Damaged Rebel Next DoorA Neighbor Rebel Romance

by Melissa Devenport

  He rattled off a set of numbers she didn’t quite catch. Katelyn decided to let it go. They still had fifteen feet to go before they even reached the door. At the rate they were going, it seemed like a very long way.

  “Here we go,” she slowly coached, encouraging him to take a step. He did put one foot out, then the other. He was making forward progress. She was just about to get hopeful when he stopped. Her eyes swiveled to his face in question. Sweat was literally pouring off his hairline and running down his face. His face was gray, pallid in that sickly sort of way.

  She realized he was going to be sick. Luckily when he bent, he bent in the opposite direction. The sidewalk was bordered with white rock and a few shrubby bushes trying to survive under the hot summer sun.

  Ugh. I was so not wrong about the whole vomiting thing. What if he’d done that when he was on his side or worse, his back? She shuddered. Some people couldn’t stand sick people, but she’d never been particularly bothered by it. That or blood. She should have been a nurse.

  When it was over, the guy straightened. He wavered a little, spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Are you alright?” It was a stupid question. One she didn’t expect an answer to.

  Oddly enough he turned to her, those dark eyes of his filled up with an emotion she knew all too well. Pain. Pain laced with sorrow, grief, regret.

  She’d never been a drinker. She never could drink to forget. She’d tried it once or twice. It didn’t work out. All the alcohol did was accentuate her problems.

  “Okay. Let’s just get you inside.” Her voice was warmed by compassion. She hadn’t expected there to be any sort of vulnerability or even humanity in the guy’s eyes. What is wrong with me? Do tattoos and leather make someone less human? She was ashamed of herself. She was just like everyone else, the people she couldn’t stand, making snap judgments based on appearance.

  The guy was intimidating, that much was certain. His size alone and massive bearing could strike fear into most hearts, but she was helplessly drawn in to the softness he probably never meant to reveal.

  After he’d ejected what looked like a couple of gallons of whiskey onto the rocks and bushes, he seemed a little better. At least he took his next few steps without falling over, though he did waver a little.

  Katelyn stayed by his side, supporting him. The two steps up to his door were a challenge. The guy leaned heavily on her, using her like a crutch. It was a good thing she was stable and strong enough or he would easily have pushed her over.

  “Six, two, three, nine.” He rattled off the numbers, letting her punch them into the code pad. The door whined for a second then clicked.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she tried the handle and it turned. The door gave way. The guy stepped over his threshold, propelling them both into the front entrance.

  Katelyn tried not to look around. The place was dark. It had pretty much the same layout as hers though it was laid out in reverse. Entrance, kitchen to the right, living room after that. She knew where the hall would be that led to his bedroom and the bathroom.

  “Are you alright if I leave you from here? You’re not going to pass out and choke and die?”

  His not so thin lips actually quirked up in the ghost of a smile. He looked no worse for wear for having just been sick outside. He’d done so as neatly as he could, sparing his clothes and shoes.

  Something bleak and awful passed over his face. A shadow that told her, at least in that moment, he wouldn’t exactly have cared. “No. I think I’ve endured enough humiliation for one night.” He tried to use dry humor to mask his pain, but she didn’t miss it.

  She knew all about that hopeless feeling, that bleak, gray horizon that seemed to go on forever. She was no stranger to pain or heartbreak. She got the impression, and god knew she might have been wrong, that it was worse than that for him. That whatever he was going through trumped the hell out of her divorce and her crazy ex who just couldn’t damn well leave her well enough alone.

  Katelyn wanted to say something, but what was there to say? He was drunk. He probably wouldn’t even remember any of it in the morning anyway. She wasn’t exactly the one who could offer reassurances.

  “Alright then,” she whispered, her voice far softer than she intended. Her heart clenched hard in her chest, for the first time in years, bleeding for someone other than herself. “I’ll leave you to it then.” Although to what, exactly, she wasn’t sure.

