The Boy Next Door: A Standalone Small Town Romance (Soulmates Series Book 3) (4 page)

Chapter 7: Laney

What a mindfuck.

I decided then and there that I would never, ever get behind on
my laundry again. A seemingly harmless quest for a clean pair of socks had
chucked me into the weirdest morning of my life, and things were only getting
weirder.

Again, I don’t think all the crystals were helping.

After Connor left, I could barely make it back into the house
before my legs collapsed, and I sat on the bench next to his tomatoes for who
knows how long.

What were the chances of him being here? Today of all days?

And why did he have to look so good?

Why couldn’t he have grown up to be a pimply hunchback whose
teeth had gone to shit?

Why was his hair thicker than ever, his eyes an even darker
blue? And was he taller? I mean, he was always tall, but I felt dwarfed by him
in that worn grey sweatshirt.

For a few minutes, it was hard to understand what the hell I’d
been thinking all those years ago. I remembered it like it was yesterday… the
way he dropped to his knee in front of the swing I was swaying on, the hopeful
sincerity in his eyes when he revealed the ring he’d pawned his golf clubs to
buy.

Neither of us were ready for that kind of thing, but I know why
he did it. He wanted me to know that just because he was going to pursue his
dream in California didn’t mean he didn’t still want all those things we used
to talk about.

And there was nothing he wouldn’t have given me. He got me a
duckling for my sixteenth birthday for crying out loud. Waddles. She used to
follow me everywhere. She was as protective of me as a German Shepherd.

Until the day she flew away.

And I was no less interested in holding her back than I was in
holding him, though pretending I wanted him to forget me was much harder to do.

But he was from a good family and had so much potential. Whereas
I was a wannabe artist whose favorite mediums at the time were paper mâché and
macaroni noodles.

And as much as he’d tried to put me back together, I was always
going to have physical and emotional scars that would keep me from being the
perfect girl he deserved.

I could tell by his face that he was shocked I’d said no.

When he finally stood up, there were woodchips hanging out of
his knee.

That’s when I realized I had no choice but to be even more firm.
I knew he’d never believe me unless I was hurtful, nasty, and unapologetic.

So I was.

But seeing him again- even just remembering what it was like to
be so physically near him- made me question everything I’d done.

Of course, it was too late.

And admitting to myself or anyone else that I wished I could go
back and do things differently- like in the Choose Your Own Adventure Books I
used to always make him read aloud to me- would make me look crazier than I
already did in this house full of crystals and incense and tapestries that made
me feel like I was backstage at Woodstock.

Ugh.

Besides, he wasn’t the man I was supposed to be thinking about
right now, the man whose feelings I was supposed to be considering.

But one thing- besides his ill-timed joke about how much easier
it should be to accept a dinner invitation than a proposal – was niggling at me.

And that was the face he made when he realized I wasn’t an
artist any more.

The flash of sadness that swept across his eyes pissed me off. I
mean, who the fuck was he to be disappointed in me?! If I didn’t want to paint
any more, why should he care?

Except maybe he knew what I often felt, which was that I kind of
did want to paint… Every time I saw a chocolate chip pancake, every time I
noticed a patch of graffiti, and every time I managed to hear a pigeon coo in
downtown New York City.

Only I was sure I’d forgotten how.

Creativity for me was like a tap in the winter time. If you
didn’t turn it on regularly, it froze up.

And I hadn’t turned the tap on since I left school and realized
I had neither the personal funds nor the optimistic investors to justify my making
art all day.

After all, I loved art, but I loved not starving to death even
more.

I didn’t even bring my paints when I moved into Henry’s place. Looking
at them drying in their bent tubes was doing nothing but making me sad.

But fuck Connor for noticing.

What I did or didn’t do with my days wasn’t his goddamn business,
even if he was the first person who was ever genuinely interested in me and my wellbeing.

