Hunting the Fairy Tale

Chapter 115 - Truth Bubbling Up

Tanner

"Well, here we are," Coach says as if I would never have guessed that we had arrived at his house.

He'd pulled his car as close to the front door as he could get it without actually driving up the steps to the veranda and parking in the living room. As if that is not enough, he jumps out and runs around to the passenger side to open the door for me and helps me out. When he's satisfied that I'm planted on my feet, he opens the boot of his Ford Mustang and takes out both my bags and my schoolbag, filled to bursting with books.

Having him carry all my stuff is ridiculous, but I do feel a little comforted knowing that if his arms are full, he probably won't try to carry me over the threshold like I'm his friggin' bride. He ignores all my protests and offers to take at least half the baggage, and runs up the steps to open the front door for me.

I'm not friggin' dying! Am I? Is there something they're not telling me?

Still, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy to see the guy care so much; I'll aggressively draw the line if he tries to give me sponge baths or spoon-feed me. Now, if he wants to hire a sexy nurse to do those highly necessary tasks, I won't stop him... I might even suggest it.

Looking at my surroundings, I like the idea of staying here more and more. Though a little isolated from the neighbours, Coach's house is wedged between vertical cliffs shooting up to heaven on the two short sides and down in a sharp drop to the ocean on the back of the property; the only way his yard can be entered is from the front unless you're a mountain goat. If someone decides to come after me again, I'll be able to see them coming long before they reach the house because there is a long, clear driveway from the street to reach the gate, and then there are the dogs that bark the second a shadow appears at the start of the driveway. There can be no sneaking in.

Between Coach and me, we could deal with any attackers, and there's nobody vulnerable here to protect... well... sure... I might be a little bit vulnerable right now, but I'll rally if a fight is needed.

The house is on one level, sprawling along the cliff dropping into the ocean. There is no danger of the building plunging into the sea during floods or mudslides, as most of the property is made up of solid, non-crumbling rock. Only the front yard contains trees and shrubs, and lawns. This is a rather beautiful place, the front door opening into a vast living area and open plan kitchen, with windows spanning the entire back wall, causing an uninterrupted view of the ocean disappearing on the horizon. We often sit in here or on the back veranda watching whales and dolphins and ships, or even better, storms!

The place suits Coach. It is functional and rugged, with no frills or much in the line of decorations. He doesn't even have his trophies and medals on display. The guy does not like clutter, and despite his appearance, he is pretty neat. To the left of the living area is a door leading to the main bedroom, ensuite bathroom and walk-in closet and to the right, a short hallway leads from the kitchen to a study, extra bedrooms and a bathroom.

While he carries my stuff to one of the three spare bedrooms, I sit down on the terracotta tiled floor just inside the front door to receive his dogs' overwhelming welcome.

I run my fingers through Leo's thick black hair, and the huge German shepherd nearly floors me by leaning his weight against me in his idea of a hug; Sasha, the other German shepherd, cushions me from the other side, preventing my fall. She's resting her head against mine in a rather dainty way while she sits up straight, like the lady of the house is supposed to do. There is a noisy little thing that looks like a cross between a Basset Hound and a hamster clawing at my legs, trying to get into my lap while he barks and whines and carries on like a blooming opera star.