Portia Moore - He Lived Next Door

by Unknown

  When the elevator stops at my floor, I remember that my mother is staying over. I think of the questions she’s going to have when I return without Bryce, and I’m not up to answering any of them. So instead of going in, I sit in front of my door and rest my head on it, close my eyes, and wish that I could either go back in time to when I was happy or fast forward to when I’ll be happy again.

  “Hey.”

  I open my eyes and the light is in them. I forget for a minute where I am—especially when I see his face. Carter’s squatting in front of me with a warm smile. It’s not full of pity like Jax’s, but almost amused. Maybe he thinks I had a great night and got drunk and couldn’t get my door open instead of the disaster of the night I actually had.

  I sit up a little straighter and smooth my hair. “Well, this is embarrassing.”

  “Did you lock yourself out?”

  “No, my mother is in there.” I sigh.

  He still looks at me with that cute, amused smile, his blue eyes dazzling. “Are you afraid you’re going to be punished??”

  That I genuinely chuckle at. “She just might.”

  He sits down on my left, and we’re only a few inches apart. His long legs are pulled in front of his chest, and there isn’t any awkwardness or tension. It just feels nice to have someone here who doesn’t really know me or my situation, who’s not going to judge or lecture me. When he digs in his pocket and offers me a stick of gum, I realize how awful my breath must smell. I unwrap it and quickly pop it in my mouth.

  “What time is it?”

  He glances at his phone. “Ten after twelve.”

  So I haven’t been out here long. It was only five minutes ’til midnight when I left Jax.

  “So… why are you worried about getting in trouble??”

  “Soo many reasons,” I kid, and he gives me a smile that melts my worries away.

  “Stayed out past curfew?”

  “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

  He grins, then his smile softens. “Bad night?”

  I nod.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  I shake my head, swallowing the burning sensation in my throat. The last thing I want is for my cute next-door neighbor to play psychologist with me.

  “Tell me about your day. Anything exciting happen? Did you save a life, meet a cute boy?”

  “Wait, cute boy?” He scrunches up his face. “Um… why would that be exciting for me?”

  “Well, I get excited when I meet cute boys,” I tell him innocently. …Okay, maybe he isn’t gay…damn.

  He laughs. “I don’t get excited by cute boys.”

  “Noted.” My cheeks heat up. So he does like girls. I let out a little sigh.

  “Exciting things happen to me all the time though. If I told you about my life, you wouldn’t believe me,” he says this in a whimsical tone, but his expression is serious. “What about you? Anything besides your bad night happen?”

  “Actually it did.” I tell him about getting offered representation and how I’m supposed to meet my new agent. I’m really excited about it.

  “That’s fantastic! Congratulations!”

  “Well, it doesn’t mean anything until he actually sells something of mine, and I technically haven’t signed the papers yet…”

  He gives me a faux scolding look. “Be excited.”

  I smile. “Okay, I’m excited.”

  “You deserve it.”

  I playfully roll my eyes at him. “How would you know? What if my writing really sucks and I don’t deserve it at all?”

  “Maybe… I’ve checked out some of your stuff.”

  I swat his arm. “You did not.”

  He doesn’t respond, but he looks serious.

  “You really did?” I ask. “How did you…?”

  “It is the age of the internet. I just googled you and your website came up and I checked out your first book. It was good. A chick book but good. It kept me reading,” he says with a laugh.

  “You read the whole thing?” I ask in disbelief.

  He looks confused. “You do write books for people to read them, right?”

  “Well yeah, but I… I just never… thank you,” I tell him, still a little shocked.

  I actually feel a bit uncomfortable. Reading someone’s book is almost like seeing into someone’s diary or reading a little piece of their soul, and meeting readers always makes me nervous because they know a few of my secrets.

  “Don’t shell up on me.” He nudges me playfully. “It was good.”

  “Thank you.” I cross my ankles over each other.

  “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” he says apologetically.

  “No, no, it’s not that.”

  Carter has a smile that makes me want to smile, but his eyes make me want to talk to him. Like whatever I’ll say, he can make me feel good about it. It’s strange, because it usually takes me a while to warm up to people. Most people think that I’m stuck up, but I’m really just shy and keep my guard up, just like my mother taught me.

  “Have you ever made a mistake but know you can’t fix it?”

  He’s quiet for a moment, as if he’s pondering his answer. “I don’t think it’s ever too late to fix a mistake.”

  “That’s not true. What if you accidentally killed someone?”

  “That’s an accident,” he says, shifting his body toward me. “A mistake is something you do because you made a bad judgment or you were wrong about something, and if that’s the case, you apologize and forgive yourself.”

  I stare at him until he looks nervous and rubs the back of his neck.

  “What?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. You’re just different than I thought you’d be. I sort of assumed you were a ‘live and let live’ kind of person.”

  He grins; it’s sheepish and almost adorable. “So you asked me because you thought I’d give you a different answer? One that you wanted to hear?”

  I smile guiltily.

  “What’s wrong with my answer?”

  “Your answer is hard,” I say with a pout, and he laughs.

  “Well, the harder the task, the greater the reward.” He stands, and he looks even taller from where I’m sitting. He reaches his hand out to me. “I think you’ve sat out here long enough.”

