Portia Moore - He Lived Next Door

by Unknown

  “I didn’t say that.”

  She giggles as I lock up. “You didn’t have to say it. And he’s helping you get words down, so how could this be a bad thing?”

  “Because I’m married,” I mutter.

  The restaurant is alive with music when we walk in. We’re greeted by the hostess quickly and taken to our table. Nicole’s already shimmying her shoulders and swaying her hips to the beat as the drummer and sax player bring down the house. I can’t shake her words from earlier. They’re like a tiny shatter in a glass.

  “We’re going to have fun tonight!” she yells over the music, her excitement contagious.

  The waiter arrives, and I’m a little disappointed it’s not Carter. But he’s friendly and cute enough for Nicole to flirt with while ordering us smoked salmon and a bottle of Moscato to start.

  “You’re doing wine and not a cocktail?” I ask teasingly.

  “Oh, there will be cocktails. Trust me,” she says with a big wink.

  We’re halfway through the bottle and tales of Nicole has been entertaining me with stories of the shenanigans at her firm when Carter comes out. He’s not in the black shirt and slacks the other servers are wearing but in a black T-shirt, jeans, and a beanie covering his locks. When he walks to the mic, I almost pass out.

  He’s the singer.

  Nicole follows my shocked gaze, and when the music starts and his voice croons, I think everyone’s head snaps toward him. It’s smooth and lulling, and with the bass, piano and sax accompanying him, he sounds almost hypnotic. And he hasn’t even made it to the chorus yet.

  “That’s Carter,” I tell Nicole with a nudge.

  Her eyes grow as big as a cat’s. “Oh, I’m moving into your building!”

  The next song he sings is more up-tempo, and Nicole and several other girls are out of their chairs, dancing along to the music. Nicole pulls a twenty out of her purse and saunters over to the stage, almost colliding with another woman trying to put money in the band’s tip jar. I can’t contain my laughter. Carter is a professional with a melodic voice that reminds me of a mix between Justin Timberlake and Robin Thick, and he doesn’t get distracted by anything as he plays to the crowd.

  Nicole finally makes her way back over to me. “I have to have him.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “I’m serious, I want him worse than the new Tom Ford boots I’ve been tracking down for the past month,” she says in my ear.

  “Easy, girl,” I say, patting her head, and she sticks her tongue out at me.

  “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” Carter says before announcing a break.

  He receives a standing ovation from the majority of the room, along with hoots and hollers from his fan club of women and a few guys.

  “He’s coming over!” Nicole says, squeezing my arm.

  “You’re the singer from Philadelphia!” I say to him, poking his chest, and he smiles bashfully.

  “Ahem.” Nicole stands up beside me and extends her hand.

  “Carter, this is my best friend Nicole Maguire. Nicole, this is Carter.”

  “You were absolutely amazing!” Nicole says, lingering in their handshake.

  “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” He gives her a panty-dropping smile, and she swoons.

  “You have to have a drink with us,” she says, wrapping her arm around his. She’s always direct, but she’s upped it two notches from her usual brashness.

  “Sure, if it’s okay with you ladies.” He takes a chair and pulls it between us.

  I roll my eyes when she mouths that she’s in lust.

  “So, Carter, you’re so talented. What brings you to Chicago? I’d just assume someone with your talent would be in LA or New York,” Nicole asks, already taking control of the conversation.

  “Well, I’m sort of in the family business. I travel and move around a lot where I’m needed.”

  I notice that he’s looking her in the eye, and doesn’t let his gaze drift to the tiny straps across her breasts.

  “What’s the family business?” she asks flirtatiously, trailing her finger around her glass. I’ve seen Nicole in action before, but it must have been a while because this is glorious.

  “Sort of not-for-profit work.”

  “Oh wow, that’s amazing! I’ll have to give you my card. If you ever need help with throwing events or marketing, that’s what I do and I’d love to help. Charity is so important to me.”

