The House Across The Street

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  From my bed, I stared at the ceiling and thought about my complicated relationship with Richard. Dreading being alone with great intensity, I had delayed in filing for a divorce, hoping my marriage would survive. Richard had told me it was over with that nurse and we could seek counseling. My parents hadn’t raised me to give up easily and divorce wasn’t something I wanted to contemplate. It was only after I had a real “come to Jesus” meeting and realized my marriage was over before I took the plunge and filed for a divorce. When the first night came in my new living quarters, I crawled into bed by myself and sprawled out all over it, because I could. And within no time at all, the realization of being alone was rewarded with an incredible relief. But now, my concern was focused on how deteriorated our relationship had evolved, especially when considering we used to be so wonderful together. Fading between the waking world and the sleeping world, my memory picked up on mine and Richard’s first date when he came to take me to Lancelot’s.

  Not only had Richard presented me with a dozen red roses, he had rented a limo. When the driver bounded to the door and held it open for our entry, I felt far, far out of my comfort zone. Never having been in a limousine, I was practically giddy.

  Seated in the back of the posh vehicle, Richard poured us each a glass of champagne and we toasted to our first date. As my lips grazed the flute, I glanced sideways at him, taking all of him in. He was hardly recognizable without his scrubs. But dressed to perfection he appeared equally tempting. I’d always had a great appreciation for a well-dressed, well-groomed man and Richard looked amazing. He was wearing black dress slacks and a crisp white shirt covered by a black jacket. He’d even gone to the trouble to wear a deep burgundy tie, giving him a very sophisticated appearance. He was clean-shaven, with thick dark hair, styled neatly but slightly tousled from the wind, giving him a sexy-as-hell look.

  The restaurant wasn’t far away and before I knew it, Richard was speaking to the maître d’. “Richard Anderson … table for two.”

  “This way, Mr. Anderson.” We followed him to a corner table positioned beside glass windows, giving us an incredible view of the twinkling nightlights of downtown Fort Worth.

  “It’s beautiful,” I cooed. “Thank you,” I said as Richard held the chair out for me and pushed it under my behind.

  “I hoped you’d like it,” he said with a bright smile. The waiter passed out menus and filled water glasses. We perused the menu and selected our choices. “I’ll order for you,” Richard offered. When he collected my menu, his thumb brushed slightly against my fingers, sending an electrifying tingle through my hand.

  “Are you already a doctor?” I pried after we had chitchatted about my first day of college.

  He chuckled and his deep voice had me swooning. “No, it takes a long time to become a heart surgeon. It’s already taken four and half long years of medical college, and another year of compulsory internship to obtain my M.B.B.S. degree.”

  “What comes next?” I asked, noting the accomplished smile lighting up his face.

  “I’ve already passed my post graduate entrance examination and right now I’m on my second of three years in post-graduation Medicine. Once I’ve completed this program, I’ll have an MD degree in Medicine. That only brings on the next entrance examination to become a heart surgeon. The seating is limited, so the competition will be very fierce. Rarely anyone makes it in on their first attempt, but I intend to.”

  “So, then you’ll be a heart surgeon?” I asked, completely lost in all the required studies.

  He chuckled again. “Not quite. Once I’ve cleared that exam, I’ll have to get into the course of D.M. in Cardiology which is another two-year course. Following that, I’ll take a final exam.” He raised a brow. “Then, I’ll be a cardiologist, or I will have wasted about eleven years of my life.”

  He was older than my original calculations, but when he looked at me with an endearing crooked grin and I felt my heart melting, age no longer mattered. We had a wonderful meal and conversation flowed easily between us. By the time that our perfect date was over, and we were back in the limo, I could only hope this was the beginning of something special.

  When he walked me up to my third-floor room, my breath hitched in my throat and I couldn’t wait for the moment when I assumed a kiss would be forthcoming. Or was it after the third date? Hell no, I wasn’t waiting around that long. He could kiss me right now if he wanted to.

  “I had a wonderful time,” I purred, gazing into his dark, almost black eyes.