  I sigh and lightly bump my head against the door.

  “Don’t be a baby,” he teases.

  I take his hand, and it’s warm and comforting. I push myself up and regretfully let his hand go.

  “Your mom’s asleep. Don’t worry, it’s all going to work out,” he says with authority in his voice, and I believe him. Well, I choose to—at least for now.

  He waits while I open the door. The lights and TV are off, and the door to our guest room is shut. I turn around and smile. “Thanks, Carter.”

  “Anytime,” he says before heading to his own door.

  We give each other a wave, and I close the door as quietly as I can. I head to my bedroom and sit on the bed before lying down. I think of Carter’s words and start to call Bryce, but I see an email notification on my phone. I open it, surprised to see that the message is from Davien. It’s pretty late, but he probably didn’t expect for me to see it until the morning. He says that he’s had a change of plans and asks if dinner tomorrow would be good. He suggests I pick the place and, since it’s on the agency, there’s no price limit. I’m a little shocked. When he said we’d meet up, I assumed it’d be over coffee or at Chipotle or something. I roll over to the nightstand on Bryce’s side of the bed and grab my iPad with the keyboard attached.

  Tomorrow is fine with me, and since it’s on the agency, how about Maestro’s? Their food is phenomenal.

  And hit Send. I strip out of my clothes and slide into one of my T-shirts as my email alert goes off again.

  Night owl, huh? Working I hope $$ ☺

  I laugh.

  Not working but I will get on it in the morning, boss.

  I hit Send. Less than a minute later, ther
e’s a new message.

  You get a pass then. I’ll have my assistant make reservations for seven if that’s okay…

  It’s sad how dry my calendar is.

  Seven is great for me.

  A few minutes pass before I get an email back. I wonder what the big NYC agent is doing. Working after the clock or out at a bar just tying up loose ends with clients?

  How many should I make reservations for?

  The question makes my heart sink. A question I used to easily have an answer for. It should be simple. I’m married, so if my husband isn’t working, it should be two. But now I don’t even know his schedule or when he’s going to be home. I push the creeping sadness from my thoughts.

  Just one on my end.

  This time I get a message back almost instantly.

  Perfect.

  Four years earlier

  I love her laugh. I love the way when we watch movies, she finds a way for us to be wrapped around each other. I love the way she melts into me when I hold her. The way she calls me when she’s angry and tells me that if I tell her it’ll be fine, she’ll believe it. I love that she comes to me with her secrets before anyone else.

  “So I have a secret,” she says with a mischievous smile, her nose wrinkled, and her eyes lit up.

  I give her a quick peck on the lips, and when she moans, I capture her lips for a longer one. When I let her go, she looks at me as if she’s surprised, and I love that about her.

  “Are you going to ask me what it is?”

  I smile at her. “What’s your secret?”

  She stops mid walk, and I pull her into my arms, lifting her off the ground, and she giggles.

  “You have to tell me one of yours first,” she says.

  I kiss her neck, and she lets out a soft moan that drives me crazy.

  “Make it a good one because mine is going to be better than yours,” she promises, keeping her arms around my neck as I put her down.

  I look at her eyes, warm like honey. They always make me feel better, regardless of how bad my day is, and I could kiss her lips all day. But even better than any physical trait she has, I love her mind, her voice, her thoughts, her sincerity.

  “Okay, I have one, but I don’t think it’ll be as good as yours.”

  She squints at me in disbelief before returning my peck. “Okay, I’ll take your boring secret anyway.”

  “I’m in love with you.” My voice doesn’t break because I’m not nervous. I’ve never been more comfortable or sure about anything in my entire life.

  Her almond-shaped eyes that were smiling at me widen in shock. It’s more of a shock to me to know that she can’t see how much I’m in love with her.

  “Your secret’s way better than mine,” she says breathlessly.

  I hold her tighter. “How could that be? I thought it’d be more than obvious to you. I thought I sucked at hiding it.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks, her eyes watering.

  I frown at her. How could I not be? I step away from her so she can see my face. “If I knew your mother wouldn’t kill me for marrying you before you graduated, I’d do it today.”

  Her smile becomes enormous as she jumps into my arms again. “I’ve been wanting to say it. I’ve had to literally stop myself because I didn’t want to scare you,” she tells me between tantalizing kisses.

  “Why would it scare me? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  She starts to cry. That’s not the reaction I wanted, but she’s smiling, so I’ll take it.

  “I’m such a crybaby,” she scolds herself, wiping her eyes. “You’re sure you want to love such a crybaby?”

  I kiss each of her cheeks. “Cry whenever you want, babe.”

  She wraps her arm around me, and we start walking again.

  “You owe me a secret,” I tell her, and she shrugs.

  “How do I follow that?”

  “We had a deal,” I remind her, squeezing her hand.

  “Can I tell you mine tomorrow?”

  “Why?”

  She pouts, and it’s adorable. “It’s corny.”

  “You’ve said corny stuff before.”

  She gives me a little push. “I want this to be our ‘I love you’ day. I want it to be special all on its own.”

