The Neighborhood Series (The Neighborhoood)

by Tarrah Anders

  I bite my lower lip, blink back the tears, and nod my head.

  I leap into his arms just as he opens them up to me and hug him hard.

  “If you wanted to move in with me, you should have just asked,” I mumble, sniffling.

  His body shakes with laughter. We pull back, and Luke lowers his head. His kiss is soft at first and then turns hungry.

  I have missed him.

  Epilogue

  “Dr. Mattias, your fiancée is here. Shall I allow her back?” I smile as Mary Lou shouts to the back office where Luke is sitting.

  He rounds the corner and pats her shoulder.

  “Rhi is always allowed back, you know that.” He winks at his nurse and then opens the partition door that separates the back office from the front waiting room. I kiss his cheek as I enter, and we walk to the break room where the lunch that I made for Luke this morning sits on a plate.

  “I didn’t know if you had any patients, but I wanted to stop by before I headed home,” I explain.

  “Babe, you never need an excuse to come see me at the office.” He motions to the chair beside his and sits down.

  I take a seat, grab one of the chips from his lunch, and melt when the salt touches my tongue.

  The town of Mercy’s first family practice opened three months ago, after nine months of construction, permits, and marketing. The practice has had a steady stream of patients come in, many of whom were excited to not have to drive to the city to see a doctor. He had hired a few staff members and somehow talked Mary Lou, the sweet nurse from his clinic in the city, to move to town and come to work for him as well. He travels to the city to work every other week at the clinic for any long-standing patients that he had prior to his leaving and for occasional continued education for his medical license.

  Luke moved in with me in my tiny house and has even helped with the craziness that is my drunken mother without batting an eye. He’s currently in the process of checking with her insurance on whether or not they will cover a prescription that could help with alcoholism. I’ve gone from ashamed and embarrassed to grateful and appreciative of his helping me with her. She doesn’t know who he is most days, but it’s okay, sometimes I think that she forgets I’m her daughter.

  He left the life of emergency medicine in a hospital setting to come to our small town as he saw a need here and followed his heart to me. After a few months, in the middle of a thunderstorm, he proposed to me while singing karaoke in front of all my co-workers on a night that we closed the bar, and what he is about to find out is that in another 7 months, he’ll be a proud daddy.

  “So, what do you have going on for the rest of the day, gorgeous?” he asks, taking a bite out of his salami sandwich.

  “I kinda wanted to come by and see if you would help me with something?” I start.

  I already know what the test will say. I’ve taken at least five today and possibly three the other day.

  “Sure, your friendly neighborhood doctor at your service.” He salutes with a smile.

  “Can we go to one of your exam rooms; give us a little more privacy?” I ask him as one of his technician’s walks in to grab something out of the fridge.

  “Of course, is everything okay?” he asks worriedly.

  “Yeah, I think so, it’s just private,” I say nervously.

  Luke leads me into one of his exam rooms, the room that’s decorated for children to feel comfortable in when they come here with farm animals and a huge barn decal on the wall. I sit down on the exam table, and he pushes to stand between my legs, leans down, and kisses me gently.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispers.

  “Nothing’s wrong, everything is right. Everything is perfect. You are perfect, and I am perfect. And, our little baby, our baby will be perfect too.” I look up at him and smile. I see the moment that my words have been comprehended and my heart beats rapidly at the look of elation on his face.

  “What baby? Wait, what?” He stands back with his eyes wide.

  “I need you to run a pregnancy test, please?” I ask.

  “Have you already taken one from the store?” he asks.

  “I have, I’ve taken many. But I know that it’s always good practice to have a doctor confirm it, and I happen to know a doctor.” I wink.

  “We’re having a baby,” he says quietly, almost to himself, as he nuzzles into my neck, pulling me into him.

  “We’re having a baby.” I nod.

  “I guess we should rename the sex palace back to the sex den, and keep activities localized?” he asks, as we’ve expanded the spaces that we’ve had sex from the bedroom to the whole house.

  “If my calculations are right, we’ve got about six to seven months to make that conversion.”

  “My vixen.” He kisses the tip of my head and places his palm on my stomach.

  His vixen.

  COMING UP NEXT

  Continue reading for the 4th story in this series

  Everybody loves a bad boy!

  COPYRIGHT © 2019– TARRAH ANDERS

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  Tarrah Anders | Tarrah Anders, LLC Tarrah.anders@gmail.com |www.tarrahanders.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Formatting: Tarrah Anders, LLC

  Cover: Jess Bryant Designs

  Ordering Information: Your Neighborhood Convict

  ISBN: 9780463901953 | 9798619646450

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  For the past six years, my life has consisted of four walls, limited time outdoors, and tight security.

  For the past six years, I have had my every second monitored.

  And for the past six years, I refused to call this place home.

