Boyfriends Next Door: A Contemporary Reverse Harem Romance (Boys Next Door, Book 2)

by Mia Belle

He’s on his feet like he shot out of a canon. We dump the dishes in the sink and throw ourselves into the car.

  Chapter Twelve

  Zane

  With my head leaning on Lia’s locker, I check the time on my phone. It’s not like her to be late. And as far as I know, her dad hasn’t arrived yet, either. I wonder if everything’s okay, and the first thought that enters my head is that that asshole Josh got to her. Is she in the hospital? Is that why her dad’s not here?

  I squeeze my eyes shut. No. We would have heard something.

  Caleb and Aidan are standing near me, Aidan on his phone. Caleb paces down the hall to the front doors, where he looks out toward the parking lot. When he returns, he shakes his head. “No sign of them,” he tell us.

  I fish my phone out of my pocket and scan the screen. Between the three of us, we must have sent her at least twenty texts. Why hasn’t she responded?

  I’m just about to lose my mind when Vice Principal Pollard instructs the students to head to the auditorium for an assembly. My gut squeezes together. Shit. Don’t tell me something happened to Lia or her dad. Why would the VP call for an assembly?

  Aidan and Caleb must share my thoughts because Caleb’s face is sheet white and Aidan looks like he wants to hurt someone. I feel the same way. I’ll murder anyone who harms her.

  We settle down on the seats, leaving a spot for Lia. I hope with all my damn self that this assembly isn’t about her and that her butt will be in that chair soon.

  VP Pollard stands at the center of the stage, raising his arms for attention. The guy is like sixty, has been with this school nearly all his life. I heard he was even a student here back in the day. I don’t know if it’s sad or sweet that he never left. Anyway, no one really takes the man seriously, which is why he has to ask for attention five more times.

  The guys and I sit here silently, each of us thinking the worst. I’m not a positive person, not after everything I’ve been through, but if there was ever a time for my thoughts to be positive, now would be it.

  Caleb’s face is still ghost-like, and Aidan taps his shoe on the floor. I grab onto the armrest, my knuckles growing white.

  The place finally quiets down and the VP taps the mic to make sure it’s working. He clears his throat, and just as he’s about to open his mouth, the auditorium doors open and Lia and her dad walk in.

  My heart nearly stops beating. She’s here. She’s fine. She’s safe.

  Principal Kelly steps onto the stage while Lia scans the many students slumped in their seats like they’d rather be taking a test than enduring this. I wave my hand and Lia squeezes through until she reaches us. She drops down between me and Caleb.

  “Everything okay?” I ask. “We texted you.”

  She nods, keeping her gaze on her Dad, who moves up to the mic and introduces our speaker this morning. It’s a guy who will discuss teen suicide. Apparently, he’s been going from school to school and raising the topic.

  “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t have a chance to look at my phone.”

  The place grows silent as the guy begins to talk. I can feel Lia tensing from right next to me, and I force myself not to meet her gaze. She’s been there, she knows what it’s like, and the last thing she needs is me staring at her.

  When it’s over, we separate to our classes. Before I turn away from Lia, I catch the despondent look on her face. The last hour wasn’t easy for her, and I wish I could gather her in my arms. Instead, I fist them at my sides and enter my classroom.

  English Lit is one of my least favorite subjects, but the worst is when Mr. Fuerst forces us to read our shit to the class. I hate public speaking.

  Today, he has us write how we feel about the speech and what we feel like we can do to prevent suicide. My chest heaves in relief when he tells us we’re not going to read to the class, but it’s short-lived. He’s having us gather into a circle and discuss.

  Shit. Really?

  I pull my sketchpad out from my backpack and let my fingers do their thing. I hate this topic. I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve never attempted to kill myself, but I won’t lie that I haven’t considered it in all my sixteen years on this world. When my brother Zack and I were alone on the streets. When my life felt like one big pile of shit. If not for Craig and Julia, who the hell knows where I would be right now?

  My thoughts travel to my older brother. Just a few days ago, he texted me, claiming he missed me. Like hell he missed me. A part of me is glad he’s finally out of my life, but he is my brother.

  “Zane?”

  My pencil freezes and I look up. Mr. Fuerst stands there, his eyes on my drawing. It’s not of Lia this time. It’s my parents. I was six when they died, but their features are etched in my brain like I saw them this morning.

  “It’s not required for you to add to the discussion, Mr. Armstrong,” Mr. Fuerst says, “though I hope you do. But I’d appreciate it if you were to listen to your classmates and give them respect.” He holds out a hand, eyes still on my pad.

  I shut it and place my notebook on top of it, stupidly hoping he’d forget about it. Of course he doesn’t, keeping his hand outstretched.

  “No.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’ll give my classmates respect. Just don’t take my sketchpad.”