  “Me too,” he crooned. “I can’t wait to see you again.” Then he leaned in and kissed me. My heart exploded and butterflies flitted in my tummy.

  Yes, I most definitely couldn’t believe my good luck.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rachel

  “Get out. Get out. My God, what are you doing in my bed?” I grabbed the linens and drew them to my chest. “Jackson, get out, NOW!”

  “Jesus, I’m getting,” he grumbled. “Stop having a cow.”

  He was all the freaking way under the covers and right up next to me. Even before I opened my eyes, I felt his presence. With daylight creeping in between the slatted blinds, I easily made out the features of the gorilla lying next to me. Jackson scrambled from the bed with nothing on but boxer shorts. He stumbled across the room to the chair in the corner and pulled on a sweatshirt, then hopped on first one leg, then the other as he put his jeans on.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” I fiercely barked. “Just because you’re staying here, doesn’t mean you’re living here … and you’re sure as hell not sleeping in the bed with me.”

  “Well since we’re cousins, I didn’t think you’d mind,” he muttered with his lips turned up in a stupid grin.

  “We are NOT cousins,” I screamed.

  “Look, Rachel, I was tired. You can’t expect me to be a machine. I can’t watch out the window twenty-four seven. At some point I must have sleep. Nothing happened. I just needed to get some rest and it was cold. Hell, you didn’t even know I was here until you woke up. So, get over it.”

  “Maybe you need reinforcements then … someone who can stay here while you go home and take a nap. Maybe Tanner will take a shift.”

  His eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together. “You’d like that wouldn’t you! Get that handsome detective over here. I’ll bet you’d let him crawl in the bed with you … and do a lot more than sleep.” His angry expression left me afraid to reply. “It’s not happening,” he yelled and tromped to the bathroom and slammed the door.

  “Dammit,” I heard him hollering. “Son-of-a-bitch,” he roared. “That asshole just had to come over here,” he ranted over the sound of streaming pee. He came out and thudded down the hall to the kitchen. Next, I smelled the aroma from a pot of coffee. Then I heard him rummaging through the fridge. “No bacon?” he yelled to me.

  Draping on a robe, I made my way to the kitchen. “I was married to a heart surgeon. Bacon was a no-no in our house.”

  “Well this isn’t his house … is it? Dammit, we need bacon here.”

  Jackson’s mass of hair was standing up everywhere. He looked like Medusa on a bad hair day, and he still had a few cracker crumbs in his untamed beard. He clattered pots and pans around in the drawer and yanked out a skillet. “I’m surprised you have eggs,” he griped. “Aren’t they high in cholesterol?” Without answering him, I stood in shock as he banged the eggs hard against a glass bowl and cracked them open. He thrashed the shells into the trash and with a wire whisk he beat those poor eggs to death.

  Keeping my mouth closed, I took out some bread and put it in the toaster and brewed myself a cup of tea. Once he’d scrambled the eggs and dished them between us, I worked up my nerve to ask him if he’d like some sliced tomatoes. “Why not,” he thundered. “They’re supposed to reduce the risk of heart disease.”

  We ate in silence while he looked at his phone. When we were finished, I took the plates to the sink and washed everything, including my caked-on soup bow
l from last night. When I returned to the dining room, he was staring out the window, looking over at the Foster house.

  “Jackson, I’m sorry. Of course, you can’t stay awake all the time. I’ll place some bed linens in the den, and you can make yourself a spot on the couch.”