  But starting in a few short hours, I will no longer be here, and my time in prison will be something of the past.

  Six and a half years ago, I went out with a buddy, and unknown to me at the start of the evening, the grand plan of the evening was to hit up a string of businesses to rob them. I got in the car that evening with a primarily clean record. Sure, here and there were speeding tickets, minor bar fights, and shoplifting bubble gum as a kid, but nothing like felony robbery. Once I was involved, I couldn’t back out and look like a pussy, so I took the gun offered to me, and my night ended up in the back seat of a cop car and handcuffed, and not in the fun way.

  My friend and I went to a strip mall and broke into each store along one side of the strip. We hit up an electronic store, a toy store, a book store, and lastly, a liquor store. We made away with thousands of dollars worth of sellable shit and some fucking stuffed animals. We entered the store nonchalantly at first, grabbing some snacks and some drinks. We approached that unsuspecting clerk and each pointed a gun at him.

  We got caught within minutes as there just happened to be a cop car pulling up to the store just as we were making a run for it.

  Johnny and I received the maximum sentence for our crimes and went to separate facilities, but through the grapevine I had heard that Johnny didn’t fare too well in prison. He became someone’s throw toy and eventually caused a scene out in the yard one day to end up shanked and in the infirmary repeatedly until one day, he was taken away in a bag. No amount of ending up in the hole did anything for him. Immediately upon resurfacing to the general population, he
would cause a disturbance and some would try to ‘make it right,’ out of favors from others.

  My days in prison were spent either working my laundry shifts, lifting weights, or reading in the library. I mainly kept to myself, and only socialized with my cellie and a few others, straying from the outbursts within different groups. I did what I could to rehabilitate and remained focused on counting down the days until my sentence was up.

  I spent my twenty-first birthday behind bars. When my little sister, Delilah, got married, when my sister had her first child, my niece, and my parents passed away, I was behind bars. Moments that I cannot get back. I would spend many nights staring at the underside of the top bunk, replaying my decision that night that changed my life forever. Basically, all the pivotal highlights of my twenties, I wasn’t able to partake in them because I made a poor judgement call and got myself in trouble.

  I did what I could while I was in prison to keep my hands clean. However, it wasn’t like I wasn’t going to defend myself if I was jumped. And I was, a few times in the beginning. My strength was being tested, but it was quickly known that I passed those tests.

  I’m not sure how prepared I am to leave the confinements of this place, but I sure as fuck am looking forward to getting on with my life and putting all of this past me.

  Due to good behavior and prison overcrowding, I was released just around the sixth year and will be serving the remainder of my original sentence on parole.

  Delilah had visited me a few times over the years, but the distance was much greater than she could manage on a regular basis, so we kept in touch through letters and phone calls. I want to call her and thank her for everything, for making sure that I had somewhere to come home to. Some place where I could start fresh. I walk into the kitchen and note a torn piece of paper on the freezer door.

  It has all of her contact information.

  Thank goodness!

  I look around the home but can’t locate a phone. Well, that defeats the purpose. There is no sense of 21st century technology anywhere in this house.

  Well, fuck! How am I supposed to do anything? How did Grandpa fucking talk to people?

  I figure that this being a small town, means that I have to socialize with the locals to get anything done. So, first thing’s first as I grab my jacket and set out to get myself acquainted with the town of Mercy.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It didn’t take me long to find my way around town.

  It’s a small town, very small.

  There’s a good amount of businesses here, and just about as many people, but it still has that very small-town feel.

  I walk past a diner, then see the bar a block farther and choose to go there instead, figuring that a drink would be better, and the people would be more eager to talk since they’d likely have some alcohol in their systems.

  I push open the doors and walk into the bar. It’s cozy and modern. For it being four in the afternoon, there are enough people inside to be bustling with activity.

  “Hey, handsome, don’t just stand there. Take a seat, someone will help ya in a skosh,” a cute blonde wearing fishnets and a short skirt tells me. I take another look around the space and decide to take my seat at the bar itself.

  “Welcome to The Neighborhood. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” a man says, throwing a coaster in front of me. “What’s your poison?”

  “What do you have on tap?” I ask, meeting his eyes.

  He rattles off several different types of beers, and since it’s my first alcoholic beverage in five years, I decide to go light and order a blonde. Once he places it in front of me, I hand him my card and ask him to keep it open.

  While drinking my beer, I take in the lay of the land and notice that there are people in the establishment alone and in groups. There’s a gentleman at the end of the bar, laughing and holding his full shot glass out to the bartender who waves it away.

  I sit quietly, watching the television above the bar and sip on my beer. When my glass is almost empty, the bartender walks back over to me and smiles.

  “Another?” he asks.

  I nod my head and offer him a smile.

  “I’m Noah; I own this place.” He sets the glass down in front of me. “Now, it’s your turn.”