I was turning a tomato over in my hand- admiring how massive and
smooth and shiny and red it was- when my phone started buzzing in my pocket. I
pulled it out and swallowed.

“Hi,” I said, with a tone of forced joviality that was neither
comfortable nor appropriate.

“Hey- where are you?” Henry asked.

“I needed some fresh air,” I said. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Landed a corporate gig that made me the hero of the
office for a whole ten minutes.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said. “Congratulations.”

“I thought we might go out and celebrate. Maybe dinner at
Cezanne’s or something.”

I never much cared for Cezanne. The artist, that is. The
restaurant itself was fab, even though I hated the pretense of all that
unnecessary cutlery. “Maybe we could raincheck that. I’m not really up for it
tonight.”

“We’ll get whatever you want then. When will you be home?”

“I’m not coming home tonight, actually,” I said. “I’m in
Glastonbury.”

“What?”

“I made the trip up this morning to visit my grandma.”

“I’m sorry, babe. I must’ve forgotten you were planning to-”

“I wasn’t. I just needed some fresh air.”

“Is everything alright?” he asked. “You don’t sound like
yourself.”

I took a deep breath and leaned back against the bench. “I’m
fine. Just a bit tired.”

“When are you coming back?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

“What about work?”

“They were understanding,” I lied.

“That’s surprising.”

“Mmm.”

“Can you maybe narrow it down for me?” he asked. “So I know how
many nights I’ll be dining alone this week?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. “I can’t
yet.”

“Do you want me to drive up there? You know I will if you want
me-”

My eyes popped open. “No. Don’t do that.”

“Is your grandma okay?”

I nodded. “She’s fine. Thanks for asking. I’ll tell her you said
hi.”

“Sure you don’t want me to come tell her myself?”

“I’m sure, honey. Don’t be silly. You should get some sleep so
you can be the office hero again tomorrow.”

“I’ll miss you tonight.”

I leaned forward and stared at my toes. “Mmm.”

“Love you.”

I swallowed. “You too.”

I hung up the phone and ran my fingers through my hair.

How was I going to explain to him that he wasn’t the man for me?
When he was such a good man? Such a kind man?

I should’ve just gotten it over with. Except we were too serious
to break up over the phone. He deserved more than that. I loved him enough to
at least give him that.

And tomorrow, God willing, the right words would come.

Chapter 8: Connor

The summer moon lit up my childhood bedroom as I leaned in the
doorway and looked around.

It was exactly as I’d left it all those years ago. What
compelled my parents to leave it alone I’ll never know, but I suppose the
baseball inspired furniture- not to mention the wallpaper- made the space
unsuitable for anything besides a boy’s bedroom.

Plus, they didn’t have the energy they used to.

Meanwhile, I didn’t have the time. In the nine months since I’d
moved in, I’d focused on updating the downstairs just enough to make it my own
place without offending my parents on their next visit. But besides the master
bedroom, which I’d completely refurbished, I’d changed very little.

I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d come in my old room,
much less let some air circulate, so I walked to the window and cracked it
open.

The grassy smell of the summer air drifted in silently,
breathing life back into the space.

Of course, I knew why I was in there.

It was because it reminded me of her.

And thinking about her was a distraction I wasn’t trying nearly
hard enough not to indulge in.

She used to climb up to my window on a strategically placed vine
crawler.

Looking back, when I consider how many times my dad thought out
loud about taking it down, I realize he must’ve known.

He probably left it there because he knew she’d find a way in
whether he made it easy for her or not.

We weren’t always up to no good though.

Sometimes she’d come over and simply ask me to read my Choose
Your Own Adventure Books to her. She swore they were even more fun when I had
to whisper.

And I adored how she’d never leave any stone unturned. She
always wanted to know what all the adventures were, often making me go back two
or three times to see how else the story could’ve turned out.

But our late night hangouts weren’t always innocent either.

Despite the baseball wall paper and the little league trophies
on the shelf, I became a man in this room- in more ways than one thanks to her.