  He turned his gaze to me and just looked at me for a long time. Finally, he said. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”

  After taking a few steps, I stopped. “Jackson, I’m sorry. I really am.” I wasn’t sure what all I was apologizing for, but from the way he was acting, I had deeply upset him about something.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jackson

  Last night, I sat for hours in an uncomfortable chair and hoped Logan Foster or David Hutchins would make some move. Around midnight all the lights went off and everything was quiet. Thinking they might venture out sometime later, I waited until four in the morning. After rising yesterday morning around six o’clock, I found myself dozing in my chair to the point I was afraid of falling to the floor. Unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I had made my way back to Rachel’s bed. Apparently, there is a den adjacent to Rachel’s bedroom. How stupid is that? Who would’ve thought one would enter a den by going through a bedroom? In the dark, I thought the door was to a closet. Having looked at every other room in the house, I felt there was no other spot but her bed to catch some z’s. Wanting to fully relax, I removed my shirt and pants. At first, I was on top of the covers. Then, shivering from the cold, I couldn’t stand it and crawled under next to Rachel. My God, she was so warm … like a little heating blanket. I cozied up next to her and it was the most blissful feeling I have ever felt in my life. Understandably she flew off the handle at finding me, practically a stranger, in bed next to her. Anticipating a possible adverse reaction, it had been my plan to wake before her and sneak out without her knowing what I’d done. Unfortunately, she woke first.

  But nothing had prepared me for her suggesting Sutton should take a shift. I knew she couldn’t keep her eyes off him last night. Obviously, she was still thinking about him this morning and trying to figure out a way to get him back over here. God, I wish he hadn’t dropped by. Now she has her sights set on him and I’m not sure what to do at this point to get her to focus on me.

  While Rachel takes a shower and grooms herself for the day, I watch the Foster house. She looks beautiful when she enters the room in black leggings and a gray, silver and burgundy plaid shirt. In gray knee boots she walks to a switch on the wall by the fireplace and flicks it. Instantly the room comes alive with dancing flames. Rolling out her desk chair, she seats herself at her workstation. I can’t take my gaze away from her. My stomach does a weird twist and my heart pings a little pain. I can’t decide why I suddenly feel so odd, but I have an overwhelming urge to run, like if I stay, I’ll say or do something stupid.

  I grab her attention. “Rachel, I’m going home for a while. I’d like to take a shower and put on some clean clothes.” I muster a smile toward at my little traitor and tell her I’ll be back later today. But, when it comes down to it, I don’t think I’ll be coming back. When I first laid eyes on her, I envisaged a fun time in the bedroom, reminding myself I wasn’t looking for anything more. She was just one more girl in my string of many. But for some reason, I don’t want to add Rachel to my ever-growing list of “girls I’ve banged.” She’s not the type for a one-night stand and, worse, she’s not attracted to me. Clearly, she resents my intrusion and my intentions were never to be a burden. I’ll drop by later to pick up my equipment and let her know I’ll just watch the Foster house by parking my car down the street and wish her the best of luck.

  Grabbing my coat, I leave Rachel’s and crawl into my piece-of-shit car. It’s no wonder she’s attracted to Sutton and not me. He was driving a nice Chevrolet Silverado, wearing a tan shirt with FWPD – Detective Division badges on each sleeve. With his badge and gun prominently displayed, he exudes power and authority. And he’s just so damned handsome. I, on the other hand, drive a junk car and look like I need my next drug fix. I generally work undercover in narcotics and prostitution. My persona fits well in those environments. But I guess Rachel can’t see past my physical appearance. Frankly, I’ve never had to work hard to capture a female’s attention. Maybe she and I just don’t click and it’s best for me to move onto the next one. It’s like my friend, Rob, says, “Women are like buses. There’s no need to chase after one because another will be along soon enough.” He’s right. Move along to the next. Forget Rachel.

  It’s another frigid morning and my breath makes clouds as I trot to my car. After finagling my door and jumping inside, I turn the key in the ignition and my battery makes a whining noise and refuses to turn over. “Damn,” I cuss. This is all I need right now … another kick in the teeth. I’ll bet Sutton’s truck started right up this morning. I bang my fist on the steering wheel and turn the key again. It makes another grinding noise and then it fires. “Thank you, Lord,” I say aloud, patting the dash of my car. Then I drive away as fast as I can.

  Across town I come to a stop in my dilapidated car and place it in park. It blends well in this shitty apartment complex I call home. Up two flights of stairs, I unlock the door to my humble abode and enter.

