The Guy Next Door

Chapter 13

13

LEIF

Z ane’s been quiet the past few days.

Unusually quiet, and it started after I FaceTimed him so he could see me playing with my sex toy. Was that too much? I know I’m not playing it cool, but fuck playing it cool.

Zane gave me a taste, and now I’m greedy for more.

But I have other concerns at the moment. I struggle with what to tell Mom and Dad about the subreddit and Zane’s theories. On the one hand, I want them to take the necessary precautions for our family’s safety. On the other hand, if I tell them too much, they could get in touch with Roth, and she’d make them really concerned about the guy next door.

I want to talk to Zane about it, but now he’s suddenly less available than before. When I reach out on Monday and Tuesday, I get back quick responses about how he’s catching up on work.

On Wednesday, he gives me a similar BS excuse: Still gotta get some things in. Bills to pay, ya know?

He’s giving weird vibes.

Is he uncomfortable after what we shared, or is it something else? Something more concerning?

I make carbonara for dinner, and as much as I want my parents to enjoy the meal, I really made it for him . When we finish eating, I pack some into a container and head on over to his place, mashing my thumb on the doorbell; I’m not meaning to, but I’m sure the ring conveys my frustration.

It takes Zane a minute before he opens the door. “Yeah?”

“This is really starting to remind me of the time I hooked up with a girl and she immediately treated me like I didn’t exist anymore.”

“Can you not do this on the front porch?” he asks, his eyes widening as he searches around me, like he’s worried someone might overhear me. He steps aside, letting me in, and closes the door behind me. He still doesn’t look at me, acting more like he did when we first started chatting after the break-in.

I figured with my parents home, he’d get more sleep, be more together, but he seems agitated.

I head to the kitchen and set the container with my carbonara on the counter. “I’ve needed to talk to you the past few days, and suddenly you’ve been mysteriously busy.”

“I do have to make a living.”

“Just stop. I can tell it’s more than that.”

He still won’t look at me, and I can’t keep on trying to act like everything’s normal. I notice the bags under his eyes are more severe than when I saw him the other night. Tension rises in me as my real fear intensifies—that he’s struggling again.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Why does something have to be wrong?”

“Nothing has to be wrong, but you’re not acting like yourself.”

“You don’t know me well enough to say that.” He sounds annoyed.

“Something’s wrong,” I insist, standing by my gut instinct.

He finally looks at me.

“Dude, come on. What is it?”

“Oh, now I’m dude ? Are we fighting?”

I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. “Yes, that’s what this is, if I didn’t make that clear when I showed up at your door and started getting onto you.”

“I have a lot on my mind recently.”

“Hey,” I say, approaching him and resting my hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me.”

He looks at my hand on him, and then his gaze meets mine again, though it’s warmer now. His shoulders relax like he’s letting his guard down a bit. But this whole thing leaves me wondering what the hell could have changed so much in the past few days.

The tension in me intensifies, and as much as I worry about his mental health, there’s another fear I can’t shake, and it’s something that’s easier to discuss, so I just say it. “Is it last week? Do you regret it? That would explain why you haven’t texted as much. That’s probably why you didn’t want me to come over today.”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry,” I add. “I shouldn’t have asked you to show me that. It was inappropriate, and…” The next words are hard to force out, but I somehow manage. “We don’t have to do anything like that again, if it’s made you uneasy.”

He chuckles. Is he relieved I said it so he didn’t have to? “You think that’s what’s on my mind?”

Okay, maybe I’m totally wrong, then.

“Leif, the only way I would regret any of that is if you regretted it, so I want you to get that out of your pretty head.” He flicks his thumb through my bangs. “Why didn’t you wear a beanie tonight? It’s cold out.”

“You don’t deserve the beanie,” I tease.

“Now you’re just being mean.”

His gaze meets mine again, but briefly.

I can tell something’s still bothering him, but at least this exchange assures me it’s not about what we’ve done together, which on the one hand is a relief, but on the other, concerns me that it could be much worse.

He inspects my mouth like he’s about to lurch forward and take it.

I’m tempted to take his, when he whispers, “Can I show you something?”

“Of course.”

“Just…please don’t be weird about it.”

I rub my thumb along the fabric of his sweater. “Zane, don’t you get by now that you can trust me?”

He turns his head subtly either way, his gaze shifting as though he’s still debating if he should even show me whatever the hell it is. Then he closes his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters as he retrieves his phone from his back pocket.

“You mentioned the Chelsby Hill Public Library the other day, and I haven’t been able to let it go. So on Monday, when I told you I was gonna run some errands, I actually went there. I didn’t even know what I was looking for, and then I saw…”

He shows me a photo of a man. It’s an average-looking guy in his late thirties or early forties. Dark-brown hair. Wearing a button-down shirt, sporting a friendly smile for the camera.

“This face ring any bells?”

I shake my head. “Why? Should I know him?”

“He was at the library when I went on Monday.”

“I’m not following. A lot of people go to that library.”

He huffs like he doesn’t want to tell me whatever he’s thinking, but then he says, “He was the teacher Mike met up with. The one I tried to frame to get Roth to look into.”

I turn back to the image, almost wishing I could place it from somewhere to give Zane what he seems to need to hear. Of course, I can’t do that. I have to be honest. As I open my mouth to assure him I don’t know this man, he cuts me off, “Please, pretend I didn’t ask.”

He shoves his phone back into his pocket.

Nearly as quickly as he’d let his guard down, his jaw clenches and he looks mad enough to start pounding his fist into the wall.

Now he really won’t look me in the eyes.

I want to soothe him. Want to chase away whatever worry he has. “Zane,” I say, moving closer to him. “Please talk to me about this.”

“You’re gonna think it’s in my head.”

“You don’t know that.”

It’s a concern, but I don’t give a flying fuck if it is. I know how hard it can be, and I want to be here for him. Doesn’t he fucking get that?

Makes me feel like a real dick for all those times when my parents ask how I am, and I just want to push them away. Surely, they care about my well-being the way I care for his.

His eyes well with tears. “Well, maybe I’m worried if I say it out loud, then I’ll realize it’s all in my head.”

“Come here,” I say, guiding him to the kitchen table. “Sit down.”

As he does, I sit in the adjacent seat.

“I’m not gonna pretend to understand the hell you’ve been through, but from my own shit, I can say the worst thing is to keep all that bottled up. Haven’t I proven that I can handle some pretty wild shit? Let’s say it’s not in your head. Maybe talking it out will help you sort things out. And if it is in your head? You think you’re gonna get rid of me that easily?”

“You’ll think I’m the creep next door, who did all this for no reason. Not only a creep; this pervert who did all this to seduce you.”

“Don’t make it sound so sexy.” At his glare, I quickly retract. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to make this conversation lighter. I know this is serious, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m minimizing your feelings.”

Given his tension and the way he can’t bear to look at me, I can tell he’s in so much fucking pain. I want to let him know he doesn’t have to do this on his own, so I reach across the table and take his hand.

He looks at our hands before making eye contact again.

“Whatever’s behind why you did this, there is a reason, Zane,” I assure him. “And I don’t care what that reason is. So why don’t you tell me more about this teacher?”

He turns his hand, rubbing his thumb across mine. His warm skin feels so smooth. Despite how this conversation is stressing me out, his touch helps set me at ease.

“Please,” I say. “Talk to me.”