Sometimes during an unbearably hot summer night, we’d sneak out
and go down to the lake. I remember the first time we skinny dipped, how she
pressed her cold nipples against my bare chest.

We were both still virgins then, but I didn’t feel the same
belligerent urgency to change that that my friends did. I wanted to lose my
virginity, of course, but even then, I had this sense of calm- this certainty-
that I had the rest of my life to sleep with her.

However, that’s not to say it
wasn’t Earth shattering when it happened, though I realized pretty quickly that
her Earth couldn’t be shattered nearly as easily as mine.

But with a little practice, I got
the hang of it.

I remember the first time she
came for me. I remember how it felt to feel her charged body clench around me
and melt. I’d never felt so alive, so sure in my purpose, so confident in my
abilities as a man.

I admit I walked a little taller
after that.

For four years, I embraced every
single way she changed me.

And I watched her change, too.
When she first moved to Glastonbury, she was effectively in pieces. Not that
she was to blame.

In middle school and junior high,
when my parents were supporting every goddamn sneeze I successfully caught with
a tissue and writing embarrassing little notes for my lunch bag, she was going
through hell.

It was bad enough early on for
her, having a drunk for a mom who didn’t even know who her real father was,
much less where he might be found. But when her mom’s boyfriend started getting
out of line, she did everything she could to stay out of the way.

There wasn’t an after school club
she wouldn’t feign interest in to keep from going home.

But soon the guilt of not trying
to protect her mom ate away at her, and she started spending more time at the
house. God knows she had the scars to prove it.

She was thirteen when she found
out she had a grandmother living a few states away. She begged her mom to leave
with her, begged her to acknowledge what a bad guy her boyfriend had become.

Instead of hearing her out, her
mom called her names she could never bring herself to repeat.

She got on a bus the next day.

And I think that’s why I was
drawn to her. Because she gave off this energy that only people who are
survivors give off.

It sounds crazy, but even though
she’d seen more darkness than anyone I’d ever met in my thirteen years, she
still managed to cast more light than I ever thought a person could.

And I basked in it every second I
got, grateful for every corner of her soul she bared to me.

That was only one of the reasons
I’d love her forever, though at the time I was falling, I didn’t realize what a
curse that love might become.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and
I reached for it without lifting my head off the ancient Yankees pillowcase.

“Evening friend.”

“Billy Porter was a great call,”
Dave said. “The mayor loved the idea. Even the stupid sump pump bit.”

I laughed and sat up. “Brilliant.
I hope you took credit for it?”

“As if I’d give it to you.”

“Good.”

“I also inquired with the town
council about the basketball court.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh yeah?”

“They said there’s a small pot of
money that’s supposed to go towards the renovations, but they don’t have anyone
to oversee the project.”

“So it’s been on hold.”

“Yeah,” he said. “For three
years.”

“Wow.”

“So I put your name forward and
said you were the guy to talk to.”

I craned my neck forward. “Come
again?”

“You can thank me later.”

“Why would you do that?” I asked.

“Because you’re the guy for the
job.”

I furrowed my brow. “How do you
figure?”

“Because, stupid, that park is
where Bark in the Park used to be held.”

“I remember.”

“So when we throw a grand
re-opening of the park,” he said. “We’ll tell everyone to bring their pets.”

“Pets don’t play basketball.”

“I’m aware of that,” he said. “But
I bet the grateful parents of basketball playing kids would be impressed to
know that there’s a new vet in town who loves kids as much as he loves
animals.”

“So, basically, you didn’t want
the job.”

“I’d love to do it myself, but
between the kids and the gangland warfare, I’ve got my hands full.”

I sighed. “On a scale of one to
ten, how much did you commit me to this?”

“You have a meeting with the
mayor next week.”

“Christ, Dave.”

“Someday your children will thank
me.”

I wrapped my hand around my
forehead. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “Just
make sure you believe it by nine o’clock Monday morning.”