  I am met with a blast of cigarette smoke causing me to cough up a lung. The odor is in the air, on the furniture, and in the curtains. It is everywhere … thanks to Veronica. She is still asleep right now. I don’t have to look to know. She is. I go straight to the bathroom and take a shower. After dressing, I don’t have to do anything more. My beard and mustache are growing freely, and my long, straggly hair will dry itself. In less than five minutes I am ready for the day. Since I have a feeling Foster and Hutchins are still asleep, I stretch out on the smoke-filled, brown fabric couch to grab a few more hours of sleep.

  It is almost two hours later when Veronica comes from the bedroom into the living room and spots me asleep on the couch. Her presence awakens me, and I roll over to look at her.

  “Jackson, I didn’t realize you were here. You should’ve joined me in bed.”

  She is wearing one of my T-shirts … see-thru with no bra and her nipples are sticking out. Normally I would consider this an invitation. But today, I see Veronica differently. Her hair is stringy, and her brown roots need to be dyed to match a coppery red I once found attractive. Her bushy brows could be plucked and, overall, she looks rough. She does not equate to Rachel. Rachel has become my new standard. I will be pickier from here forward and my next girl will not make a living as a prostitute, as Veronica does. She will not smoke, as Veronica does. And she will not smoke pot, as Veronica does.

  I met Veronica one night while working a sting operation in prostitution. We were arresting johns, not hookers. When Veronica thought I was going to arrest her, she broke down bawling, trying to convince me it was her first night on the job, ever. I didn’t for one minute buy her sob story. However, she couldn’t have been in the trade for long because I know most of the evening ladies in this town and I’d never met her. That night, I ended up bringing Veronica home with me because she didn’t have anywhere else to crash. Also, I was desperately lonely. And loneliness and isolation will make you do stupid things.

  Since that night, Veronica has stayed here. At first, I enjoyed her company and Veronica has always been eager to satisfy my manly urges. But as time has eroded, all I see is a cigarette hanging from her dingy teeth, someone who is uninspired to salvage her life, and someone who has become a squatter in my apartment. But, stupid me, I just don’t have the heart to kick her out.

  She makes her way over to the couch and lies down on top of me, kissing me. Her hand goes down to my crotch to get me going. I let her, stretching out to enjoy the feel of her warm body pressing firmly against mine. My erection grows in my jeans and my tongue plays with hers. She unzips my jeans and reaches inside. Suddenly, in my mind, I picture Rachel. And instantly, all I want to do is make love to Rachel. But most of all, I want to feel something other than emptin
ess, which is what I’m feeling right now.

  “Stop,” I say, which is something I have never uttered before in my whole life when it comes to sex. Shocked by my own words, I brush a hand against my forehead to check to see if I have a temperature. Try as I might, I can’t remember ever turning down a woman. EVER. So, I must be sick.

  “Tell me what you want,” she whispers in my ear which is something I would normally love hearing.

  “I don’t know,” I answer because I don’t. I’m pushing her off and sitting upright. I can’t make sense of why I’m putting on the brakes. “I think I must be sick.” My God, I must be. This is not like me. It’s like I’m thinking of Rachel right now. And haven’t I already washed my hands of her? She needs to get out of my thoughts. “Go away,” I murmur to myself.

  “What!” Veronica snarls at me.

  “Not you,” I correct. “I’m talking to this flu, or whatever bug is grabbing hold of me right now. I don’t feel well.” Thoughts of Rachel do not leave my head and now I feel my stomach twisting into a tight knot. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” I jump to my feet and begin pacing the room.

  “Can I get you something … some meds, a cold rag?” Veronica offers.

  “No,” I answer and drag a hand across my hairy face. “I think I’m only tired. I haven’t had much sleep.”

  “Well go lie down in the bed and try to get some rest.”

  Veronica is truly being sweet right now. But I have a feeling my illness has nothing to do with the flu, a virus, or the lack of sleep. No, I think I’ve been bitten by the love bug, a much worse ailment and a lot harder to get over.