Page 6

Chapter Six

Natalie

T here are a lot of sounds I expect to wake up to in my shitty apartment.

The clang of the ancient radiator coughing to life in the freezing cold of a perfect Iron Ridge morning. The hum of my Grandma's fridge struggling to keep up with modern technology. There's also the occasional creak of my upstairs neighbor, Mr. Kowalski, rearranging his furniture at the crack of dawn like he’s competing in an Olympic sport no one else knows about.

What I do not expect is the drip, drip, drip of water.

Inside my apartment.

I burrow deeper into my pillow, trying to ignore whatever's happening. Maybe if I just pretend everything's fine, it'll go away. That's a solid life strategy, right?

Drip.

Nope. Still there.

Drip.

My eyes stay stubbornly shut. I'm not dealing with this. Not at—I grab my phone—4:37 AM.

PLOP.

A fat droplet of water lands square on my forehead, and my eyes snap open. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

I stare up at my ceiling where a suspicious dark patch spreads across my grandmother's vintage wallpaper. Another large drop falls. Then another.

"Holy sh—"

The rest of my curse drowns in the thunderous cascade of water exploding from my ceiling. It's like someone upstairs decided to install an indoor swimming pool without consulting physics. Or me.

I leap from my bed, tangling in my grandmother's hand-crocheted blanket and nearly face-planting into the growing pond that used to be my bedroom floor.

"What the fuck!"

The room I've carefully curated over three years of living here is turning into an aquatic disaster zone. My fluffy llama socks squelch against the growing pool of water now forming in my bedroom.

My bedroom.

My fucking bedroom!!!

The soft pink walls, still sporting my grandmother's 1960s floral wallpaper, now sport spreading dark patches that look suspiciously like modern art. My collection of pressed flowers in their delicate frames hang precariously, and the stack of physical therapy journals on my nightstand are quickly becoming very expensive paper boats.

I sprint into action, grabbing the first thing I see—a towel from my laundry pile—and hurling it at the flood like it’s going to do anything.

"No, no, no!" I dive for my phone, yanking it from the charging cable just as water starts creeping toward the outlet. The fairy lights strung across my headboard flicker.

Great. Death by electrocution wasn't on my morning agenda.

A particularly violent surge from above sends water spraying in an impressive arc, somehow managing to hit every single dry spot left in the room. The sound is deafening—a mix of rushing water, creaking ceiling, and my own creative cursing.

" Shit! "

I whirl around, swiping my phone from the nightstand. Water splashes as I run into the kitchen, skidding to a stop just as another chunk of my ceiling gives up on life and collapses onto my already-questionable kitchen table.

I shriek.

"Not my books! Not my books!"

I lunge for my special edition copy of the latest hockey romance, complete with NSFW-work artwork, just as another stream of water crashes down. My kitchen chair groans, wobbles… and then collapses.

I jab at my phone.

“Emergency plumber, how can I—”

“ Hi! ” I yelp, frantically catching my now-drenched coffee maker and tossing it higher up onto the counter. “Yes, emergency! Very emergency! My apartment is actively trying to kill me!”

The plumber on the other end is unmoved. He yawns.

“Yeah, sounds bad. I can get to you in… three days.”

I freeze mid-panic. “THREE DAYS?! My ceiling just turned into the Niagara-freaking-Falls! ”

"Okay. We can expedite for an extra $500."

I stare at my phone like it just slapped me. "Oh, cool. Let me just sell a kidney real quick."

The plumber hangs up and I scream into the void.

I toss my phone onto the counter, gripping the edges as I take a slow, measured breath.

Okay. Think, Natalie.

I'm a medical professional . I keep grown men from breaking themselves on a daily basis. I can fix this.

…Right?

My gaze darts around the apartment, landing on a sad, leaning stack of old towels in the corner that I've been meaning to donate. I grab every single one, throwing them down with the urgency of a woman fighting for her life. Spoiler alert: they do absolutely nothing to stop the water from creeping across the floor like a vengeful ghost.

"Okay . New plan."

I dart into the bathroom, yanking open the cabinet under the sink and grabbing the biggest bucket I own. Then another. And another.

By the time I line them up under the worst of the leaks, my apartment looks like a budget kiddie pool setup. I grab my grandma’s massively oversized mixing bowl—the one she used to make Christmas cookies—and shove it under the big leak, the one currently doing its best impression of a broken fire hydrant.