  “Thanks. Sorry about the sidewalk.” He stepped away and lifted a hand to his mussed hair, running his fingers through it, wrecking it further. It stood out at odd angles, draping over the closely cropped parts.

  “I’ll never look at it the same way again.” Her softly spoken joke hung in the air between them before she turned and left. She let herself out awkwardly, shutting the door behind her.

  I’ll never look at it the same away again. No, I’ll keep seeing those damn pain filled eyes, those lips, those long lashes. I’ll keep feeling his heat in my palm… Her hand stung just thinking about it. She stumbled down the steps, walked away from the nasty area by the sidewalk and finally made it to her front door. She felt as wobbly and drunk as her neighbor had been.

  All that and I still don’t know his name.

  As Katelyn slammed her front door behind her and leaned heavily against it, shoulders heaving with hard, heavy breaths, she realized it didn’t matter. She was banking on the fact that the guy wouldn’t remember anything at all.

  Chapter 6

  True Oblivion

  Kian

  He had absolutely no doubt that his head was going to be a mess come morning.

  As Kian rolled over and faced the light slanting through the blinds at his bedroom window, he proved himself correct.

  The pounding at his temples was so bad it was nearly blinding. He felt like someone had dismantled his head during the night and stuffed in a bunch of barbed wire and broken glass. He shifted and all that shit up there in his brain moved around, poking and prodding wickedly with every single breath and blink.

  His eyes felt grainy, like someone had thrown sand in them and rubbed it around for good measure. His mouth… yuk. His mouth was sour, the kind of disgusting bitter mix that told him he’d probably vomited some time during the night.

  Kian slowly rolled out of bed. His stomach heaved with the effort and his head protested the movement with a blinding intensity. He ground his teeth against the pain and stumbled into the bathroom.

  Over the years he’d learned that there were few hangovers a good cold shower couldn’t fix. He emerged ten minutes later, feeling a little more human. The fog in his brain was lifting, impossibly slowly, but clearing all the same. He recalled bits and pieces of the night before.

  The cab ride home from his and Fiacco’s club. The ground had just rose up to meet him and then everything was black. He recalled her face. The face of an angel come to save him from his own personal hell. He recalled wide, huge blue eyes, long, fine blonde hair that hung around her face like a halo. Her scent. That’s what stayed with him. She’d smelled good. Delicate. Like fresh air, like the countryside would.

  Damn it. He remembered, with painful clarity, how she’d helped him up when he’d finally come back into consciousness. He’d ejected up half of what he’d drank or more right on the sidewalk that their units shared. She’d walked him into his place and made him promise he wasn’t going to die.

  Can it get any worse?

  As Kian dressed, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a clean black t-shirt with the shop logo in red on the front, he weighed the odds of dying from humiliation when he stepped out the door. Maybe he’d make it if he never ran into her again.

  He didn’t even know her name. Not her first. Not her last. He knew her face and from what he remembered, it was stunning. Her eyes, aside from being the most beautiful shade of blue he’d ever encountered, were kind. She could have looked on him with fear, revulsion, disgust, judgment, pity. Instead she’d just loo
ked worried. Worried and compassionate. Since he’d tattooed his neck, chest, completed his sleeves and most of his back, people didn’t exactly look on him with anything akin to kindness. He was the kind of guy most people crossed over to the other side of the street to avoid.

  By the time Kian caught a cab to the club where he picked up his bike and drove to the shop, his head was a splitting mess. He had a bottle of pain killers in his cabinet. Nothing strong, just over the counter shit. He’d never dabbled in drugs and that included most of the prescription kind. He only ever went to the doctor when he’d just about die otherwise.

  Mike entered the private room quietly, slipping in behind Kian. He knew the guy was there, because- well, the guy was always there. He was there drawing, tattooing, sleeping, even making meals for himself in the staff room like he didn’t have a life. He sometimes worked on oil paintings. One time he even tried to set up his damn pottery wheel and kiln in the back. It made such a mess, Kian promptly had it removed.