  I laugh. “Wyatt, and yeah - you can say that I’m new to town.”

  “Suddenly, we have people coming in left and right into our sleepy, little town. It’s not too often that we get many new folks moving here. Nice to meet you Wyatt. What brings you to our sleepy, little town?”

  I’m not ashamed of my past, after all I’m a different person that what ended me up in prison, so I see so no harm in giving him my honesty.

  “I just got out of prison, and the place my sister set me up at is our grandfather’s home. When he passed, a number of years ago, my sister and I inherited the home,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.

  “No shit! Old man Holmes’s place is no longer vacant?” He says, “Every now and then, the one and only realtor in this town has tried to get that place under her fingers. I’m glad to see that it’s stayed within your family. Shit like that is good.”

  “Yeah,” I reply, not knowing what else to say. “I’m thankful to have it still in the family. I would rather be far away from the city, so his place is perfect.”

  “So, prison?” Noah asks.

  “First day as a free man in five years,” I say dryly.

  “You a bad guy?” Noah asks randomly.

  “A bad guy?”

  “You know, the type of guy that would land back in prison?”

  “Naw, man. I’m reformed or some shit like that. I’m not some career criminal, I just landed with a bad friend who made bad decisions, and in turn, I made some myself.”

  “So, that shit is out of your system?” Noah asks.

  “I don’t think it was ever really in my system. Don’t worry, I’m not here in town to cause any disturbance or anything. I’m here to rebuild my life.”

  “I’m just making sure that you’re a good guy. I wouldn’t want any fuck ups on my payroll,” Noah replies while wiping down the topside of the bar.

  “Come again?” I turn my head to make sure I heard him right.

  “That’s what he said!” the cute blonde said, sidling up to the bar and placing a receipt in front of Noah.

  “Hi, new guy. I’m Rhi.” She leans her elbow on the bar and positions herself to face me, holding out her hand for shaking. I take in her appearance and notice a small bump on her stomach as I extend my hand to her.

  “I’m Wyatt, nice to meet you. I think your boss is confused; he’s trying to hire me.”

  “Oh, Noah?” She looks between us, placing her hand absentmindedly on her stomach. “Whatever job he’s trying to give you, I would take.” Noah hands her a plate loaded with a giant burger and onion rings, and she vanishes back into the dining area of the bar.

  “I need a busser slash dishwasher. The guy that I had in the position just graduated and moved to Hollybrooke. The pay is standard, the tasks are minimal, and if you don’t want it, I’d understand. I figure that having a job is a stipulation of your parole, and I have an opening.”

  “Are you for fucking real?” I ask incredulously.

  “Listen, I’m sure being a dishwasher and busser isn’t the most lucrative job that you could have imagined for yourself, but there’s not that many jobs here in Mercy. So, if you want - you can start out here, and I’d totally understand if you choose to leave in a few months for something better.” Noah shrugs. “Alls I know is what I have to offer right now.”

  I should think about his proposal, but he’s right. It would look good if I had a job all set up when I met with my parole officer in Hollybrooke tomorrow. My reporting instructions were clear, and now I need to make sure that I follow through to stay on the right side of the law.

  “Thanks man. I’ll try to um, wash the dishes so you could…” I was trying to find something comical but was coming up short
.

  “So we could eat off of them!” Noah sparks a smile. “You can start on Friday. I’ll have Micah work out some sort of schedule and make sure that you have all the proper documents to get paid. If you need some sort of offer letter or whatever for whatever, let me know and Micah will send that over.”

  “Who’s Micah?” I ask.

  “Micah is the bar manager; he takes care of all that type of shit for me. You’ll meet him Friday before you are put to work.”

  “Didn’t you say that you were the owner?” I ask with confusion.

  “I am. I just hate doing all that shit work. I’m better with my hands and keeping them busy with drinks. I have Micah doing this type of stuff, because he likes it, and he’s good at it. Plus, he stays off the floor and out of my way.”

  “Cool. So Friday it is. Thanks man, I appreciate it. Now, is there anywhere in this damn town where I can buy a phone?” I ask.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I arrive in Hollybrooke two hours before my meeting with my parole officer. I wanted to make sure that I got something decent to wear, and I got a phone, since Mercy didn’t have a place to get one.

  I walk into my appointment, and I’m done within an hour. I happily reported my new phone number, my address in Mercy, and the new job that I have.

  I hop into the 1970’s two-toned Ford Truck that my grandfather had under a tarp in the garage and fire it up. The truck comes to life and I smile, putting the truck into reverse and heading back to Mercy.

  I park the truck back into the garage and jog inside the house to grab Delilah’s contact information off the freezer, pull out my phone, sit down, and dial her number.

  She picks up right before I am about to hang up with an uncertain greeting.