the stitching on a baseball.

“These are so good!” Benji says through a mouthful, syrup dribbling down his chin.

“Chew first. Then talk,” I remind him with a smile. At least one of us is having a good morning.

Summer slides into the chair across from me. “So? How’d it go with the fumigation guy?”

“He’s at the house now. Says we can’t go back until Tuesday at the earliest.”

“Okay, but where are you staying until then?” She looks at Benji, then back at me.

“The Sunset Inn on Halstead,” I say under my breath.

Summer winces. “Eww. That place? Avery, listen... I wish I could offer my couch, but with my roommate’s sister staying with us—“

“It’s fine. Really,” I say, forcing a smile. “Besides, how bad can it be?”

“Honey,” she says dryly, “I’ve seen better reviews for prison cells.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. So what if the place looks a little sketchy? It’s only a few nights, right?”

Summer doesn’t look convinced, but lets it go when Miguel arrives with a second stack of pancakes for Benji. It’s our typical Saturday morning breakfast routine until the time comes to check into our hotel.

The Sunset Inn looks even worse in person than it did on its barely functioning website. The parking lot is littered with trash and cigarette butts, while the neon sign flickers ominously, with the “n” in “Sunset” permanently dark.

“This place looks like a motel for Zombies.” Benji laughs and shoulders his baseball duffel as we walk toward the office.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing you brought your bat, then. We might need it for protection if dinner rolls around and they come looking for fresh brains.” Benji knows I’m only teasing, but a part of me secretly hopes we won’t actually need protection—from zombies or otherwise.

Inside our room, cheap air freshener poorly masks the heavy smell of smoke, and two sagging double beds with faded floral comforters face a TV that’s probably older than Benji. And if that weren’t enough, Benji points out that the bathroom door doesn’t close all the way.

For eighty-nine dollars a night plus tax, you’d think they’d at least throw in a coffee maker.

“Look! We can see the highway!” Benji shouts from the window.

I cringe, my mind already crunching numbers.

Three nights at the hotel shouldn’t set us back more than $350 after taxes and fees, but Mike says he can’t give a quote to repair any structural damages until the termite issue is resolved.

This part concerns me the most. Even with a hookup, fixing the stairs is an expense I was hoping to put off for at least another six months.

Maybe if I pick up a few more extra shifts next week, I can make some of it back before—

“Can we order pizza tonight?”

I sigh. I hadn’t even considered the cost of food.

“Sure, buddy. Whatever you want.”

The next morning, I pour Benji a bowl of the knock-off version of Lucky Charms, then pour another for myself, balancing them carefully as I climb back onto the bed beside him.

Sunday morning cartoons play on the ancient TV, and for a moment, I give myself permission to forget about the musty odors and lumpy mattresses until everything feels almost normal.

“When can we go home?” Benji asks, milk dribbling down his chin.

“Tuesday,” I say, passing him a napkin. Reassurance comes easily, though something in my gut tells me not to count my chickens before they hatch.

“I miss my bed. I guess this is kind of like camping, huh?”

I ruffle his hair. “Exactly like camping. Only we’re trading our sleeping bags and all those bugs for questionable bedding and sub-par air conditioning.”

He laughs at my bad joke, and I smile. One thing I love about my little brother is that no matter what life throws at him, he always finds a way to bounce back. Sometimes, I wish I could remember what it feels like to be that young and carefree.

“After this, everything goes back to normal. Just a little bump in the road.”

Benji returns to his cartoons looking satisfied, and by the third episode, my phone rings.

When I see Mike’s name flash across the screen, I step into the tiny bathroom and close the door as far as it will go before answering.

“Hey, Mike. Everything okay?”

“Not exactly.” The strain in his voice makes my stomach drop. “Joe called me earlier. Said he found more issues while they were treating the basement, so I went over to check it out.”

I grip my phone tighter. “How… bad is it?”

“Real bad, I’m afraid. And it’s not just the stairs.

We found more damage to the flooring under the kitchen and bathroom.

Your entire south wall is compromised. That’s why your stairs were giving out.

We’re looking at complete stair replacement, foundation repair, structural reinforcement— It’ll take a good month to repair once we start ripping the floor up. ”

I place a steadying hand on the cold tile that lines the countertop. “But you’re saying it can be fixed?”

“Yeah, but...” He hesitates. “It won’t be cheap.”

I close my eyes. “How much?”

“Ballpark? Fifteen—maybe twenty.”

“Thousand!?” I feel the blood drain from my face.

“It’s a lot, I know. Do you even have that kind of money?”

The room spins. Fifteen thousand. Every dollar of what I have saved for Benji’s tuition after a year of penny-pinching and working doubles.

“Mike, you know I can’t—“ I swallow hard, unable to think straight. “You can get it lower, can’t you? I mean… you’ve been able to cut deals in the past.”

“Geez, I don’t know, Avery…” His sigh carries through the phone. “Dad’s been cracking down on the books. He says he can’t afford to pay us if we keep doing work at cost. Especially for jobs this labor intensive. You know I’ll try my best, but I can’t promise anything.”

“I understand.”

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry. Wish I had better news. Take a few days and let me know what you want to do. I’ll talk to my dad in the meantime.”

“Thanks, Mike. I’ll let you know soon.”

I hang up and stare at the phone, trying to process my options. Only… there aren’t any. Even with extra shifts, there’s no way I’d be able to rebuild what I’ve saved before the fall. Benji’s chance at St. Sebastian’s would be gone.

After dinner, I wait for Benji to fall asleep before sneaking back into the bathroom and draping an extra bed sheet across the open space.

The fluorescent light buzzes overhead as I sit on the edge of the tub, staring at a hotel notepad filled with numbers that refuse to add up no matter how many times I rework them.

One month of hotel costs. Home repairs. No house to live in. No academy for Benji.

A tear slides down my cheek, followed by another. I wipe them away, but they keep coming. Silent tears quickly turn into muffled sobs as I press a thin hotel towel against my mouth.

Everything I’ve worked for is crumbling just like that stupid, termite-infested house. I’ve always found a way before. Always kept us afloat. But this time, I don’t see a way out.

“Think, Avery,” I say in a whisper. “Just think.”

How are you going to dig your way out of this?