by Rebecca Shea
“You’re here!” She pulls me into a tight hug.
“What can I say? I’m a man of my word,” I mumble and squeeze her back.
“I’m glad you’re here. Tonight is going to be fun.” She pulls away and gives me a good looking over. “You clean up nicely too.” She laughs.
“These are for you.” I hand her the large bouquet.
“And you’re amazingly sweet too. Thank you,” she says as she loops her arm through mine. “Let’s go inside. Landon is showing everyone around.”
“Who else is here?” I’m suddenly curious because I didn’t notice the other cars that were parked off to the side of the garage until she said there were other people here.
“Oh, Melissa and Ashley from my work, and Detective Weston and his wife; you know him from the police station, right? It’s just a small group,” she reassures me.
Stepping into the foyer, I’m instantly in awe of how open and inviting the house is. For a home this large, I expected it to be cold and stark, but Reagan has outdone herself with making it feel warm, comfortable, and cozy; nothing like the modern feel of Landon’s old house. The walls are painted in rich, deep colors, and oversized mirrors, paintings, and pictures cover most of the walls surfaces.
I follow Reagan down the travertine-tiled floor to the massive kitchen. The kitchen island is covered with platters of antipasti, cheese boards, fruit, and crudité. “How many people did you say were here?” I ask Reagan, who has positioned herself next to the stove as she sips from her glass of white wine. “There’s enough food here to feed an army,” I remark.
“Just wait,” she says, setting her glass of wine on the marbled granite counter. “I have lasagna in the oven and a huge tray of homemade meatballs covered in marinara.” She opens one of the doors to the double oven and peeks inside.
“You two never do anything small, do you?” I ask, pulling a bottle of beer from the metal bucket that sits full of ice and a variety of beverages.
“I don’t think ‘small’ is in our vocabulary.” She winks at me.
“The house is gorgeous, Reagan. Seriously, I’m almost overwhelmed.”
“Is it too much?” she asks, the smile dropping from her face. “You know I don’t like extravagant…”
“No,” I cut her off. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just gorgeous and huge… but it’s homey. I like that it feels lived in—comfortable.” The smile creeps back across her face.
“Are you flirting with my woman?” I feel his hand smack my back before I see him. The rest of the guests follow him inside from the glass doors that slide open to the back patio. I hadn’t even realized that the wall of windows opened like that.
“Better look out; I’m a free man now.” I realize how insensitive that sounds the second it rolls off my tongue. Missing Lindsay and acting like an asshole aren’t allowed here tonight. Reagan grabs the flowers I brought her and starts unwrapping them and places them in a crystal vase. Everyone else stands around, awkwardly sipping on their drinks. “Sorry,” I mumble. Landon takes a deep breath and gives my shoulder a squeeze.
“Everyone, please help yourself to some appetizers,” he says as he steps around me and grabs an olive off the antipasti tray. Everyone gathers around the large island and helps themselves to appetizers while I slip out the door they just came from to the back patio. Patio isn’t quite how I’d describe this either—it’s more of an outdoor living area. It’s huge and decorated with outdoor furniture that looks like it should be inside a house. There is even a flat-screen TV mounted up in the corner. Soft music is being piped from the speakers that are built into the ceiling. Along the edges of the stained concrete, lush potted plants sit encasing the patio.
I walk to the open edge of the patio where it’s no longer covered and is truly outside. The backyard is fenced and enormous. It has to sit on over an acre. Green grass is growing and you can barely make out the outlines from the rows of sod that were most likely laid not more than a week or two ago. The backyard is illuminated with large lights from each of the back corners of the house, along with landscape lighting around the yard.
“Hey,” Landon says as he approaches me from behind. “Glad you could make it, buddy.”
“Thanks for the invite.” I stand with my arms crossed over my chest and just look out into the yard. I don’t know how this is supposed to go. My best friend’s sister just broke up with me to take a job across the country and I’m fucking angry—actually, no; I’m hurt.
