Page 24 of The Chad Next Door
Chad
October 18
I have no idea whatI’m doing. If all of my trauma stems from losing control, my all-too-beautiful next-door neighbor is going to be a major trigger point when it comes to my sanity (or the soon-to-be lack thereof). She’s too unpredictable. All week, I’ve been watching her closely, trying to figure her out, but there’s never been any sort of pattern. Outside of school, the kids have no sense of structure because Hope parents so gently, which tugs at my heart in a way I’m not willing to examine. It’s not how I would do it, but she really listens to those kids. It makes me wonder about things I shouldn’t be wondering about, but I can’t stop. That’s why, after a week of doing my very best to not think about her—a failure if ever I saw one—and an evening falling in love with her kids, I spent the night running through a list of things she could use, things that I could help with if she would let me.
I have four different dressers in this house, most of them empty. She can have one of them. Same with beds; technically, my siblings don’t even know these rooms are set up for them, so they won’t miss one of the beds. Honestly, I could even buy a full set of furniture for Hope’s house and not feel the sting of spending that much because I’ve saved up so much with nowhere to put it all.
Sometimes I wonder if Mercedes would have stayed if she knew how much money I’ve saved over the years, and every time the thought crosses my mind, it makes me want to throw up because she probably would have. If I had bought her a fancy ring and promised to buy her anything she wanted, she would have said yes, and I would have been miserable because in hindsight I know she never loved me. She loved my loyalty and adoration. She loved how quickly I stepped in every time she got herself into trouble because I was friends with the cops who regularly arrested her for disorderly conduct or driving under the influence. She loved how I never questioned her commitment even when I should have.
For a guy who is so good at following the signs of cheating, there’s a lot about my relationship that I refused to see until she opened my eyes by leaving.
I’ve been lying in bed for hours now, even though the sun has been up for a while. I’m starving; I never got around to making myself dinner because nothing sounded quite as good as spaghetti, and my only jar of sauce went to Hope. I wanted to stay and learn more about the little family next door, but that overwhelming desire is what held me back. Just like it did all week.
I’m getting in too deep. That need to rescue, to help, to feelneededagain has been growing exponentially since the moment they moved in, and I am very much in danger of falling into the same trap that kept me with Mercedes for so long. Do I actually feel something for Hope? Or am I thriving off of the high that comes from fixing? Being the daring hero, even if it’s just by cleaning a kitchen or trapping a spider, makes me feel important in a way I haven’t felt in years. I worry I’m just chasing that feeling and not being fair to the woman who has yet to be shy about expressing her feelings. I can trust her when she says she’s attracted to me—not that she’s said that directly, but she knows her way around indirection.
It’s me I can’t trust. It’s the hollow space in my chest where my heart should be. It’s the last six months—honestly, the last six years—of solitude catching up to me.
Duke whines in the other room, telling me in no uncertain terms that he’s let me sleep in long enough and I have to get my butt out of bed unless I want to be cleaning up after him. I groan because I barely slept at all, but I might as well get up and finish prepping for the storm.
Slipping into a coat and a pair of boots, I open the door for the dog and can’t help but smile when he gives my hand a grateful lick before he darts outside at breakneck speeds. I lucked out with the mutt, and I know it, especially because he saved me from giving Hope more than a chaste kiss on the forehead. As much as I wanted to see if her lips were good for more than calling me old, that would have been a bad idea.
Duke does his business, and then he scurries around the side of the house like he’s on a mission. He doesn’t often leave my sightline.
“Where are you going?” I mutter, reluctantly leaving the covered deck and stepping out into the thin layer of snow that started falling last night. There must be some sort of critter wandering around, and I’d rather Duke didn’t do anything that might require a bath when the temperature seems to be dropping. It feels like full winter this morning, so I guess they weren’t kidding about the storm. “Duke!”
He comes back around the corner of the house, nose pressed to the ground as he follows a line of footprints.
I pause, looking down at my feet. The footprints go all the way around the house, and they’re a different tread than mine, even though they’re similar in size. And I haven’t walked on this side of the house since moving in.
These tracks are fresh as of yesterday, but not so fresh that they haven’t been covered by a dusting of snow. That means whoever was wandering around, they were here last night.
A chill runs through me. What if that was why Duke barked? I thought it was because he saw me on the deck with Hope, but he sounded like he was deeper in the house. Like, at the front door. The only time he ever barks is when he notices something or someone he doesn’t like, and my dog tends to have a pretty good sense of judgment.
I curse under my breath and head back inside, double checking all of the locks on my doors and windows, even though I know they’re all good because I checked when I got to town last week. This wouldn’t be the first time someone has come after me after I ruined their life through a case, but I have no idea how they would have found me all the way out here.
Grabbing my computer, I check to see when my security cameras are supposed to be delivered—not for a few more days—and then I head back outside to make sure the intruder kept to my house and didn’t go anywhere near Hope’s. If he was sneaking around while I was out there, he may have seen the two of us on the steps, and I don’t like the idea of someone thinking they can get to me through Hope.
Thankfully, the tracks seem limited to my house for now, but I quickly check Hope’s locks anyway. Everything seems pretty secure outside of the hole in the back window, but I know better than to fix it for her while she’s in town dropping the kids off for school. I’ll have to wait until she gets home, but I’ll need to convince her to get it fixed sooner than later without telling her why. No point in worrying her for no reason. She’s stubborn, but hopefully she’ll listen to me without much issue.
As snow starts to fall in thick flakes, I tell myself that I’ve done everything I can for now and head to the backyard to get some logs chopped in case the weather channel is right for once about the storm being a big one. If it is, it will keep anyone away unless they’re completely stupid, but it could also mean other problems to deal with, like losing power and pipes freezing. I’ll need to prep for the worst, especially now that I have more than myself to worry about.
Whether it’s a hero complex driving me or actual interest in Hope, she’s going to need my help. And I intend to follow through.
Chapter Twelve
Hope
I stay in town fora while after dropping off the kids, not because I’m avoiding Chad but because…well, okay, I’m avoiding him. It’s weird, I know, but I’m still figuring out how I feel about that man of a man, and it’s a lot easier to think straight when he isn’t around. I spend a good chunk of the morning with June at the hardware store because she’s the only person I’ve met so far who feels like an outsider, like me, and she’s more than happy to let me wander the shelves and borrow her computer to watch a few tutorials on fixing the window until a new one gets in.
“You know,” she says at one point, “I bet your neighbor could help you. Mr. Briggs seems to know his way around a hammer and nail.”
Her unfortunate choice of words gets me laughing so hard that I cry, which probably means it’s a good thing that I no longer live in an apartment building full of college boys who seem to make dirty jokes for a living. It isn’t even that obvious of an innuendo, but it still cracks me up.
Icouldask Chad to help, but I do want to try doing things myself sometimes. I want to be able to provide for the kids without relying on someone else, though I’m not opposed to asking for help if it’s beyond my capabilities. Like spiders, for instance. Thankfully, June has some spider spray, and I buy a couple of bottles before heading to the diner to grab myself some lunch.
On my way back to the car, the school calls and tells me that the kids are going to be let out early because of the storm. Snow has been falling all morning, but as I drive the couple blocks to the school, it has started to fall thicker and faster. It’s beautiful, but not exactly something I want to learn to drive in on the fly.
We’re only home for about ten minutes before someone knocks on the door. My heart does a flip—who else would be out this far if not Chad?—and a smile breaks out on my face when I open the door and see him standing there.
