“Actually, I believe it was me that did all the lugging,” Mason chimed in.
“Whatever. Not the point. Shut up and eat.” Ashlyn shoved a plate into Em’s hands loaded with everything in sight.
The two of them together always managed to lighten Em’s mood no matter how dark it was, but even they couldn’t convince her stomach to handle that much grease. She picked at the sausage and eggs, sticking mostly to the toast until she couldn’t even think about taking another bite. The dent she’d made in the plate was laughable, but neither Ash nor Mason were laughing when she pushed the plate away.
“I can’t eat anymore,” she apologized.
“It’s okay.” Mason took her plate, wrapping it up for later. “Your appetite will come back.”
Ashlyn still didn’t look pleased, but she let it go. Em wasn’t sure she’d be as accommodating to her next request.
“I’m really tired.”
“Em, how could you possibly—?”
“It’s been a busy morning. Why don’t we all just relax in the living room for a while?” Mason’s compromise seemed to satisfy Ash, and though it wasn’t what Em had been hoping for, she agreed.
With the lights out and gray clouds blotting out the sun, Em found it difficult to stay awake long enough to concentrate on the movies they were watching. There was a whole stack of them on the end table, but it didn’t escape Em’s notice that not one of them was a romance.
She picked at her food through both lunch and dinner, but neither of them said a word. Somewhere in the middle of Die Hard forty-five—or whatever—the day finally caught up with her. She hadn’t even realized her eyes were closing until she peeled them back open to find herself in Mason’s arms.
He laid her on her bed, tucking the blankets close, and brushed a stray hair from her face. “Get some rest. You’ll be okay, Em.”
Her eyes slipped shut again as she mumbled something that sounded like the half-hearted agreement it was. Mason stood, brushing a chaste kiss against her forehead on his way out of the room.
Chapter Thirty-five
Jay
Jay stalked after the realtor. A thin woman in a pencil skirt, four inch heels, with a bun tight enough to cut circulation off to her forehead, and a stick up her ass. She poked around, investigating every nook and cranny of the house with zero concern for privacy. Jay gritted his teeth and stood back. He needed to do this. It was the only way.
When the exploration was complete she sat down at the kitchen table, frowning at the rickety chair and scribbled on a piece of paper before sliding it across the cracked fiberglass surface to Jay. He stared back at her like she’d lost her damn mind. They were the only two people in the house. She really couldn’t bring herself to say the number out loud? Could it be that bad?
Apparently so. Jay flipped over the paper and gaped at it in shock. “That can’t be it.”
“It’s the highest I’d be comfortable listing it for. I doubt you’ll even receive that much.”
“But I spent more buying it in the first place just a few months ago. I fixed the counter, and the wall. There used to be—”
“The market’s in a recession. It just isn’t worth what it was a few months ago. If you’d like to wait a while longer, perhaps—”
“No.” He’d waited too long already and received that message loud and clear. “List it.” He would just have to find another way to make up the difference . . . And a new place to live.
“Okay, then.” The woman got up, brushing off her bottom as though just sitting on his furniture could have messed up that fancy-ass skirt of hers. “I’ll be in touch.”
She handed him a business card with her number on it and hightailed it out of there faster than Jay considered humanly possible in those shoes she was wearing.
He leaned back in his chair and looked around the house. It was small and furnished with second hand items—nothing fancy—but it was home. His home. Em’s home. What the hell were they going to do now?
He’d lost. Everything. He fought so damn hard for so damn long and in the end, he’d lost. It wasn’t fair. The deck was stacked against him. Always had been. But that was life. Maybe for some more than others.
When the doorbell rang again, Jay just assumed Mrs. Stick-up-her-ass had forgotten something. Maybe she found another reason to cut the bottom line on his future. In a deeply foul mood, Jay made no attempt to hide his loud stomps as he headed for the front door.
The instant he threw it open to find Mason-fucking-Locklier standing on his front porch, he regretted it. That jerk-off was just about the last person he wanted to see. Jay attempted to slam the door in his face, but Mason wedged his foot beside the frame.