Page 13 of The Arrangement

It’s also my last thought most nights before bed.

I didn’t give much attention to settling down before all this shit happened with Dad. There wasn’t a gaping hole in my life that needed to be filled. I traveled, explored, and did my own thing on my own time—and I liked it that way. Autonomy equaled peace.

But I’ve started reassessing things.

Dad’s failures required us all to step up and work together. We rely on each other like never before. Our bond is tight, our relationships are valued, and I can’t fathom going back to only talking to my siblings once a month.

Unbeknownst to me, I’ve become a man who doesn’t feel burdened by family obligations. I don’t feel the need to make something of myself. For the first time in my life, my role in the family is clear, and I’m comfortable there.

Maybe autonomy isn’t vital to my happiness. The inner tug-of-war I experience daily isn’t my gut telling me to retract from others. It just might be telling me to lean into it.

To start a family of my own.

But therein lies the problem. The only woman I can imagine in my world every day is Chloe.

And that can’t happen.

Not only would I never risk our friendship and working relationship, but she and I don’t want the same things. She’s young and beautiful—and at the age to have fun and discover what she wants from life. That isn’t a man ten years her senior who’s eyeing marriage and children in the near future.

How do I know? She’s said so.

And that fucking sucks because I’d give Chloe Goodman whatevershewants.

And that’s not me.

Chapter 4

Chloe

Ishove the key into the lock and rattle it around a few times. It takes a certain finesse—a jiggle to the right while lifting the knob until it’s pointing at my boobs—to free the door. It swings open like it’s waited all day for the opportunity.

“Chloe? Honey? Is that you?”

Mimi’s voice travels through the small apartment. It’s weaker than I’d like it to be. But the fact that I can still hear it, that she’s still here—both alive and at home with me—is a blessing. It’s a blessing I don’t take for granted.

“It’s me,” I say, locking up behind me. “I’ll be right there.”

I slip off my shoes and set my bag and keys on top of an old dresser I refurbished from a salvage store. After some elbow grease and tender loving care, the piece of furniture doesn’t look as good as new, but it gets the job done. And I’m pretty freaking proud of it.

“How do you feel?” I ask, coming around the corner.

Mimi looks up from her soap opera and smiles. There’s a cut on her forehead from her fall in the bathroom this morning. The immediate area surrounding the burgundy line is turning a nasty shade of purple and her hair has seen better days. Outof all the damage from this morning’s incident, the hair would bother her the most if she could see it.

The two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment is … humble. The paper-thin walls are peach, but I’m pretty sure they were white at some point in the distant past. The brown floor would’ve been an odd choice in any era, but the yellow appliances are straight from the seventies. That they work—most of the time—is a small miracle.

The biggest issue I have with this unit is the bathroom tile. They’re uneven, and a few are broken. Mimi has fallen three times since we moved in a year ago, each incident ending a little worse. I’m scared shitless there will be a fourth time … and what that might look like.

“Let me see you,” I say, reaching for her chin.

She swats my hand away like a toddler. “I’m fine. I told you that this morning.”

“Your head says differently.”

“I’ve kept ice on it most of the day,” she says. “Greta has come by every couple of hours and checked on me, swapping out my cold compress.” She rummages on the table beside her until she finds an ice pack shaped like a heart. “She brought this about an hour ago. Before that, I was using a pack of frozen carrots.”

I laugh, kissing the top of her head and sitting on the couch beside her. “Your color is back in your face. That’s good.”

She tosses the heart down on top of a crossword puzzle book. “I feel fine, Chloe. You act like I jumped off the Grand Canyon. It was a little stumble. No biggity.”