  I have to stop myself from laughing. The only charity Nicole cares about is funding Tom Ford's kid’s college fund.

  “That’s really nice of you. We have a pretty solid team though,” he tells her warmly, and she pouts. “But I do a lot of volunteer work. If you’re interested, there’re causes that need a helping hand.”

  She lights up again.

  “I’m so glad you came out,” he says, directing his attention to me.

  “Good music and food? I wouldn’t have turned it down.”

  “How often do you sing here?” Nicole asks.

  “It depends. Usually they have scheduled singers, but there was an opening in the schedule and I didn’t want to leave them in a bind, so I said I could do it.”

  “Yes, you sure did,” Nicole says flirtatiously.

  Carter smiles in a way that is completely unreadable. I can’t tell if he’s into her or just being polite. I watch them continue their banter, Nicole hitting questions to him and Carter answering with ease. I’m a little baffled by it. I love Nicole to death. She’s beautiful, smart, and successful and I don’t understand why she hasn’t had someone lasso her up, but I don’t see her and Carter clicking. I don’t know what his type is, but based on what I know about him, he seems… I don’t want to say too good for Nic as in better than her, but he’s truly good. Not that Nicole is bad, but Carter would seem more traditional than… my heart flips. All the air has been vacuumed from my lungs. My face feels cold. Make that my entire body is cold.

  “Chas, are you okay?”

  Nicole must have noticed that every bodily function I have has halted, and now Carter’s looking concerned.

  “Bryce,” I mutter. Saying his name is harder than I ever imagined.

  They both turn to look in the direction I’m facing. Bryce is sitting in a booth with a brunette opposite of him. Her hair is long and twirled up in a bun on top of her head, and she’s leaning across the table and laughing as if he just told the funniest joke on the planet. He’s smiling, dressed up, wearing a grey button-up. The watch I bought him for his birthday gleams under the stage lights. He looks amazing. He looks happy, so happy. It’s as if everything is in slow motion—until she puts her hand on his.

  I stand, all my nervousness and disbelief replaced with anger and confusion. I push through the crowd to the table. “Bryce!”

  He looks up, still smiling. “Chassidy?” He sounds more surprised than guilty, and his eyes sweep over me. He frowns as they land on my chest..

  “What are you doing here!” I shout at him. I turn toward the woman on the other side of the booth, and my blood runs even colder. “Kira?”

  “Who the hell is this, Bryce!” Nicole shouts from behind me.

  “Calm down!” Bryce says, grabbing my arm.

  I snatch away from him and stare at Kira, the woman he supposedly hated in college. Jax’s ex-girlfriend!

  She’s in a tiny maroon dress showing off her long swan-like neck. Her teal eyes squint at me as if she’s confused why I’m yelling at her—as if sitting across from my husband with her cleavage on display isn’t enough.

  “Chassidy.” She smiles, but it’s awkward—no, guilty. Really guilty.

  “Let me talk to you,” Bryce says through gritted teeth. They’re perfect and his five o’clock shadow is perfect around his strong jawline, which is jutted out.

  They look perfect together, a beautiful couple not weighed down by life and death. The girl we couldn’t believe Jax could stand. My mind is racing. I don’t even realize I’ve picked up her water glass until I’ve to
ssed it on her.

  I hear gasps from the tables around us.

  “I can’t believe you just did that,” Kira shrieks, her face almost as red as her dress.

  “Chassidy, what the hell is wrong with you!” Bryce yells.

  “What’s wrong with me? I find you on a date, holding her hand, and you ask what’s wrong with me?” I shout.

  “Chas, let’s go,” Nic says, pulling my arm.

  The music has stopped and all eyes are on us. I’m in the middle of a scene, and Carter is here behind us. He could lose his job for being connected with this.

  “I’ll take care of the bill,” Carter says.

  “I’m so sorry,” I tell him as Nic pulls me behind her.

  Bryce stands, shaking his head at the table, while Kira wipes herself off with a cloth Carter’s just handed her. I want to scream.

