Page 80 of Rizzed Up By My Alien Neighbor
I know what that means. If things get ugly, he’ll stand ready. A shock of comfort jolts through me. “Okay,” I say, voice firmer than I feel.
The early September air is crisp, dappled with autumn’s promise. The playground is crowded—parents chasing toddlers, dogs yapping, the smell of grass and barbeque drifting from an impromptu cookout under a gazebo. I choose a bench in the sun, legs crossed, posture stiff as a board.
Buford arrives before me: belly leading the way, faded red trucker cap, a cheap six-pack trailing by its handle on the bench beside him. He looks like he’s walked directly out of an overcooked barbecue commercial—fratty, loud, oblivious to nuance. His gaze flicks to the empty seat next to me, then back across the playground.
I take a breath, steadying myself. “Hi, Buford,” I say, voice clipped, cold with civic detachment.
He squints—maybe surprised I’m wearing dressier clothes than yesterday. He clears his throat. “Nessa,” he says, slow and casual. “Thanks for meeting me.” He adds a quick nod towards the bench.
I slide over and sit. He’s close enough that I can smell his breath—stale cigarette and burger grease. I lift my chin. “You said you wanted to talk.”
He shifts in his seat, then spots Rychne on the walking path beyond a row of pines. The warrior stands tall, shirtless except for some bruises across his chest—silent, but all eyes. Buford’s posture stiffens in a way I’ve seen before. He clears his throat. “Yeah. About your boyfriend.” He jerks his chin toward the path.
“Richard,” I correct him politely, “is an ally.”
Buford laughs—a short bark that cracks on the edges. “Let’s be honest,” he says. “You and me both know that cuddly whatever-he-is ain’t human. I don’t care if he’s from Jupiter or Talladega, but he scares me. Scares Sammy, too. That’s my kid.”
My heart twists. “He saved us,” I say, surprise creeping into my voice. “Saved me from eviction, from Lipnicky’s alien landlord apocalypse—no offense. He saved us, Buford.”
Buford snorts. “He threw a guy through a wall! A wall that half the town saw! That’s not saving. That’s a fucking threat.”
I frown. “It was Lipnicky.”
Buford shrugs. “Still.” He leans closer, voice low. “You and Sammy—your world changed last night. You pulled in a predator. You let some alien—some freak— into your house. Into your daughter’s bed.”
I flash with anger, but I clamp it down. “He’s part of our life now.”
Buford laughs bitterly. “Yeah? Custody wants safe. It don’t want freaky. And you’ll be under that microscope, believe me.”
He stands up suddenly, the park turning with that shift in air when someone’s about to walk away—or storm off. He stalks towards his beer can, lifts it, and then stops mid-sip, breathing heavily.
I stand too. “So is that what this was? You just wanted to scare me into a corner?” My voice wavers—not with fear, but disgust. “Because I refuse to let him go?”
Buford doesn’t answer. He looks at me, like he doesn’t know me anymore. Then turns away abruptly and walks back toward his truck. The empty beer can rolls off the bench with a clatter, and I feel liberating detachment.
I leave the bench and march out of the pavilion area. The air feels bigger now, stretching around me, the crunch of gravel under my flats announcing each step.
I don’t look back.
Rychne approaches from behind, his presence instant like gravity returning. He tilts his head and studies me—no judgment. Just fierce, unwavering presence. I stop, right there, as though the entire park has become a line between us.
“You did good,” he says softly, stepping forward.
He stands close—too close to let go—but there’s still space between us. Enough for me to swallow.
“He’s just—scared,” I say. “Of everything changing.”
Rychne nods. “He was not present at the council, at the testament. He chooses ignorance.”
“Is that enough?” I ask, voice low.
He breathes in, body straight, voice firm. “No. We will show them. Not with violence, but with truth. With your voice. And mine.”
I let that sink in. He’s not just standing by. He’s offering partnership—even after I insisted he stay back. I look up at the sky and absorb the muted sunlight.
I nod. My gut softens. “Okay.”
He places a hand gently at the small of my back, guiding me forward. I don’t flinch. We walk side by side, leaving the shade of the pines behind us.
