Rock Hard Neighbor

by Rye Hart

  “It's fine,” I said.

  My throat was still raw and scratchy, but overall, I was starting to feel better. I'd had a few days of IVs, and doctors pumping all kinds of chemicals into my bloodstream, and I was starting to feel a little more human. Still couldn't remember much about the incident, but the doctors said to give it a few more days and that my memories should start coming back to me. They said my brain scans showed that I had a concussion and a minor brain bleed, but it was healing.

  I was healing.

  When Oliver stepped through the door, however, my breath caught in my throat. I wasn't prepared for the rush of endorphins that he brought out in me. Over the years since the last time I'd seen him, he'd grown quite a bit taller. He'd filled out too. Oliver Miller had always been an attractive boy but, now, I had to admit that he was an incredibly good-looking man.

  The sandy blonde hair he'd had in his youth was now a shade or so darker, making it almost brown. He kept it shaved close to his head, these days, rather than the long, shaggy locks he'd sported back in high school. Back then, his hair looked messy. Unkempt. And yet, it still had a charm all its own. Because he was a football player, he'd had no shortage of girls clamoring for his attention, but he was more than just a jock. He'd also won more than a few girls over with his guitar playing and singing.

  His cheekbones had always been enviable and, now, with his body more defined and muscular, everything about him looked sharper. Stronger and fiercer – except for the dimples that dotted his cheeks when he smiled. They were still there. Thank God for that.

  His piercing blue eyes stared right at me – right through me, really – and neither one of us said anything for a long time. I honestly wasn't even sure if he'd remembered me.

  In a way, I hoped he didn't. Hoped that, to him, I was just another faceless victim he'd saved. No doubt, one of many, given his line of work. Though, I had to wonder if he visited all the people he'd saved in the hospital, or if he was here because he remembered me.

  “I'm glad to see you're doing better,” he said, finally breaking the long pause between us. “Doctors said you should make a full recovery.”

  “All thanks to you.”

  He shook his head and gave me a lopsided smile. “All thanks to the Chicago fire department,” he said. “We're a team and we all—”

  “I don't recall anyone else carrying me out of the building,” I said.

  “They were there. I just happened to find you before they did, Madison,” he said. “But, they would have found you.”

  The way he'd said my name answered the lingering question in my head definitively. He knew me.

  “Oliver, I'm sorry, I—” my eyes welled up as I remembered what had happened between us but Oliver just shook his head and stopped me cold.

  “The past is the past, Madison,” he said and he smiled at me.

  It was a smile that could light up a hundred rooms. A hundred city blocks. His teeth were as white and perfect as I remembered them to be. Everything about this man was perfect – why had I fucked things up so badly all those years ago again?

  Oh, that's right, I silently chastised myself, It's because I'd been a bitch back then.

  Oliver sat down in the chair next to my bed, and I sat up a little straighter, holding his gaze. I wasn't exactly sure what to say to him other than, thank you. It just seemed so inadequate and there was so much more between us that needed to be said. Needed to be discussed. I couldn't find the words inside of me though. Which was rare and a little disconcerting for me, since I made a living always having the words to express myself.

  Judging by the way Oliver's eyes bored into mine and the way he kept rubbing his chin, I had a feeling that there was more he wanted to say too. I was hoping he'd find the words and we could get this conversation going because the silence was awkward and painful.

  “Umm, so, they said you don't remember much about that night we found you in the warehouse,” Oliver said, staring down at his hands.

  “I've lost most of my memories of that night, directly leading up to the attack, that's correct.”

  “Do you know why you were there?” he asked. “Being in an old warehouse in the middle of the night doesn't exactly sound safe. Or sane.”

  I shrugged. “No, it doesn’t. Not really,” I said. “I keep trying to remember why I was there in the first place. I don’t recall what business I had out there. But, it's a big blank. I honestly can't remember most of that evening.”

  “Do you have any texts? Calls?” he pressed. “Anything that might give a hint?”

  I shook my head. “My phone can't be located,” I said. “I guess it was taken. The cops are looking into it.”

  He looked utterly floored by what I'd just said. The expression on his face made it seem like I'd just given him the worst news of the day. He shook his head, and I could tell he was lost in his thoughts. Thoughts that had nothing to do with me.

  “I'm really sorry you went through all of that,” he said softly.

  His fists were balled up in his lap and he was glaring at them. His body was tense, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. Something had really gotten under his skin and I so badly wanted to reach out to him, to take his hand, and ask him what was bothering him. We sat there in a silence saturated with tension bordering on anger – though I knew his anger wasn't directed at me. If anything, it seemed to be directed inward. At himself.

  “Oliver, listen,” I said, finally working up the nerve to reach out and take his hand in mine. “You saved my life. I'm alive, talking to you right now, because of you. You have nothing to be sorry about, and I'll heal. I'm going to be released in a few days, and—”

  “They're going to release you?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Maybe as early as tomorrow.”

  “Is that safe?”

  “I've already cleared their concussion protocols,” I said. “And I'm no longer dehydrated. My burns have been—”

  “No, I mean because of the people who did this to you,” he said. “They're still out there. What if they try again?”