  As we stand on the sidewalk, waiting for the valet to bring my car around, I screech, “What just happened?”

  “Men! They are bastards, every single last one of them! That’s why I don’t take any of them seriously. But wow, Bryce? In this place? I’m shocked.”

  I’m confused and hurt and embarrassed. Why isn’t he out here? Why hasn’t he come after me? That makes me angrier.

  “You knew her, that slut he was with?” Nicole asks, looking as baffled as I feel.

  “Yes, she’s Jax’s ex-girlfriend.” I try to stop the tears coming from my eyes.

  The valet brings around Nicole’s white Tesla.

  “Get in, hon, I’ll tip.”

  I practically throw myself into the front seat of her car and cover my face.

  When she gets in the driver’s seat, she’s already talking. “This was your sign. If there is anyone out there who listens to us, they’re telling you to screw him. That you don’t have to be miserable anymore!”

  But I don’t really hear anything else she’s saying. My chest is so tight my heart might as well be tangled in thread. My thoughts are sporadic and crowded. Memories clash against stories my brain has begun to spin. Did I push him too far? Did I cause this? Is it my fault? Has this always been going on? He’s given up. He’s given up on us, and can I blame him? Should I blame him? But how disrespectful for him to take her to our restaurant in our city. He’s a pilot, for goodness sake. He could have met up with her anywhere without the risk of bumping into me. I cringe when I remember how her hand rested on his. How he smiled for her, how he was relaxed and carefree with her. My heart feels as if it’s being ripped out of my chest and there’s a hole where it was.

  “Chas, you want me to stay over?”

  My thoughts are truly a blur, because I don’t remember getting out of the car or even coming into my apartment.

  “He didn’t come after me.” My voice sounds hollow, a child’s version of its normal self. I sound weak and pathetic and it’s an exact reflection of how I feel.

  “Oh, hon.” She pulls me into a tight hug, and I hear her use several expletives referring to Bryce and men. But after a while, the sentences run together and it’s not making things better but worse.

  “I’m fine. I just want to sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Are you sure? I can stay, go get us some more booze.” She’s wearing a sympathetic grin and her expression is hopeful.

  But I’ve never wanted to be alone more in my life. I’m holding myself together because she’s here, and I really just want to fall apart. I walk her to the door. “Yeah, I just need some sleep.”

  “Don’t let this get to you. We’re going to figure this out. I just… ugh! I can’t believe it.”

  I nod, opening the door for her. “Call me when you make it home, k?”

  I’m on autopilot, reading from a script. Where did things go so wrong? I’d never in a million years think that Bryce would cheat on me. Is it cheating if I asked for space? Is he in love with her? Has he slept with her? Was he going to? Is there a difference? Would it matter? Which is worse?

  My heart won’t stop beating against my chest as if it’s fighting to get out. I’m at a loss. I remember Nicole’s earlier question. She asked if I wanted to make things work, if I had given up. Now I wonder if I even have a choice anymore. Before the past had pulled us apart and I had no clue if I could make it back to him. Now a tangible being has separated us, and I’m suffocating.

  My hope in us, the small flicker left, has gone out. After today, my life will never ever be the same. My heart was broken, but now it’s as if it was stolen. My phone vibrates, and I hope with everything in me it’s Bryce calling to give me an explanation, to tell me it wasn’t what I think it was, that he’d never break my trust like that.

  It’s Davien.

  I put the phone back down. My throat is too constricted for a word to come out, my breathing too fast for me to speak to anyone. But tomorrow I’ll answer Davien, and I won’t feel a bit guilty about it.

  6 months ago

  “Life is good man,” Jax says, clinking his beer glass against mine.

  Life is good. It should be. From the outside looking in, my life looks beyond good, almost perfect.

  My wife’s beautiful. She has a successful career making beautiful words, and it never surprises me, because I fell in love with them the first time I heard her voice. I have my dream job, flying through the skies. We have a great life. We don’t want for anything.