There. That’s… something.

Water plinks into the makeshift disaster relief stations I’ve assembled, and for the first time in the past twenty minutes, I exhale.

This is fine. Everything is fine.

Except it really, really isn’t.

I glance at the clock on my stove. 6:12 AM.

I have to be at work in an hour.

I stare down at myself. Soaked sleep shirt. Soggy socks. Hair plastered to my face like I just lost a battle with a rainstorm.

Shit.

Resigning myself to the nightmare that is my life, I grab my one semi-dry hoodie from the back of the chair and yank it over my head before throwing on leggings and sneakers that probably shouldn’t squelch when I walk, but here we are.

One last glance at my apartment, at the buckets, the ruined ceiling, the very concerning water stain spreading toward my bookshelf… and I slam the door shut behind me.

I’ll deal with it later.

Right now?

I have to go pretend I have my shit together.

***

The automatic doors swish open as I step into the arena, and the sharp difference between freezing rain and industrial-strength heating makes me full-body shiver.

I adjust my hoodie, shake out my damp ponytail, and try my best to walk with some level of dignity.

My socks are still damp, my hoodie smells like wet dog and regret. I don't even have a dog. And worse than all that? I’m running on exactly zero ounces of coffee.

This day? Sucks.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a second. Just get to the therapy room. Hide in the office. Pretend today never happened.

Unfortunately, the universe has other plans.

I round the corner into the main hallway and come face to face with Sophia, who halts mid-step, tilts her head, and immediately narrows her eyes.

"Uh, why do you look like a drowned rat?"

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. Here we go.

"Because my apartment is now a luxury swimming pool."

Sophia blinks. Once. Twice.

"… I’m sorry, what?"

Lucy Daniels, the new graphic designer, chooses that exact moment to walk up, clutching her tablet and a very large Summit Café latte that smells divine . She takes one look at me and grins.

"Ooof. This feels like a story."

I grunt and hate how put-together they both look right now.

Sophia rocks her signature power-exec style in a cream pencil skirt and emerald silk blouse that makes her eyes pop. Her streaked blonde hair falls in perfect waves.

And Lucy?

She's like a walking Pinterest board in her floral midi dress and chunky cardigan, honey-blonde curls bouncing with each movement.

I drag my hands down my face, sighing dramatically. "It started with a leak, turned into an indoor monsoon, and by the time I left, I was one bad decision away from building a tiny raft and floating my way to work."

Lucy lets out a low whistle. "Damn. And I thought my Monday sucked."

"You're serious? Like, actual flooding?" Sophia asks, eyes scanning my entire state of being—the damp hoodie, the seaweed looking hair, the pure exhaustion written all over my face.

I hold up my arms. "What do you think?"

Sophia winces. "Yeah. Okay. That tracks."

"So… what’s the plan?" Lucy asks, sipping her coffee. "You couch surfing or braving the elements like a badass?"

I groan, rolling my shoulders. "No idea yet. I need to find a plumber. Or a magician. Then, I guess I might stay at my parents' place. I don't really have a choice."

Sophia makes a yikes face and we spend the next half an hour discussing the state of my life.

Lucy is fully invested in this situation. Like, she’s too invested. She's already searching for cheap apartments on her phone, scrolling with the determination of someone hunting for a designer bag at a thrift store.

"Ooooh, how do we feel about ‘cozy studio with lots of charm’?" She angles her phone toward me.

I glance at the screen, still wringing water out of my sleeve. "Lucy, that’s a literal shoebox."

"Correction," she counters. "It’s a shoebox with ‘natural light’."

"It’s also $2,300 a month." I press my fingers to my temples. "I don't need a new place. I just need a temporary fix."

Lucy hums, scrolling again. "Okay, what about short-term rentals? Airbnb? There’s this one listing that says ‘rustic mountain charm with—’"

"No."

"But it comes with free firewood—"

"No."

"It’s a cabin with a hot tub, Natalie."

I sigh dramatically. "Unless it also comes with a money tree, I am not moving into a hot tub cabin, Lucy."

She pouts, muttering something about lost opportunities, while Sophia crosses her arms, watching me like I’m a particularly stubborn case study.

"Okay, but your parents’ place—"

I groan. "Let’s not even go there."

Living with my parents? I'd rather eat hockey pucks for breakfast.

