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Authors: Melanie Shawn
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down, he picked up his guitar case and stepped inside.
After closing the door behind him, he stood stock-still in the entryway. Again, a feeling of shock and disbelief washed over him at the condition his mom’s home was in. When he was growing up, their house might not have been the nicest on the block, but it had always been spotless. Not a speck of dust, not a knick-knack out of place. He could remember some days that his mom would vacuum not once, not twice, but three times.
She didn’t suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Nope. She suffered from Roger Malone Disorder.
His dad had not just required, he’d demanded her to serve both breakfast and dinner, keep an immaculate house, and never complain about it.
Chase slowly scanned the house, moving his head from side to side. There was a thick layer of dust on the oak bookshelves that stood against the far wall. He could see the dining room table from where he stood, and it looked to be overflowing with newspapers and other random objects. There were dog toys scattered around the floor. The carpet looked filthy except for four or five clean spots.
Weird.
His feet moved beneath him and he found himself walking into the kitchen area. He stepped off the tile entryway and onto the white-and-green-checkered linoleum flooring that he himself had laid the summer before his junior year. The rubber on the bottom of his boots stuck to it as he walked. The setting sun shining through the glass slider illuminated the fact that the once bright white squares were now a dingy yellow.
A fly buzzed around the stack of dirty dishes overflowing in the sink. The dishes, even though they were dirty, should have made Chase feel better because at least it was evidence that his mom was in fact eating. Unfortunately, all of the stacked plates and bowls contained a good deal of leftover food.
This place needed a good deep cleaning. Chase racked his brain, trying to remember the last time he’d done a dish. Used a vacuum. Dusted anything . It had to be when he’d crashed on his drummer Pete’s couch when he’d left home. There had been four guys staying at Pete’s tiny one-bedroom at the time, and there definitely was no cleaning schedule. It was more like when there were no clean dishes to eat off of, you washed one.
Since Midnight Rush had started touring, beginning their road to fame in dive bars ten years ago, Chase had lived in hotels, motels, and notels . Even in the beginning, when they’d stayed in rat-infested dumps, he hadn’t cleaned up. And nowadays, he normally stayed in places with not just maid and laundry services, but his own personal concierge as well.
His plan tonight had been to find something to eat, take a shower, and crash. But it looked like that would have to wait. Turning back to drop his stuff off in what used to be his room, he actually felt a little excited about doing a little good old-fashioned cleaning.
When he was growing up, his mom had liked to say that cleaning was good for the soul. At the time, he’d figured it was just her way of making the best out of her situation. But at the excitement building inside of him over getting this house cleaned up, Chase thought that she just might have been right.
Chapter Six
S quinting through bleary eyes, Krista looked at the green LED display on her dashboard. It was one fifteen a.m. As she drove through the empty streets of Harper’s Crossing, she rolled down the window, hoping some fresh air would perk her up. It was a short drive to Abby’s house¸ but she was having a tough time staying alert.
Since crashing in her bed at eight p.m. Bear had woken her up at least a dozen times. She’d let him out to go potty and made sure he had food and water. Around eleven, she’d even played with him, hoping to burn off some excess energy, but it was all for naught. He still remained one hundred pounds of anxiety.
Luckily, just as she was about to burst into tears from frustration and exhaustion, she
After closing the door behind him, he stood stock-still in the entryway. Again, a feeling of shock and disbelief washed over him at the condition his mom’s home was in. When he was growing up, their house might not have been the nicest on the block, but it had always been spotless. Not a speck of dust, not a knick-knack out of place. He could remember some days that his mom would vacuum not once, not twice, but three times.
She didn’t suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Nope. She suffered from Roger Malone Disorder.
His dad had not just required, he’d demanded her to serve both breakfast and dinner, keep an immaculate house, and never complain about it.
Chase slowly scanned the house, moving his head from side to side. There was a thick layer of dust on the oak bookshelves that stood against the far wall. He could see the dining room table from where he stood, and it looked to be overflowing with newspapers and other random objects. There were dog toys scattered around the floor. The carpet looked filthy except for four or five clean spots.
Weird.
His feet moved beneath him and he found himself walking into the kitchen area. He stepped off the tile entryway and onto the white-and-green-checkered linoleum flooring that he himself had laid the summer before his junior year. The rubber on the bottom of his boots stuck to it as he walked. The setting sun shining through the glass slider illuminated the fact that the once bright white squares were now a dingy yellow.
A fly buzzed around the stack of dirty dishes overflowing in the sink. The dishes, even though they were dirty, should have made Chase feel better because at least it was evidence that his mom was in fact eating. Unfortunately, all of the stacked plates and bowls contained a good deal of leftover food.
This place needed a good deep cleaning. Chase racked his brain, trying to remember the last time he’d done a dish. Used a vacuum. Dusted anything . It had to be when he’d crashed on his drummer Pete’s couch when he’d left home. There had been four guys staying at Pete’s tiny one-bedroom at the time, and there definitely was no cleaning schedule. It was more like when there were no clean dishes to eat off of, you washed one.
Since Midnight Rush had started touring, beginning their road to fame in dive bars ten years ago, Chase had lived in hotels, motels, and notels . Even in the beginning, when they’d stayed in rat-infested dumps, he hadn’t cleaned up. And nowadays, he normally stayed in places with not just maid and laundry services, but his own personal concierge as well.
His plan tonight had been to find something to eat, take a shower, and crash. But it looked like that would have to wait. Turning back to drop his stuff off in what used to be his room, he actually felt a little excited about doing a little good old-fashioned cleaning.
When he was growing up, his mom had liked to say that cleaning was good for the soul. At the time, he’d figured it was just her way of making the best out of her situation. But at the excitement building inside of him over getting this house cleaned up, Chase thought that she just might have been right.
Chapter Six
S quinting through bleary eyes, Krista looked at the green LED display on her dashboard. It was one fifteen a.m. As she drove through the empty streets of Harper’s Crossing, she rolled down the window, hoping some fresh air would perk her up. It was a short drive to Abby’s house¸ but she was having a tough time staying alert.
Since crashing in her bed at eight p.m. Bear had woken her up at least a dozen times. She’d let him out to go potty and made sure he had food and water. Around eleven, she’d even played with him, hoping to burn off some excess energy, but it was all for naught. He still remained one hundred pounds of anxiety.
Luckily, just as she was about to burst into tears from frustration and exhaustion, she
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