Page 22 of The Deals We Make

“Vex? That’s your name now?”

“Ti. Whatever.”

I breathe deeply for a second. I’d be foolish to turn down a second set of hands. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“Maybe you and I just have a very different definition of what friendship is. Now, you want to tell me what your plan was when you pulled all this cleaning stuff together, or you want me to just get started on the kitchen?”

I’m ungrateful, but I lost so much when Ti did what he did. Wait… “Vex or Ti?”

“Whichever you want.”

“What are you called most today?”

His eyes narrow on me. “Vex. Only my family calls me Ti, and given you just pointed out we aren’t even friends, maybe you should call me ‘Vex.’”

“Fine,Vex.” The word sits heavy on my tongue. It’s a brutal reminder of what happened to me in my brief association with the club.

I never told him what happened when Cue Ball and the rest of his biker friends showed up to teach me a lesson. I just toldVexI’d hate him forever, then ran. But now I see the pile of groceries by his feet and the way he looked out for my mom in his own way the last decade.

“Thank you for the groceries. If you tell me how much I owe you, I can?—”

“Shut up, Calista. Just tell me what needs cleaning.”

I tug open the fridge. As I expected, it’s dirty but cold. There are ancient half-filled bottles of pickles and moldy food. “I think we’re going to need to clean this out to be able to put any of that food away.”

Ti leans close to me and looks inside the fridge. I feel his breath on my cheek, and he smells good. All low notes and heat. “On it. Then what?”

I stand up straight and close the fridge door just to put space between us. “My old bedroom is beyond the kind of help that would get it ready for tonight. So, I’m going to clean up the living room, sleep on the couch. Would be nice if I wasn’t worrying about what’s in the sofa cushions. Oh, and the heating isn’t working, and I’m not sure when the fireplace last got swept.”

“Got it.” He reaches for his jacket. “I’m gonna swing by my house first. Got an industrial vacuum cleaner from when I renovated and a power washer that might help with some of those pots if I take ‘em out into the yard. Can clean out the inside of the fridge the same way if I unplug it and drag it out.”

I itch to put my hand on his forearm. It’s thick and corded and strong, but I resist. “That sounds like a great idea. Thank you.”

He zips up the coat and pulls his keys from the pocket. “Does your mom know you’re doing all this? Like, moving all her stuff around, throwing shit out?”

“It’s just mess. I told her I’m cleaning up a bit.”

Vex rolls his eyes. “What exactly did you tell her?”

I think back to the start of our conversation.

How I never come, only send money and flowers.

She said my room would need a little reorganizing to clear the bed.

How she wouldn’t get a cleaner because she thinks I stole all the money I gave her.

“I told her I was going to get caught up on the house a bit. And she said I should get groceries because she was low.”

Vex tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, something he’s never done before. I’d remember something as important as that. But I can’t waste a moment processing why.

Especially when he realizes what he’s done and pulls his hand away like I burned him.

“Go upstairs. Tell your mom what you’re doing. In detail. What you’re doing is kind, but she might not want you to.”

I huff and cross my arms. “I have to sleep here tonight. And I can’t eat and sleep if it looks like this.”

Vex nods. “I agree. You can’t. But whatever this is with your mom, it’s long-term, babe. Depression. Alzheimer’s. Dementia. Straight-up hoarding. I’m not a doctor or a psychologist, so it’s pointless trying to guess. You can’t live like this and not see it. Let’s take her along with us in stages, yeah?”