“How are you doing?” he asks. Nothing like cutting straight to the chase, not that I’d expect anything different from him.
“Been better,” I admit.
“Have you heard from her?”
I let out a small groan before answering. “Nope. Last time I heard from her was two weeks ago when she came to get her stuff from my house.” He looks at me and nods his head once.
“Have you?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Yeah, when she first got there she called but it was really brief. We haven’t heard from her since.”
“Sounds like her.” I let out a little laugh.
“For what it’s worth, I was really happy to hear about you two. There is no one else in this world that I would trust my sister with other than you.”
I swallow hard at his admission. “Kind of a moot point now, huh?”
“Never say never,” he says quietly. “Let’s go inside. There is something I want to show you after dinner.” His face lights up with a huge smile.
“This place is insane,” I comment. “I had no idea how big it was going to be.”
“Reagan wanted a place with lots of room for visitors and… kids.”
“Kids? Is Reagan ready? Hell, are you ready for kids?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “You know I’ll give her anything she wants.”
“Yeah, but is that what you want?” I ask.
“It is, when the time is right,” he answers firmly. “But right now, we’re just focused on the wedding and we like to practice making kids,” he smirks.
“Good plan.” I laugh.
Dinner was amazing. I wouldn’t expect anything less from Reagan. Even the company was nice. It was nice to be out of the confines of my stuffy house and in the real world, having normal conversations with adults instead of sulking in my pitiful misery at home. I even made plans with Melissa, Reagan’s medical assistant and mutual friend, to go hiking tomorrow. I felt guilty accepting her invitation, like it was something I shouldn’t be doing, but she’s a friend, that’s it, and it will be nice to start doing normal things again.
As we gather around the outside fireplace with our after-dinner drinks, the girls naturally circle around each other and giggle about the latest celebrity gossip while we guys gravitate toward the fire and talk sports.
“Oh, hey, I wanted to show you guys the game room,” Landon says, stepping back into the house.
“Game room?” Weston questions.
“Yeah, it’s the only room Reagan let me have complete say in.” He laughs.
“One room?” I can’t help but laugh at how much Landon has changed since his single days. “Does she carry your balls around in her purse?”
“Fuck off,” he barks at me. But we all laugh. When Landon opens the oversized interior double doors, we walk into a massive room that holds a pool table in the center of the room.
“Holy shit, man,” I say, admiring the room. It’s decorated in a sports theme with framed football jerseys and autographed pictures. There is a small wet bar in the far corner, and tall barstools that line one wall.
“Want to play?”
“Yeah!” Weston and I say in unison. I set my drink on one of the tall pub tables and pull a pool stick from the stand on the wall and rack the balls. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I scramble to pull it out in hopes that it’s Lindsay. My heart stops when I glance at the screen and her picture stares back at me. The one I took of her on the beach only a few short weeks ago. Her bl
onde hair curls around tan shoulders and her sunglasses are propped on top of her head. Her bright blue eyes glisten against the backdrop of the Atlantic Ocean. I slide my finger over the screen to accept the call and walk out of the game room and into the hallway.
“Linds?” I answer the phone. She doesn’t respond. “Hello?” Still no answer. “Lindsay, is everything okay?” The phone clicks and she hangs up. Pulling the phone away from my ear, I stare at the screen, whispering a silent prayer that she calls back. She never does. I lean against the wall, a million thoughts swirling through my head. Is she okay? Why did she call? What is she doing? Where does she live? Is she alone? Does she miss me as much as I miss her?
“Everything okay?” Landon asks as he walks toward me.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “She hung up. I’m really worried about her,” I admit. Landon runs his hand across his chin, but doesn’t say anything else. “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’m going to go say goodbye to Reagan and the girls.”
He nods his head. “Thanks for coming by, and if I hear anything from Lindsay…”
“Yeah. Please let me know.”
