Page 104 of My Destiny

“I’m lucky to have him,” I say. “He’s a good man.”

“He is,” Chris agrees. “And I’d say he’s lucky to have you also.”

“That’s sweet of you to say.” I rest my hand on his arm briefly, before fishing in my bag for the keys. “Gah,” I say, when I open the front door and step inside. “I forgot what a mess this place was.”

“Christ, he really did a number on this place.”

“I know.” I turn to face him. “You really don’t have to stay. I’m sure you’ve got more important places to be.”

“Actually, I don’t.” He removes his suit jacket, placing it over the back of the chair before rolling up his sleeves. “Where do you want me to start?”

“I have some gloves in the kitchen drawer. I’ll go grab them and some rubbish bags.”

Within an hour, we manage to get some order back in the front room. All the broken and irreparable furniture we carried outside and swept up all the glass and debris.

“I’m going to grab some steel wool and try to scrub off this paint,” I say.

“You’re going to need more than that. Do you have any acetone?”

“No. I do have some leftover white paint, but probably not enough to cover all the red.”

“I’ve had my fence at home graffitied a few times, and acetone was the only thing to get it off.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t you start on one of the other rooms, and I’ll run to the hardware store and get some.”

“I don’t want to put you out.”

“It’s no bother. I’m happy to be of some help.”

Reaching for my bag, I pull out fifty dollars and pass it to him. “Thanks, Chris. I appreciate it.”

I take the roll of rubbish bags into my bedroom and start sorting through my clothes. Like the rest of the house, this room is a mess.

After gathering everything off the floor, I start placing items into piles on the bed. At least I’ll be able to salvage some of them, but what’s torn will need to go in the bin.

Chris takes longer than I expected, so when I’m finished, I carry the bags to the bin outside and place the ones I’m going to keep by the front door.

“What the hell, Brooke?” a voice says behind me, startling me. Swinging around, I come face to face with a not-too-impressed Logan.

“Hot Stuff.” I notice Chris standing in the doorway with an apologetic look on his face.

“Let’s go,” he says, reaching for my hand.

“I’m not done here.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I told you I’d hire someone to clean this place up for you.”

“And I told you I’d do it myself.”

“Brooke.” I can tell he’s angry, but I’m not budging on this.

Ignoring him, I turn to Chris. “Did you get the acetone?”