The Guy Next Door

Chapter 14

14

ZANE

A fter what I told him, he should have bolted out the door. He should have told me he wanted nothing to do with me when he first learned about my struggles with my mental health.

But he’s here, holding my hand, wanting to hear more.

He has a kind spirit. Like Mike.

It makes me wonder if that’s what whoever is behind the disappearances saw in them—this beautiful, rare quality. And if they did, why would they tear that from a world that’s already filled with too much cruelty?

But maybe no one would want that because this whole idea of someone abducting Mike and Jason is just a creation of my own fucked-up mind.

“Please. Talk to me.”

I struggle with his request, but now that I’ve dragged him into this, he has a right to know.

“I glossed over this when I was telling you about Isaac Tolle,” I force out. “After seeing Tolle’s name in Mike’s planner, I hacked Tolle’s email and found out he volunteered at Habitat for Humanity. I showed up to a few builds, thinking I’d talk to people who knew him…see if they said anything about someone he was spending time with. And I didn’t get anything, but on the third week, Isaac showed up.”

Wyachet’s not a small city, but it’s not New York, so it’s not shocking that I would run into a teacher who volunteered and who happened to have interacted with Mike and Jason.

Leif must realize this, which is why I still can’t bring myself to look at him. “You’re still not seeing it, are you?”

“Zane, it makes sense why seeing that would look suspicious. At the very least, it’s noteworthy.”

Despite what he says, I can hear his skepticism. Or maybe that’s what I’m expecting to hear, so I keep going. “It wasn’t only that he was on the build. He recognized me, but it was more than that. He looked guilty as sin, like he knew I was onto him. It’s possible he checked social media after Mike disappeared, but if he recognized me, wouldn’t he have mentioned it? That interaction is what started the real obsession. I could just feel this instinct. Something in my fucking bones that told me he did it…and I needed Roth to see.” As I say that this was the most I had, I know how it must sound. “It seemed like something was there.”

“When you were following him, did he ever go to the Chelsby Hill Library?”

I look at Leif for the first time since I started getting into details. I was expecting him to look shocked or horrified, but he seems curious.

Is he really entertaining this when I’m having a hard time with it, and I’m the one who lived it?

“No,” I admit. “And I don’t want to sound weird, but I mean, I was on that guy’s ass. I saw where he went to the gym. The restaurants he preferred to meet friends at. The Lowe’s he buys his plants at.”

“So it could be a coincidence?”

“You think I didn’t fucking consider that?” I practically growl as heat rises in my chest, and Leif’s eyes widen and he leans back like my reaction fucking scared him.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I know you’re trying to help. I’m defensive. That wasn’t about you; that was about me. I just… I’ve thought this out from every possible angle. And back when I was following him, I did get in my head about it, and these connections, the way he reacted, were on my mind. The more I followed him, the more it consumed me. But I couldn’t make anything else out of it. The guy was squeaky clean. And there was this tenuous connection, and I had this feeling that if there was a reason for the cops to look at him, they’d find something I couldn’t. And then that blew up in my face.”

I want to curl up into a ball, disappear so that he won’t see me while I’m like this.

I don’t like feeling so vulnerable and exposed—that’s why I keep all these damned secrets.

So I spit out what’s left to share before I have a chance to chicken out. “Then I saw him at the library the other day. And I feel fine right now. I’ve taken my meds, yet I still have this instinct, and it makes me think there’s something fucking there , and I wasn’t wrong then. What if he stopped going to the library for a while after he took my brother because he figured the cops might be checking places he frequented, and he didn’t want to look suspicious? What if he’s looking for a new victim because he wasn’t able to grab you?”

It’s a wild speculation, he has to know that, more like something out of a Netflix movie than something that would happen in real life. But it’s plagued my mind so much that I feel like I have to exorcise it from my being so that I can have a chance of letting it go. “There. Now you know exactly how crazy I’m being.” I feel dirty for sharing it, like I need to take a shower.

Like now Leif won’t be able to look at me without seeing that I’m fucked up.

In my mind, there’s a video that keeps playing, different scenes of the moment it finally hits Leif exactly how messed up I am—his eyes widen, he races for the door, he screams for me to get away from him.

But he’s still here.

Why is he still here?

