CHAPTER 38

jackson

T he key is under the mat,” I repeated grumpily into the phone. It was eight in the morning, I’d driven an hour and a half out of town for one of those has-everything stores, and I was fucking annoyed to shit. I had so much crap to do and dealing with stupid questions wasn’t what I wanted to do.

“ That’s a terrible place to put a key, boss, ” Peter replied. “ Don’t you think anyone trying to break into a house is going to look under the mat first? ”

“I’d like to see someone try to break into my fucking house. They might do it, but they aren’t living to fucking talk about,” I snapped just as an older woman walked by. She gaped at me—probably at the audacity of my mouth. I tipped my hat in her direction and smiled. “Ma’am.”

“ Are you scaring old ladies again? ”

“What the fuck do you mean again?”

“ You have this reputation— ”

“I don’t have a fucking reputation!” I cut him off. Jesus fuck, Peter was brazen when he wanted to be. “We’re getting off-topic here. I have a job for you.”

“ I have successfully broken into your house, ” he told me. “ You have a nice house. ”

“Fuck with my house, Peter, and you’ll never see the light of day again,” I growled.

“ You should get coffee while you’re out, ” he said instead. “ You’re grumpy without your coffee. ”

“I’m not…” I stopped in front of the cart corral to draw in a deep breath. He was right. I hadn’t had time to make my fucking coffee. “Fine, yes. I’m fucking grumpy without my coffee, but I have a lot of fucking shit to do today. We have a lot of shit to do. I don’t need the goddamn peanut gallery making this shit harder.”

“ Just tell me what you need me to do, boss, and I’ll do it. ” Oh, thank fuck. Granted, Peter wasn’t really pushing his luck. I just hadn’t slept well. After West fell asleep in my bed, I tried to spend the night on the couch without much luck. I couldn’t turn my brain off. The night’s events kept playing in my head on repeat. I never wanted to see West go through that again—though, deep down, I knew that wasn’t possible. It just didn’t work like that.

“There are tarps on the kitchen table,” I said while taking a cart out. “Down the hall on the first floor is the guest room. I need you to pull all the furniture out from the walls and tarp it.”

“ You got it. ”

“And then I need you to go into the bathroom. Take all the little shit off the counters and floor and just toss them in a fucking garbage bag. You’ll find them under the kitchen sink. Take the shower curtain down too. Just toss everything.”

“ Okay. ”

“I need you to tape up all the trim and shit in the bathroom for me to paint. Do the same in the bedroom too. And then I need you to paint the bedroom,” I told him. I waited for him to protest, but when he said nothing, I just continued as if this wasn’t the weirdest shit I’d ever asked an employee to do for me. “There’s gray paint on the table with all the supplies you need. Just start in the bedroom. I have to pick some shit up and then I’ll be back to help. ”

Thankfully, the hardware store opened early enough in town that I’d been able to go in and grab paint. I couldn’t take away what yellow meant to West, but I could get rid of it in my house to make him feel safer.

“ You got it, boss, ” Peter replied.

“Call me Jackson,” I corrected. “You’re painting my goddamn house for Christ’s sake.”

“ You got it, Jackson. ”

I hung up the phone as he laughed and pulled up the list I’d made in my notes app. Before doing anything, I ran through it one more time. Bedding, bathroom shit, shower curtain, shirts and jeans for West, doorknobs. Maybe I was doing too much, but I didn’t care. It was the only way I knew how to help.

Loud rock music filled my house as I trudged back and forth carrying bags in. I’d probably bought West too much shit—enough to make him pitch a fucking fit—but I didn’t care. This was what I did. I fixed shit. I couldn’t fix how his mind worked against him, but I could fix the circumstances around him to the best of my ability.

Kicking off my boots, I went to check on Peter. I glanced in the bathroom as I passed by. Everything was out and taped up like I’d asked. Good. To my surprise, the bedroom was half-painted already.

“Oh, hey,” Peter greeted when he saw me, hurrying across the room to stop the music on his phone. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Not a surprise,” I muttered. Minding the plastic, I wandered into the heart of the room to inspect his work. The dark gray color covered the yellow walls smoothly. “It’s looking good.”

“Yeah? Good.” He ran a hand through his short hair as he surveyed his work. “So, what exactly are we doing here?”

That dreaded question. It was the entire reason I asked Peter to help me. He was the only one who’d get why I needed to do this.

“Let’s just say,” I began with a sigh, “that PTSD stole the color yellow. ”

“Ah.” He nodded with more understanding than I wished on anyone. After a long moment, he added, “You know, I never liked the color yellow. It’s an ugly color.”

I fucking appreciated this man.

“It is.”

“When do we need to be done?”

“The end of the workday,” I said. While his track record suggested otherwise, I couldn’t guarantee that West would stay at the stables any longer than necessary. It gave us a very short window to paint and redo everything.

“Well, all right then. Let’s get this shit done.”

Without waiting, he went right back at it. I followed suit, heading for the bathroom as my brain began another run-thru on my plan for the day.

“You’re doing a good thing,” Peter called after me. I paused at the door. “I know you’re probably questioning it, but you’re doing a good thing for him. He probably won’t see it right away, but he will.”

“I sure as fuck hope so,” I whispered. Truth was, I didn’t have a clue how West would react. He was so averse to being helped that I could see this blowing up in my face.