I hung up. I miss him. I needed to hear his voice, but hearing his voice about killed me. I lie in this oversized bed, crying into a pillow and wanting him—needing him. I left the sheer curtains open, in hopes that I wouldn’t feel so alone, yet all I feel is emptiness and isolation. I toss and turn for hours, my eyes never closing as I watch the minutes on the digital alarm clock tick by in slow motion.
Just as my eyes begin to feel heavy, I can hear the deep bass line penetrating through my bedroom wall. The large mirror that hangs above my headboard rattles with each thump. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I grumble. I ball my hand into a fist and bang on the wall a few times in a heed of warning.
The music continues for another thirty minutes before I finally break down. In between bouts of laughter and tears, I come unglued. I throw shoes at the wall, throw pillows, and kick the wall so hard I damn near leave a hole. I’m so angry, lost, and sorry. Pulling myself together, I stand up and brush the tears from my face. I realize that I look like a wreck and I don’t care. I need to sleep before I lose my mind.
I walk through the living room, dodging end tables, and into the kitchen¸ where I flip on the light over the kitchen island. I twist the deadbolt lock and step into the carpeted hallway. The music is noticeably louder out here, and only gets louder as I approach the door marked 2200. I knock, tentatively at first, and wait. When no one answers, I smack the door hard with my open hand and wait again. This time, the door flies open and the obnoxious club music fills the hallway along with sounds of laughter from the party.
“Can I help you?” the obviously drunk man says as he steadies himself with the open door.
“Yeah. I’m Lindsay, your next-door neighbor who is trying to sleep. Think you can turn down that atrocious music and ask your friends to keep it down? I mean it’s only three twenty in the morning. I hope that’s not too much to ask.” My voice is loud and laced with anger and sarcasm.
“I’m Jonah, and three o’clock is usually when we just get started. Want to join us?” His eyes trail slowly down my barely clothed body and he smirks. I look into the condo and see a couple snorting something off the granite countertop and an island full of liquor.
“Just fucking keep it down,” I hiss at him and begin walking back to my condo. “And quit acting like a twelve-year-old boy with a boner, who has never seen a girl in a pair of shorts and tank top.”
“Those are fucking underwear, not shorts.” He laughs and slams his door shut before I get the chance to slam mine first.
“Prick,” I mutter to myself and lean against my door. My hand is trembling and I’m not sure if it’s out of anger or exhaustion, but I know I need to take a pill and relax. I spot my purse on the couch and quickly make my way to it. Reaching inside, I pull out the brown pill bottle and pop open the top. I dump two little white pills into my hand and toss the bottle on the couch as I scramble back to the kitchen for a glass of water.
Pressing the glass to my lips, I let the water carry those two little pills that will bring me relief down my throat. I’d been doing great at not using these pills until three weeks ago—until I made the decision to take this job and move here. I clench my right hand in hopes that the trembling ceases. The thumping music is less noticeable here in the living room than it is in the bedroom, so I lie down on the cool leather couch and release a deep breath. Knocking the small bottle of pills onto the floor, I hold a large throw pillow against my chest and close my eyes. My heart beats wildly while I wait for the little pills to dissolve and bring me relief—relief from the anger and self-hatred I feel—but mostly relief from the pain in my heart.
I find myself stuck somewhere between deep sleep and semi-consciousness when I hear the loud knocking that doesn’t let up. “What?” I mumble incoherently. I finally open my eyes, only to be assaulted by sun streaming in from the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows in my living room and another round of loud knocking on the door. “Hold on,” I holler as I push myself off the couch and get my bearings.
I stumble to the door just as the knocking continues. “Jesus Christ! I said ‘hold on,’” I bark as I fling the door open.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s finally awake,” Jonah, my obnoxious next-door neighbor says as he stands holding a cardboard tray with two coffees and a small, white paper bag.
“What do you want?” I glare at him.
“Peace offering,” he says as he raises the bag and tray and a wide smile stretches across his face. “Are you going to be neighborly and invite me in, or do I have to take this back to my place and share with the girl who’s passed out on my couch?”