  He turned at the same time he slammed back two pain killers and swallowed them without the aid of water. “Mike. Why are you here two hours before we open? What about Savannah? Doesn’t she ever stay the night and stay long enough to make you late?”

  Mike’s eyes shifted to the floor and Kian instantly knew that of all the things he could have come up with, that one was about the worst.

  “Shit. Man, what happened?” He reached out and clapped Mike hard on the shoulder. He was just shy of six feet and naturally athletic. He had the streamlined look of a guy who didn’t need to work out or bother to eat right, though he knew Mike just happened to be a Vegan. He was just over thirty and was tattooed from stem to stern, including his neck, hands, knuckles and other highly public areas, but for some reason people intrinsically trusted him. Maybe it was his eyes. They were dark brown, like his closely cropped hair. He had a genuine kind of smile too, soft and real sweet.

  “She dumped me,” Mike said flatly. He also had the kind of voice that was always moderate. Never quiet or loud. It gave the impression of instant understanding, like Mike was the kind of guy who actually listened.

  Kian made it a personal rule never to allow himself to get close to anyone. That didn’t exactly work with Mike. He’d count the guy as his best friend, if he could go that far. They didn’t do typical guy shit. They didn’t hang out after work. There was just something about Mike that Kian instantly trusted. Mike talked to him too, about everything. Mostly art, but about personal problems as well. So far Kian hadn’t returned the favor.

  “Why?” Kian didn’t bother beating around the bush. He finally got out of his own head enough to realize that Mike’s eyes were blood shot, probably from lack of sleep. His normally cheerful features were pinched. He hid it well. It was only because Kian had known the guy for a couple years that he could tell there was something wrong at all.

  “Dunno. Does anyone really know?” Mike shrugged. “I know she’s just with me because she’s in love with you anyway.”

  Kian nearly choked. “Come on, man. That’s not true.”

  “It is and we both know it.” The words were flat, non-emotional, but it took a great deal of effort to spit them out that way.

  He sighed, long and hard. His head felt like it was going to explode and his stomach burned its way up his throat. “It might be true, but I’ve done nothing to encourage it. I’ve taken every opportunity to actively discourage it. She’s always had this ridiculous crush on me. I’m older. Inappropriate. Her father’s business partner.”

  “Don’t forget fucked up.”

  The laugh that broke free of his throat sent another pain shooting through his head. “True. Anyway, I don’t think she’s with you just because she wants to be around me. She has every reason to come to the shop. She knows I won’t make her leave because of who her father is. She’s his little messenger anyway.”

  “The damn guy never uses a phone.”

  “No. He doesn’t trust them. He barely does anything online either. He hates paper trails.” Smart. Very smart. “She could come pretty much anytime she wants. Just has to make up an excuse. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. I thought she meant it.”

  Mike snorted. “Who the hell knows. Savannah is her own woman. She told me that straight up when I asked her why she was with me.”

  “You actually asked her that?”

  “Yah. I accused her of being in love with you.”

  “That was not smart. No wonder she dumped you.”

  “If it’s true then I didn’t want to continue it. I was investing myself in her, my time, my feelings. It’s not easy.”

  “Savannah Fiacco has had everything handed to her for her entire life. Of course she’s not easy. She’s about as high maintenance as they come, but I believe she has a good heart. Her parents are good people when it comes right down to it. They raised her in love as much and as often as they threw money at her.”

  “She’s a spoiled brat.”

  “She’s way too young.”

  “I know. I fooled myself into thinking it didn’t matter. Ironically she called me a child last night before she said it was over.”

  “Well… jealousy is pretty unattractive.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Well deserved.” Kian sighed. The throbbing in his head was starting to subside as the pills went to work. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Do?”

  “To make it up to her.”

