Page 4 of Bitter House
He’s infuriating. I groan, squeezing my hands into fists at either side of my head. “I’m not planning to sell it,” I say firmly, stomping my foot as if I’m stamping the statement onto the tile beneath my feet, making it true. If selling Bitter House means handing it over to Cole, I’ll stay until the walls crumble all around me.
“Glad we’re on the same page about that.”
I blink, tilting my head to the side. “Really? You weren’t hoping to sell it and flit off into the sunset somewhere, instantly rich?”
He leans across the counter, staring at me. “Okay, one, I don’t flit anywhere. I’m not a finch. And two, did it ever occur to you that I actually enjoyed my time here? That I might want to keep this house and couldn’t care less about the money?”
“No.” The answer comes in an instant. “In the ten seconds I’ve had to process this, I guess I didn’t consider that you’d lost your mind and might actually want to stay here. It’s impossible.”
His dark brows draw down. “Why?”
I try to force the million reasons out of my mouth all at once and end up stammering over my words. “Because…because we hate each other. We can’t stay here, and there’s no way in hell I’m leaving you with the house. I could…” I try to think, pacing the tile floor. “I could buy you out.”
I couldn’t. I can’t. I’m flat broke, working an entry-level office job and splitting a two-bedroom apartment with my best friend and her two cats. I’d have to check my account balance before I bought a coffee at this point, let alone a house.
I’m equal parts relieved and dismayed to hear his answer.
“Not interested.”
It’s as if I’m a sheet of cracking glass—each sentence from him, each stupid smirk, a hint more pressure from his palm, another splinter. “Cole, please… Let’s just be civil about this. It’s my house, not yours. You have to know that. How can we fix this? You know you don’t want this place. Not really. It’s a lot of work.”
“I don’t mind work.”
I flatten my palms on the countertop. “It belongs to my family.”
“It belongs to the two of us now, not your family. In fact, Mom said Vera only left Jenn, Zach, and Jonah money. No property. I’m sure they were thrilled to hear that.”
“They weren’t close. She stopped talking to any of them years ago. I was all she had.” My voice cracks at the truth of that statement. I was all she had, and I was never enough.
He looks like he wants to say something, to argue and further push me toward breaking, but instead, he turns his attention back to the food in front of him, meticulously picking out a strawberry, studying it, then taking a bite.
“We can’t do this. Please. Please be reasonable. I just lost her. Don’t put me through this.”
“I’m not doing anything, B. I’m really not trying to be difficult or cruel, but Vera left me the house, too. I was the one who stayed here after you left. Maybe that meant something to her?—”
“After I left?!” I shout, casting my arms out to my sides. “As if I had a choice. I was kicked out.”
His tone remains calm and cool. “Regardless, I was here. I’ve been here. I stayed.”
A shard of ice slides down my throat. “You stayed? In this house? With Vera?”
“My mom was here until the end. I visited, yes. I was here when you weren’t. And I don’t know what sort of beef you two had, I don’t know what happened, but what I do know is that I loved this house. I spent just as much time here as you did, and if Vera wanted to leave it to me, I’m not going to question it. I have no interest in selling and, from what I understand, we can’t do that until everything with the will is settled anyway. Probate, or whatever. So we’re stuck together.” He rounds the island slowly, eyes on me. “I can’t afford to buy your half from you outright, and I don’t want to, but if you don’t want the house anymore—if you want to work out some sort of payment arrangement for me to buy it from you, we can talk about that, too. Or…”
“Or?” I stare at him.
“Or we could make this work. It could be a vacation home or…we could be roommates. Something. At least until we decide how we want to move forward.”
I cross my arms. “I’m not going anywhere. You’d change the locks.”
One corner of his mouth quirks, and he makes no effort to deny it. “Then I guess we’re stuck with each other for the foreseeable future.”
“I guess we are.” This is the worst day of my life.
“I’ll be in my old room then, roomie.” He walks past me—saunters, practically—and I listen as he jogs up the steps.
What the hell were you thinking, Vera? There’s no way this ends without one of us being murdered and the other in jail. Maybe that’s what she was hoping for. One final kick to the gut courtesy of the woman who was supposed to love me.
His door shuts upstairs, and I squeeze my eyes shut. A knock on the front door interrupts my internal panic, and when I cross the room, hurry down the hall, and open it, I find a woman with a familiar face, though I can’t quite place her.