Time to rip Channing a new one.
The big red truck is still in my driveway. I can’t see Channing, but there are tools spread out on a tarp half on, half off my lawn. There’s a banging sound followed by the whine of a power tool.
What is he up to?
Geo’s door is still shut. He’s probably done with his homework by now and on to gaming. With his headphones on, he’s in his own little world.
Which is good. He won’t hear me unleashing the beast on his uncle.
Channing’s crouched beside my half open front door. Once again, he is not wearing a shirt. Sweat glistens on the awesome muscles of his chest and back.
He looks up, and our eyes meet. Green and gold in dark rims. My steps falter, and I trip over a worn duffel bag in Army green.
“Careful,” Channing warns, too late.
I stop and seethe, marshaling my thoughts. I kick the bag, but it’s too heavy to send flying, so I slide it with my foot out of the way. “What are you doing here?”
“Fixing the knob. See?” He steps back and makes a show of turning the shiny new doorknob. “Now the door can shut properly.”
He’s right, the door’s fixed. Something on my to do list that I would’ve gotten to, someday. Certainly not today.
I’ll thank him after I murder him. Why is his shirt off? “Channing–”
“No, need to thank me,” he says, before I can light into him. “You’ve got some shingles missing on your roof. I’m doing that next. And I ordered pizza for dinner. Hope that's okay.”
I’m panting with irritation, but I can’t keep up. Doorknob, shingles…pizza? “No!”
He tilts his head. “You don’t like pizza? I also got hot wings.”
“You can’t just show up here and…” I wave my hands. I’m a lawyer. I use complex language all day. Channing has me at a complete loss for words. It might be his shirtlessness. His chest is dusted with golden hairs that curl. I mean, I’m not looking at his chest hair, though. I’m not!
He straightens and takes a step towards me. The sunlight arching over his shoulder sets his toned body glowing. It’s a sight to make a Vogue photographer swoon.
Stop perving on your baby brother-in-law! I’m losing my grip on my anger.
The light gilds his long lashes and brings out the gold in his eyes. “I told you this morning. You need me, Julia.”
Ugh. I need him like I need a bullet in the head. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration, but his cockiness is staggering. As if I should be happy he just suddenly decided to grace us with his presence and help with a few handyman tasks? I don’t think so.
“No, I don’t.” I fold my arms over my chest, trying to stay resistant to the Channing charm. And his eight pack. It’s hard when the golden hairs on his chest glow in the sunset. When I’m literally having a Magic Mike moment with him on my front porch.
“I don’t,” I insist again, but I sound like I’m convincing myself. “I told you to leave.”
“I did leave. And then I came back.”
“I meant for you to leave permanently.” I’ve taken a few steps forward, and Channing and I are inches apart. The heat from his body vibrates between us. He smells like the outdoors, fresh and wild. A bead of sweat rolls down the center of his chest, following the groove and contours of his muscles. And I’m pissed that I notice.
“Not going to happen, Jewels.”
The old nickname sparks a sense of longing–for the past. When I had Geoffrey. When Channing was the loveable, wild young man living with us. He used to purposely spell Jules like a Jewel to be cute.
But the longing morphs into something different. Not for the past—for something else. Like I want Channing to fill the void Geoffrey left. But that’s wrong. Besides, Channing can’t be relied upon.
“I don’t need you,” I assert, even though it’s a lie. “We don’t need you.”
Channing leans back and takes me in, all five feet, one inch of irritation. “You’re lying.” He taps his nose. “I can smell it. You’ve needed me for a long time.”
“Maybe a decade ago. But certainly not now.” I’m not going to back down. Lawyers never back down.
“Then and now.” He sounds contrite. “I have a lot to make up for.” He backs away, going back to the door and packing away his tools.
“You can’t… you don’t… there’s no making up anything. I told you to get out. This is my home.”
“And Geo’s. You gonna ask him?”
“He wants nothing to do with you, either.”
“He doesn’t know me. And he needs me right now.”
“And who’s fault is that?”
“Mine. It’s mine, Julia. It’s all my fault. And I’m sorry.”
His apology leaves me breathless. Channing never apologized for the dumb things he did. Maybe he has grown up a bit.
“You can’t just show up and say you’re going to make it right.”
“I know. I’m going to prove myself to you. You say you don’t need me, but you do need a handyman.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “I have a handyman.”
“Then what’s with the shingles?” He backs out of the house and down the steps to squint at the roof. I should shut the door in his face and lock it, but that would hardly stop Channing. He’s been picking locks since he was a teen.
So I follow him outside to look up at the roof, which I hadn’t even realized needed help.
“You have a few more years before you have to replace this,” he says. “But not if you don’t get the shingles replaced. There might already be water damage.”
Ah. Well, that explained it.
I grit my teeth. “I called a roofer a couple years ago. He did two days of work that I paid him for and never showed up again.”
Channing’s eyes flash. “What’s his name?”
“Why?”
He folds his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge even bigger. I try not to stare at them. God, they’re big. “Gonna have a chat with him.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can get a new roofer. It’s on the to-do list.”
“What else is on the to-do list?”
“None of your business.”
“Wrong. It is my business. I’m making it mine.”
“I’m going to get to it,” I insist. I hate that I feel the need to explain myself to him, but I do. “Hiring people takes time. And money.”
“What happened to the money I sent you?”
“The envelopes of cash? I use it for groceries, restaurants, things like that.”
“That’s it? Julia, it’s hundreds of thousands of dollars…”
“I know,” I snap. “And I didn’t know how it was obtained or whether it was legal. I don’t know how to spend it. I can’t walk into a bank and say, “Here’s a sack full of cash, please pay off my mortgage.”
“Why not?”
“Because it isn’t done!” I throw up my hands. “Normal people don’t carry around sacks full of unmarked bills. l’d look like I run a cartel.”
Channing grunts. “I didn’t think of that.”