  Not materially at least. But from the inside, you see that my wife is growing further and further away from me each day, that the loss of our son created a black hole that seems to be consuming every moment of joy we have. Look closer and you’d see that sometimes when she looks at me, it’s as if it hurts her, that I’m a reminder of the loss of the greatest thing we could’ve ever had. She tries to hide it, and that’s what hurts the most. It hurts and makes every other aspect of my otherwise thriving life seem meaningless. I feel useless because I can’t fix what’s wrong. I can’t fix that the doctors can’t explain why we lost our child or tell us that it won’t happen again. And if we did have another child, I really don’t know if it would make things better, because her pain is so deep, buried somewhere no surgery can fix.

  I haven’t talked to any of my friends or family because they wouldn’t understand, and it seems like a betrayal to her. I should be grateful for what I have, what we have, but I wake up every day feeling as if I’m in mourning, not just for my child but the love of my life. My friendship with the person I promised to love most in the world. I mourn each day because I’m losing my hope that things will get better, that we will get through it.

  I hoped when she started to talk to the grief counselor that it’d get better, but she said she only felt worse. I tried to get her to come to support groups, because they’d helped me, but she refused, saying that no one could understand her pain, not even other mothers who had suffered losses. She said that hearing their stories was overwhelming and she just needed time. But each day, I don’t see time making things better, but worse. Time isn’t healing anything. It’s a countdown to a bomb that’s going to explode, and the only other fear I have is that when it does, it won’t matter because there’ll be nothing left to destroy.

  Of course, I don’t tell Jax any of that. I clink my glass against his and swallow a few sips. Keeping up the façade that life is great is exhausting.

  Things are great for him. He and Tiffany are living in newlywed bliss. He’s got an amazing job at a brokerage firm, and Tiffany is a lawyer at one of the most prestigious firms in the country. They look how Chassidy and I used to look. He just received his first big promotion at his firm, and I’m happy for him. I’m glad I get to be happy for someone, because I hate who I’m becoming. I’m the guy who hates to be at home, not because he hates his wife, but because he hates what is happening to them and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

  “How’s Chassidy’s next book coming along? Tif’s excited about it.”

  “Um, I don’t know. She hasn’t been doing much writing lately,” I say casually.

 
“The girl who is in love with words hasn’t been writing lately?” He laughs.

  “Nope.” I take another drink.

  “Is she okay?”

  His question is casual and simple. I could say, “Yeah, she’s fine,” but I can’t bring myself to say it. Jax and I have been friends since we were kids, and he’ll know the minute I lie.

  So I let out a long breath and scratch my head, and tell him the truth, “I don’t know.”

  It’s all I can do. After a while, I glance at him and he’s staring at me, looking confused. He should be—I’ve never told him anything was wrong. We’ve both been so busy, this is the first time we’ve had a chance to hang out, just us, in about three months.

  He nods, his expression partly offended and partly pitying.

  “It’s Logan, I think. She just hasn’t come back from it, man,” I say, sliding the empty bottle between my hands.

  “Is she talking to anyone?”

  “She went to a group a few times but…”

  “What do you need? What can we do? You name it.”

  I let out a short laugh. “I don’t think I can even do anything.”

  “No way, I don’t believe that. You and Chas, if anyone can get through to her, it’s you.”

  “I used to think that,” I mutter, and I signal over the bartender. I order some house hot wings, Jax and Chassidy’s favorite. “Tonight’s about you, man, not my problems. We’re celebrating you.”

  “No, if there’s an issue, we’re going to figure it out. That’s what family does. I’m not okay if you aren’t okay, and if Chassidy’s not okay, I know you aren’t.”

  I want to tell him I’m fine and it’s just the beer and sucky bar nuts, that I’m overreacting, but I start to feel that burning in my throat that feels like tears. I take a deep gulp of air and shake my head, staring at the baseball game playing in front of us.