  Mike slowly crossed his arms over his chest. “Why the hell would I want to do that? She said it was over. I’m not going to go after her and beg her to take me back.”

  “You won’t have to. She’ll come around. She’s young, like I said. Youth comes with a certain amount of excitement and invincibility, but people also make mistakes. They hurt others and they hurt themselves. You’re a good guy, Mike. You’ve been with her for six months. Even got a couple invites to the Fiacco house for dinner. That says something to me. They don’t extend that kind of invitation lightly.”

  Mike slowly nodded. “Yah… well… just wanted to let you know. Do me a favor. If she makes a pass at you, turn her down.”

  “Are you kidding me? Get out of here.” Kian shot Mike a look that wasn’t exactly hard. Mike knew where he stood. It was pretty damn apparent he wasn’t exactly the relationship type. He wasn’t the anything type. People could just tell that he was damaged goods. Not good for anything or anyone.

  “I have a drawing to finish anyway,” Mike mumbled. He shuffled out of the room, his high top runners making little squeaking noises on the black and white tiled floor that annoyed Kian on a good day.

  Once Mike was out of the room, he took a deep breath and braced himself for the coming day. He wished he could cancel his appointment, or better, that the guy would be a no show, but he figured there wasn’t a good chance of that. Not when his wait list was just about a year long.

  Most artists didn’t book more than a couple months in advance so they could actually have a life. He didn’t care. Heather booked as many clients with him as he could take. He was amazingly efficient in his work. Even if Mike was a better artist, he could churn people out at double the rate and his work was still astounding and high in demand.

  Who cares if I’m booked up for a year? Kian’s eyes slowly moved about the room, taking in his tidy area. The inks lined up on the shelves, the two beds, both folded flat, his stands, his locked cabinet where he stored all his equipment. This place was his home. His wait list could be ten years long for all he cared. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do with his time.

  Some people waited. Waited for the next big thing, worked towards success, towards love, towards a family, towards meaning. Others just existed, gliding through life, barely surviving. Him… he was just waiting for that day when he’d finally find true oblivion and the pain that he lived with would finally be at an end.

  Chapter 7

  A Horrible Meeting

  Katelyn

  It was somewhat ironic,
given the fact she expected John to show up on her doorstep the night before, to find him waiting there after work. She didn’t recognize the black sports car parked half on the curb to the left of her condo, on the street just out of the parking lot, but she knew immediately that it was John’s. It just had that overbearing, overpowered, overcompensated look that she knew he loved.

  Makes sense. She couldn’t count how many times she wished she would have asked him what he drove before she followed him over to Chicago and married him.

  She wasn’t wrong, she noted with dismay as she pulled up in her parking spot and killed the ignition. Her eyes remained trained on the car and John got out with no hesitation.

  It gave her a wretched sort of feeling to see him striding down the short driveway into the parking lot all the condos overlooked. The buildings formed around it in a square that was open only to the entrance way. He was of course, dressed in a suit. He was always dressed in a damn suit or some kind of overly formal clothing.

  What is it people say about not trusting a man in a suit? Oh yah. Just don’t.

  Katelyn stepped slowly from her car though every instinct inside of her screamed at her to get back in and drive as far away as she could.

  No. I’ve been dreading this for a year. I’m going to stand up for myself now or he’s going to keep haunting me for the rest of my life.

  She waited, one hand flat on the warm metal of her car where the door met the roof. John approached confidently, shoulders and head held high. As though beating her, diminishing her, intimidating her, their entire marriage was something he was proud of.

  Katelyn bit back the urge to scream. She wanted to fly at John, nails out, to harm him physically as badly as he had her. On more than one occasion. She wanted to beat his chest and rail against him for being so hopelessly unfair to her when she trusted him blindly. He’d held her heart and her life and he’d betrayed her trust so very bitterly. Pain and rage thrummed through her veins.

  “Katelyn.” John said her name like he had a right to it. Like she was still his. She didn’t like the feral gleam in his eyes.