  “You're certain it was intentional?” I asked.

  I already knew the answer to that question and I don't know why I even asked it. Although I didn't remember much, I remembered being hit on the back of the head. Clubbing somebody on the back of the head and leaving them inside a burning building couldn't be anything but intentional. And as I absorbed that fact, I felt a chill run down my spine, working its way through my gut, and finally wrapping its long, cold tendrils around my heart, squeezing it tight.

  Oliver looked at me, a knowing expression on his face. “I'm almost positive,” he said. “And I can tell by the look in your eyes that you know it too.”

  “Well, I'll have people watching over me,” I said. “I'll be fine.”

  “That's not enough,” he muttered.

  “Oliver?”

  He turned to look at me, those brilliant baby blue eyes drinking me in. His gaze, so deep and so penetrating made my heart stutter and my pulse race. But, in those eyes, I saw so much sorrow and sadness. I saw so much hurt in his eyes that it killed me. It was physically painful to see the way he looked at me – and I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with our past. Or whatever you'd call what we had together.

  “Is there something you'd like to talk about?” I asked. “Something you know that I – or the police – don't?”

  He hesitated, then licked his lips and looked away again. His expression grim, he shook his head.

  “No,” he said softly. “Not really.”

  “Not really?”

  “I mean – you're not the first,” he said. “You're not even the second. But you already know all that.”

  “I do?”

  “Your podcast,” he said. “You mentioned it last week. Right before the – incident.”

  As he reminded me of it, I recalled briefly that, yes, I had been looking into a few suspicious cases of arson around the city. It wasn't anything in depth just yet, though. I
mainly put it out there for my audience, telling them that the cases seemed to be linked, at least to me. I recall that I'd asked for anyone with any information about those cases to contact me.

  The podcast had generated a few leads, but nothing concrete – and nothing I could remember at that moment. The blank spots in my memory made me glad that I always kept a paper trail of everything I did.

  “You're right,” I said.

  I closed my eyes and tried to remember what I'd written down. My notes. His reminder of that podcast sparked some interest running through my brain. Made me wonder if there was a connection between those cases and what happened to me. If nothing else, I was hoping that maybe sifting through my notes could help jog my memory.

  The only problem was, all my notes were at home. I turned and looked at Oliver, wondering if he might be willing to – I cut off the thought mid-stream, though. I'd ask my best friend to bring them over with her when she came to see me. I didn't want to put that kind of pressure on someone I hardly knew.

  “I'll see what I can figure out,” I said.

  “I want to help you,” he said, running a hand over his short-cropped hair.

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “I have my reasons, but yes,” he said. “I want to figure out who did this to you. And why.”

  A small smile touched my lips. One I had to push away. I wasn't sure why the idea of working alongside Oliver made me feel giddy – the primal part of my brain telling me it was because he looked so damn hot. Or maybe it was because I'd always thought he was a pretty good guy.

  Not that I'd ever needed a man in my life. But the idea of working with Oliver, having him help me figure out who'd done this to me and why, lifted my spirits a bit.

  “Well, if you really want to help, do you think you could start by running over to my house and picking up a few of my things?” I asked. “Notebooks and recordings I made about my investigation so far?”

  He stood up, but I stopped him before he left. He turned back to me and cocked his head, questioningly.

  “Thank you,” I said, gripping his hand tightly.

  He squeezed mine in return and gave me a gentle smile. “I want to find this person as much as you do,” he said. “Believe me, I do.”

  “I already owe you so much, Oliver. I owe you my life and I'm not sure I'll be able to repay you for that,” I said. “If there's anything I can do for you, just ask.”

  He looked at me for a long moment and then his eyes lit up, looking as if a light bulb had just been switched on behind them. He looked down at me with a half-grin on his handsome, chiseled face.

  “If you wouldn't mind,” he started, “there actually is something I could use your help with.”

  “Anything,” I said. “After I get out of this hospital bed.”

  “You'll be out next week, right?”

  “Like I said, they're talking tomorrow or the next day,” I said. “Provided there are no complications or setbacks. If not, then I'd be more than happy to help you – so as long as it's nothing too brutal.”

  “How about dinner?” he asked.

  I cocked an eyebrow, my expression asking him to elaborate. He gave me another small smile.

  “Not like dinner, dinner. Not like a date dinner,” he said. “But, I have a friend whose wife keeps doing everything she can to set me up with one of her friends, and well—”

  “You need a wingwoman, that's it?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” he said. “Actually, pretty much that.”

  “That's asking a lot, Oliver,” I said, laughing, hoping he'd get that I was joking. “But for the man who saved my life, I think I can swing a dinner and a few hours of pretending to be his date.”

  It was more than that, though. My heart still raced every time he turned those eyes toward me, and I couldn't deny that seeing him again would be nice. Especially in a less awkward place than a hospital room.

  “It's on Friday night. I'll pick you up at six,” he said. “As for the here and now though, I'll head over to your place and be right back with your things.”

