“What the hell do you want from me?” Shaking his head, he leans against the wall. “It’s not that simple.” “You told me to ask, and now you’re refusing to answer again.” “That’s a complicated question. I don’t fucking know what I want from you—that’s your appeal. The answer changes constantly.” “Why me?” I try again. “Because you happened to be here.” “I responded to an ad about this house. Are you telling me that was all coincidental?” He crosses his arms. “On my end, yes.” “What does that mean? Who else’s end is there?” “My father’s.”