“Zane,” he says gently, “I imagine anyone who experienced the kind of loss you did would be grappling with the same things you are.” Despite how exposed I feel for sharing that with him, his words make me feel safe. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to have this big question mark around why he’s gone and trying to figure out how to make sense of it. I don’t think that means there’s something wrong. And if I were in your shoes and saw those connections, I could see me having a hard time not thinking there was something there.” He quiets, then adds, “I’m sorry. I’m worried I’m fucking this all up. I’m trying to be careful about what I say, make sure I’m not making this worse, but…”

I look into his eyes again, shocked that with all the compassion he’s shown me, he could think that. “Leif, you’re not fucking this up. I’m fucking this up because I know I’m not going off much. And the past few days, I’ve pulled out all the notes I made about Isaac. Started stalking his social media. I’m spiraling right back into it. I didn’t want to talk to you because I didn’t want you to see me like this. I figured it would pass. I talked to my psych. I didn’t tell her specifically what I was doing, but I told her that my paranoia has intensified and that I’m getting those feelings about that teacher again, so she’s bumped up my dosages again. I have this feeling that I’m onto something, but then I’m also like, that’s what I felt before and…”

I let my words trail off.

He must know what I mean by that. I don’t want to have to speak it. Don’t want to think about how hard it was when I had to spend those seventy-two hours getting my head back on straight.

“I shouldn’t have told you any of that.”

“But I’m glad you did.” He firms his grip on my hand, and damn, it’s so reassuring.

“I’m kind of glad I did too,” I confess. “It’s hard struggling with this just inside my head. There’s a lot of shit in there like that.”

I shake my head, wishing I could shake it all right out, but I’ve learned by now that no amount of struggling internally or externally can make those thoughts go away.

And with them, comes a torrent of memories.

“I was supposed to take care of Mike,” I spit out. “That’s what Dad always said. ‘You’re in charge of your brother. You make sure he’s safe.’ But I failed. So fucking miserably.”

“I obviously don’t know much about your dad, but do you think he would have expected you to stop him from going missing? How would you have been able to do that?”

I shoot him a look. I know he’s trying to be helpful, and he couldn’t have understood how far off he is. “Leif, trust me when I tell you, he would have expected me to keep Mike safe. Always. ”

His gaze settles on the tabletop for a moment before he releases my hand.

No, don’t go.

Although, it’s a premature fear since he pushes to his feet only to scoot his chair around the corner of the table, closer to me.

What the hell is he doing?

He sits back down and sets his hand on my thigh, stroking his thumb across my jeans. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have made that assumption about your father. I, of all people, should’ve known better. I hate it when people assume I should have a great relationship with my grandma just because we’re blood related. I don’t know what you’ve been through. But I do know from everything you’ve shared with me that you’re not responsible for your brother going missing.”

As a tear falls from my eye, I wonder where the hell that crept up from, but I don’t fight it. I don’t mind Leif seeing me like this. “I should have done a better job keeping up with him. I should have called him more. I should have followed him everywhere…”

I’m not so unaware of myself that I don’t realize that’s why I’m doing this with Leif. Because I’m making up for what I couldn’t do for Mike.

He raises his hand to my face and wipes the tear from my cheek.

Warmth pulses through me.

I feel so fucking safe right now. I can’t remember a time when I ever felt so safe.

I turn my face into his hand and kiss his palm.

Our gazes meet again, and for the first time since we started our chat, I don’t feel like I have to hide from his gaze. He’s seen this dark shit in me, and he’s still here.

Who are you, Leif Anderson?

Once again, I find myself staring at his lips, and an impulse rises within me. I lean toward him, waiting for him to jerk away, but he doesn’t react the way I expect; he leans closer.

My gaze shifts to his eyes, those beautiful brown irises sparkling under the chandelier light.

Our lips graze against each other’s, and as an electric charge moves through me, Leif’s mouth opens, like he’s inviting me in. I hook my arms around him, practically falling out of my chair as I slide my tongue into his mouth, my face pressed against his.

God, he tastes good.

And the kiss dissolves all my worries and fears.

Assures me that nothing I said has fucked anything up between us.

There’s a moment when we’re trying to figure out how to position our bodies, our lips parting only long enough for me to straddle his waist. And in our frenzy, we manage to butt heads.

We laugh before our lips mash against one another’s again, our hands greedily groping each other’s bodies. My limbs, my tongue, my cock are beyond my control as we work up an intense heat.

I figured it would feel good to kiss him, but how could I have ever imagined the sensations that surge through me?

Will I die like this, unable to drink or eat because my body refuses to let this experience escape my grasp?

Another sweep of his tongue in my mouth sends a wave of sensation through me, and my cock is so painfully hard that I growl.

Leif’s hand slides from my waist to the front, down to my crotch, strokes my fly, my hips rocking.

I’m so fucking intoxicated that it’s hard to even remember the specifics of what we were just talking about. There’s only Leif and all the sensations he’s worked up.

My kisses turn to nibbles against his jaw and neck, then a series of licks.

“Zane…” he whispers, and my name’s never sounded so good, so erotic.

“Yes,” I breathe into his flesh, not letting up my kisses.

“I want you.” His hand presses more firmly against my cock. “I need you.”

“I need you too, Leif. God, how I fucking need you.”