  ~ooo000ooo~

  “This was all of it?” I muttered, digging through the box full of notebooks and things he'd brought in.

  “Yeah, all that was on your desk, at least,” he said. “Unless you put it—”

  “No,” I replied. “I kept everything in one place. Always.”

  “I gathered that,” he said, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I could tell by now neat and organized everything was.”

  I raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was judging me. As I looked at him though, I knew he wasn't being malicious and decided that it didn't matter anyway.

  “This can't be all of it,” I said. “I know there are a few things about my last case missing – things I definitely remember having and being among the rest of my things. I distinctly recall having a green notebook like this.”

  I held up a red and blue notebook, one with dates and the cases covered written on the front.

  “Don't you keep anything on your computer?” he asked.

  “No, computers can be compromised.”

  “Apparently, so can notebooks,” he said.

  “So, someone was in my house then,” I said. “Somebody stole my materials.”

  The mere idea of someone entering my home – with or without me there – disturbed me on a deep, primal level. I wasn't too keen on having my workplace and my sanctuary violated like that. Or, hell, maybe my memory was still playing tricks on me and I was misremembering what I did and didn't have.

  I would have sworn though, that there had been a bright green notebook for the arson cases I was looking into as well as another case that had caught my eye. Both were future topics to be discussed in my podcast, nothing more.

  “And there were no tapes?” I asked.

  “None,” he said. “I saw the tape recorder, but there were no tapes I could find.”

  “Dammit,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Someone stole them. Somebody broke into my house and stole them. They knew we were on to them, so they broke into my place and stole them.”

  “They have access to your house then,” Oliver said. “Which means you can't stay there once you're discharged from here.”

  “I'll stay in a hotel—”

  “What kind of old friend would I be if I made you stay in a hotel, Madison?” he asked. “No, you're staying with me. I have a spare bedroom with its own bath and it'll be way more comfortable than some ratty old hotel.”

  I stared at him for a long time, my mouth hanging wide open. Had he just—? He'd really just invited me to stay at his place and even claimed to be old friends. I almost couldn't believe it. I certainly had no idea what to make of it.

  “No, a hotel will do just fine,” I said. “But, thank you.”

  He gave me a look that said there was no getting out of it, but I smirked, knowing full well that I would be doing what I wanted. No man told me what to do. Even if he wanted to pretend like we were old friends, that wasn't the case. We knew each other. We went on a date back when we'd been in high school – and then I ghosted him because I had to focus on school. Boys were a distraction I couldn't afford and I had to cut them out of my life.

  It was Daddy's orders, but I agreed with him. Not that I wanted to leave Oliver in the dust like I'd done, but I had to put myself first.

  I was still that hard-headed and sometimes selfish person, so if Oliver thought he was going to put one over on me – well, he was in for a surprise.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  OLIVER

  I'd tried to make a dozen different excuses, but Jimmy wasn't buying any of them. Probably because Cassie was squeezing him to make this blind date – which was not so cleverly disguised as just a friendly dinner get-together – happen. And although Jimmy was a big, strong guy who didn't take shit from anybody, when Cassie said jump, he asked “how high” on the way up.

  Jimmy liked to pretend he was the big man, in control and in c
harge of everything. But, at home, I knew who was in charge.

  “So, tonight then, right?” he asked as we got dressed after a long shift. “You better show up or Cassie is gonna have my balls.”

  I scoffed. “She already has them,” I said. “She wears 'em on a necklace. Who do you think you're fooling?”

  He grinned, knowing I was right. “Yeah, maybe,” he said. “Just know that if you don't show, she'll toss that necklace in the fireplace. So seriously, do me a favor – save my balls and show up.”

  I laughed. “I think I'm coming down with something,” I said, feigning a cough. “I may just need to—”

  “Yeah, my ass,” he replied, punching me in the shoulder. “Six thirty. You have your ass there or I'll set fire to your balls, buddy.”

  Grinning, I nodded. I knew there was no way I was getting out of this. At least I had a contingency plan in place though. A security blanket. A secret weapon. And, best of all, a way around Cassie's oh-so-cleverly orchestrated plan to find me love.

  Madison.

  I still had a few reservations and misgivings about bringing her along but figured that she'd provide me with a solid enough buffer that Cassie's friend – Angie, or whatever her name was – would take the hint and move on to some other guy.

  “So, I'll see you at six thirty, right?”

  I looked over at Jimmy and groaned. “I don't have much choice in the matter, do I?”

  “None, actually,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I replied as unenthusiastically as I could. “I'll see you then.”

  Jimmy nodded and clapped me on the shoulder. “Don't worry, man,” he said. “It'll be great. And hey, pretend to have some fun and you might actually have some by accident. You never know.”

  “The mind reels with anticipation.”

  He gave me a grin as he turned and headed off to his SUV. I walked over to my truck and chirped off the alarm, pulled the door open and climbed inside. Jimmy honked at me as roared out of the parking lot. Glancing at my watch, I saw that I had enough time to get home, nap for an hour, and grab a shower before I had to pick Madison up.