  I can’t fight the smile spreading across my face, and her blush keeps it there. “You’re right, that is corny.”

  She stands in front of me on her tiptoes and says playfully, “But you still love me.”

  She couldn’t be more right about that.

  Chassidy

  “Where’s Bryce?”

  I wake up to my mother standing over me. She’s apparently already showered, brushed her teeth, done her hair, and flown around the moon several times. Since I can remember, she’s always woken up before the sun.

  “Why? What time is it?” I ask, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

  “I didn’t see him leave this morning, and I’ve been up since four thirty.”

  I sit up, realizing getting additional sleep while this woman is here would take a complete miracle. “He is a pilot, you know, someone who flies the planes people get on at all times of the day.”

  It’s not a lie. As far as I know, he could be working today. I grab my phone and don’t see any messages from him.

  “And what if we were having wild sex when you just waltzed right in?” I ask, trying to throw her off topic.

  “So he went to work from the dinner you went to?” she asks, not taking the bait.

  “Yes, Mother. Why are you so concerned about my marriage all of a sudden? I know you have a boy toy now, but this is a little extreme,” I say, and she scowls. “You’re usually more concerned with my writing, my career. Now it’s Bryce, Bryce, Bryce.”

  “You used to want me to talk to you about these things. Why don’t you want to talk now?”

  “I got an agent yesterday.”

  Her face turns from annoyed to pleasantly curious.

  “No, you would have told me.” Her voice is lighter and a smile is spreading.

  I should have told her yesterday, but I wanted to tell Bryce first. We usually tell each other everything first, but things are different now apparently. “I wanted to, but you were sort of busy interrogating me about being a wife.”

  “Who is it? What agency? Tell me everything. Actually wait, you get in the shower while I make breakfast.”

  After I shower, I throw my hair in a ponytail and put on a tank and yoga pants. My mouth waters at the smell of omelets. Mom’s never cooked much—growing up, our meals varied between cold sandwiches, frozen meals, and takeout—but one thing she makes well are omelets.

  I sit at the island across from her, and we both dig in. I tell her about Davien's offer and how excited I am.

  “Make sure you have someone look over the contract before you sign,” she says.

  I groan. “I completely forgot to have Tiffany look over the contract yesterday.”

  “Well, can you fax or email it to her? I’m sure it won’t take her a half hour.”

  “But it will be so awkward after last night.”

  “What happened last night?” she asks, and I kick myself.

  “Nothing, I’ll send it to her,” I mutter, hoping she won’t push it.

  “Chassidy, what happened last night?”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “Is this why Bryce didn’t come home last night?”

  “Can you just drop it?” I plead.

  “No, I want to know what happened.”

  “You’re being so annoying. I don’t want to talk about it. You get a boyfriend and all of a sudden you want to be pro happy marriage for me. It’s silly!”

  Her stern look softens. “I’m engaged.”

  She said it quickly, as if it wasn’t an important fact. As if my mother, the commitaphobe, pro-independent, “all men suck or will eventually” spokesperson becoming engaged isn’t something I should have known immediately. I don’
t even know what to say to her. My tongue is stuck to the bottom of my mouth.

  “I was hoping that I could tell you and Bryce over dinner tonight,” she mutters.

  “I-I’m confused,” I say, finally getting words again. “When did this happen? Why do you want Bryce there?”

  She lets out a long breath. “I want you both to meet him. I want your blessing.” She glances at me, then back at her lap bashfully, and again I’m at a loss for words.

  After a few moments, I say, “Our blessing.”

  “Yes.”

  I look at her, still baffled.

  “You’re my daughter. Your opinion is important to me,” she says, sounding almost annoyed.

  “Wow, Mom,” is all I can say.

  “Also… I admire what you and Bryce have. You know I’ve never been a big advocate of marriage, but yours… well it, it made me see things differently.”

  My heart sinks and tears fill my eyes. My mom gave me the hardest time when I told her Bryce and I were engaged. We were too young, I was too smart and talented to settle down so soon—as if Bryce wasn’t educated, smart, handsome, and kind. She told me I was ridiculous for wanting to settle down without living my life. Those words hurt me so much at the time, but I knew she didn’t mean to be hurtful or cold. She’d never known true love, and she was afraid for me.

  It all makes sense now, why she’s worried about what’s going on with us. She’s accepted someone’s marriage proposal based on Bryce and me, what we have… or had. If Mom sees that we’re in trouble, I know she’ll head for the hills.

  “Awww, Mom!” I hug her, and she hugs me back.

  The tears in my eyes become ones of joy. Knowing that my mom has found someone she believes she can spend her life with is amazing. Never in a million years would I have thought that she’d ever say the words, “I’m getting married.”

  The rest of the morning I bombard her with questions about Adam: his favorite food, his daughter’s name, where he’s from, things I never cared about before I realized he’d be my stepdad. I get her to talk about her dream wedding. She says they’ve already discussed a destination wedding in Italy, and my heart swoons. I didn’t notice it before, but this is the happiest I’ve ever seen her. She has a glow. Was it there when she walked in? Did my own dark cloud make me not recognize it? I tell her how happy I am for her and she reveals how happy she is to me.