The last time I stayed there, Mom spent three hours reorganizing my sock drawer while Dad watched golf at maximum volume. My grandmother's apartment might be falling apart, but at least it doesn't come with a side of passive-aggressive commentary about my life choices.

Sophia's hand slides over my arm and she pulls my eyes into her. "Babe, it's okay. We'll work something out, okay? Let me talk to Blake."

Before I can answer, before I can even breathe , a voice… deep, rough, and entirely too close… cuts through my spiraling thoughts.

"You're not staying with your parents. You'll stay with me."

My heart does this annoying little stutter-step that I absolutely refuse to acknowledge. The words aren't a suggestion - they're a declaration, delivered with the kind of authority that makes my spine tingle and my defenses rise simultaneously.

Slowly, I turn around.

Hunter Brody fills the doorway like he was carved to fit it, broad shoulders spanning the entire damn frame. His arms are crossed tight over his chest, every muscle flexed enough to be distracting.

His jaw set in that stubborn way that makes me want to either kiss him or throw something at him. Maybe both.

"I'm sorry, what?" I manage, my voice coming out higher than intended.

I swallow hard as his eyes lock onto mine, intense enough to make my knees weak. "You heard me."

Lucy's phone clatters to the floor, breaking our staring contest. When I glance over, she's gaping at Hunter like he's just announced he's joining the ballet.

Sophia, bless her, tries to hide her smirk behind her hand. And fails. Miserably.

Great. Just great. Now I have an audience for whatever this is about to be.

Lucy and Sophia exchange a look that's way too gleeful for my comfort.

"Good luck!" Lucy sing-songs, practically skipping down the hallway.

Sophia follows with a quick pat on the back. "Text me later. All the details. Love you, babe."

I'm going to kill them both.

Hunter steps closer, his presence making the hallway feel suddenly smaller. The scent of his cologne – so fucking masculine – swarms me, and I hate how my body automatically leans toward him.

"I heard everything." His voice drops lower. "You're staying at my place. I have more than enough room, and I won't have you living in some run-down apartment or overpriced shit heap while your place gets fixed."

My eyes narrow. "How long were you lurking in that doorway?"

"Did you find a plumber?"

"Answer my question first."

"Long enough to hear about the hot tub cabin." The corner of his mouth twitches. "Which, by the way, was a terrible idea. Plumber?"

"I wasn't actually considering—"

"Right. I'll organize the repairs. Meanwhile, you're staying with me." His tone leaves no room for argument. "End of discussion."

I cross my arms, mirroring his stance. "Oh, so we're back to you making decisions for me now?"

Hunter doesn’t even flinch. "This isn’t about that."

"You do remember we're ' done ', right? Your words, not mine."

A muscle ticks in his jaw. His stupidly perfect jaw. He’s so broody. So grumpy. And so obviously still obsessed with me.

Hunter exhales sharply and shakes his head. "You need a place. I have one. Simple."

I scoff. "Thanks, but I’ll stay at my parents’ place."

Hunter's eyes burn red hot. "That’s a joke."

I step closer, watching his throat work as he swallows. I hate how my body responds to his proximity. Imagine living with him. Sheesh.

"You know what's funny?" My voice comes out softer than intended, barely a whisper between us. "You act like you have the right to make these decisions for me, but you couldn't even be bothered to text me back."

His green eyes darken, and his hands clench at his sides. I know that look – the one he had in the weight room. The one that says he's fighting for control.

Good. Let him struggle.

He chose this, not me.

"Natalie." His eyes drop to my lips. "I know how much you hate it there. You won't last one night at your parents."

Before I can fire back, he closes the space between us until my spine presses flush against the wall.

My breath catches. My core heats.

Fuck. He's so big.

His arms bracket me in, broad chest inches from mine, heat radiating off him like a furnace. Every inch of him is tense, like he’s fighting some silent battle not to touch me. Not to do exactly what we’re both thinking about.

His eyes drag across my face, down my body then back up again. "Don't forget, baby. The best night's sleep you ever had was when you were in my bed."

Oh, God.

I should shove him away. Should tell him to go to hell.

Instead, I lean in closer, close enough that my breath fans across his mouth. His whole body goes rigid, and for a moment, I let myself remember how those lips felt against mine. How his hands felt on my skin. How everything felt right before he decided we were wrong.

"You just watch me."