“Classy, aren’t you, Jonah?” I say, opening the door wider and motioning him in. He walks to the center island and sets down the bag and tray of coffees. I shut the door and stand with my arms crossed over my chest and wonder why in the world I just let this asshole into my condo. But the smell of the coffee reminds me why: I have a headache the size of the Grand Canyon and coffee is what I need. Jonah pulls out one of the tall chairs and waits for me to take a seat.
“I might not be the classiest guy around, but I’m not a complete asshole either,” he breathes into my hair when he bends down to push in my chair. I inhale sharply when his warm breath meets my ear and goose bumps crawl across my arms. He notices my reaction and smiles again smugly. “So, Lindsay, let’s start over, on the right foot this time.” He takes a cup of coffee out of the cardboard carrier and hands it to me. “I’m Jonah Murphy, your awesome and handsome next-door neighbor.” I can’t help but smile at him.
Jonah is cute in a frat boy kind of way. He’s tall and has sandy blond hair and dark brown eyes with just a sprinkling of dark facial hair along the jawline. He wears khakis and a polo t-shirt, his appearance telling me he’s stuck somewhere between party animal and prep student.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Twenty-four,” he says with a small chuckle. “You?”
“Twenty-five, almost twenty-six.”
“See, we can be friends.” He smiles and takes a sip of his coffee. I roll my eyes.
“Let’s not put the cart before the horse, shall we?” I say sarcastically. “I saw the company you keep last night, and that’s not really my crowd.” I realize I sound really bitchy, but snorting what I assume was cocaine off a kitchen counter isn’t my thing.
“Yeah, about that… that’s not really my thing either, but it’s my friends’ thing… so I deal with it.” He pauses. “Where are you from? I heard a little southern in that snippy tone of yours last night.” I like his wittiness and can’t help but smile at his remark.
“North Carolina. I moved here yesterday.”
“Ah, that makes sense. I’ve been the lone occupant on the twenty-second floor for almost a year now. So to say I was surprised about having a new next-door neighbor would be an understatement.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I mumble and take a sip of coffee.
“I’m hardly disappointed,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “And I’m sorry about the music last night. Now that I know I have a neighbor, I’ll be more respectful.”
“Well, I appreciate that. And thank you for the coffee.”
“Oh, there are muffins too.” He reaches across me and grabs the paper bag.
“Thanks, but I’m not feeling all that great.” I place my hand on my stomach.
“Why is your hand shaking like that?” Jonah questions me.
“I’m just tired and not feeling well. It’s been a long couple of days,” I say as I scan the living room, looking for the pill bottle that I kicked off the couch last night. I spot it peeking out from underneath the coffee table. Sliding off the tall chair, I walk over to the table and pick up the pill bottle. I open it and pop two pills and toss the bottle onto the couch. Jonah watches me intently, taking in every move I make. His eyes follow me back to the island, where I wash down the pills with a swallow of coffee.
“That going to make you feel better?” he asks suspiciously.
“Yes. But that’s really none of your business, is it?” I reply sharply and his eyes widen in surprise.
“Well, on that note, neighbor… I’ll be leaving.” He pushes his chair away from the island and stands up. “It was nice to formally meet you.” He smiles. “And I promise to be a better neighbor.” He walks to the door and opens it. “If you need anything—sugar, eggs, a friend—I’m just next door.” He glances back to me before he steps through the threshold and disappears with the click of the door behind him.
Cinching the belt around my waist, I stand back and study myself in the mirror. I’m exhausted, but I look good. First impressions are everything in this business and I plan to rock my first day at work. This red silk sheath dress with three-quarter sleeves and nude heels screams power. I’ve curled my long, blonde hair so that it hangs in loose tendrils and my make-up is perfect—smoky eye shadow makes my light blue eyes pop. Gold accessories complete the outfit and I’m ready to go.