  He considers this for a few seconds. “All right. But put that away. I don’t want to see it in my classroom again or you’ll get detention. Art should be done in art class, Mr. Armstrong.”

  I wish I could tell him that art should be done all the time, but I bite my tongue and force myself to listen to the conversation. I get that it’s important, but not everyone wants to think—let alone talk—about it.

  Class finally ends and I pile out with the rest of the students. I meet Aidan, Caleb, and Lia in the cafeteria. We grab our food and plop down at the table.

  “You’re in a mood,” Aidan says, squeezing ketchup on his frozen-reheated-frozen-and-reheated fries.

  I stab my fork in my meat. “Just hard to think about this whole suicide thing.”

  My eyes defy me and trek over to Lia. Her eyes are downcast, not seeming to be looking at anything in particular. “You okay, Lia?”

  Her head snaps up. “Huh?”

  “About the whole suicide thing.”

  “What about it?”

  “Just thought it might be a little hard for you.”

  She shrugs. “Why would it be? It’s important to talk about it, so I think the speech was a great idea.”

  She resumes staring at whatever she was staring at. I know she’s putting on a brave face, so I wrack my brain to raise a neutral topic. The first thing that comes to my mind is something funny I saw on TV last night. When I tell it to the others, they burst out laughing. Not Lia, though. She gives me a pleasant smile.

  Damn. What can I do or say to make her feel better?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lia

  “Hey, neighbor,” a voice calls from outside.

  As my brain urges me to go to the window and smile at Zane, I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m not really feeling happy right now.

  Dad stayed after school, pretending to take care of school-related business, when I’m pretty sure he’s out somewhere trying not to deal with Mom’s death. I know it’s hard, but I kind of wish we’d talk more about it. We did this morning, her memory coming alive for those few minutes, but maybe that hurt Dad a little too much.

  “Lia?” Zane says, his voice a little softer than before. “You there?”

  Sighing, I drag myself over to the window and pull the cord. He’s in his usual spot, only this time there’s no sketchpad on his lap, but a laptop. Zane is actually working on his homework? He must sense where my thoughts are because he chuckles.

  “It’s not what you think. I’m still drawing, only virtually. See?” He turns the laptop to face me, and a cartoon version of him is displayed on the screen. “It’s supposed to be a self-portrait. I don’t know why I thought it’d be a good idea. I hate drawing myself.
” He laughs again. Then it drops. “Please talk to me, Amelia. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He gives me a sideways look. “Promise?”

  Despite my telling them not to, tears prick my eyes. “I thought I could be strong, that I’d get over it. Accept it, but…” I shake my head.

  “The speech today?” he asks. “I’m sorry. I wish I could—”

  “No, not the speech. It went oddly okay.” Maybe because I have other things on my mind.

  Zane’s eyebrows dip toward his lap. “I don’t follow.”

  I sigh, swiping at my eyes with my shirtsleeve. I glance anywhere but at him. Why is this so hard? Zane told me I could talk to him about anything.

  Shutting my eyes, I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Today’s the two-month anniversary of my mom’s death.”

  When I open my eyes, I find his face filled with nothing but concern.

  “My dad and I talked about it this morning, but I guess it was a little too hard for him. He’s probably out driving somewhere to try to clear his head.” I hug my arms. “I don’t know. I just feel so alone.”

  Zane slides into his room, closes his laptop and lowers it to the floor. He slips on his shoes and disappears from his room. A few seconds later, the doorbell rings. I hurry down the stairs and throw the door open. Zane stands there, his shaggy hair falling into his beautiful green eyes, his face filled with care.

  He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close to his hard-yet-soft chest. I press myself to his smooth T-shirt, inhaling his smell of soap and guy. In his arms, I feel protected and not so alone.

  “Sorry,” he whispers in my ear. “I know you’re not comfortable being this close. I just had to…”

  I shake my head, drawing back to gaze into his eyes. “No. Thanks for this. I needed it.”

  He rests his forehead on mine. “I hate seeing you so sad, Amelia. I wish there was something I could do.”

  “You’ve done so much for me already. Want to come in?”

  We settle down in the living room. I fetch the photo album from my room and spread it over our knees. Zane browses through with much interest, taking a few moments to study each picture.

  A strange look seeps into his eyes, one I can’t identify. It intensifies the more pictures he absorbs.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  He blinks and the look vanishes. “No, sorry. It’s just a little hard for me. I mean, I’m happy for you, that you had such a great childhood.” He smiles sadly. “Mine was a little…well, shitty. No, a lot shitty.” He shuts his eyes for a second, leaning back on the sofa.

  I stare down at where our hands rest between us. If I would move a centimeter to the left, my pinky would brush against his thumb. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  With his lips pressed shut, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us, Amelia, but this is something I need to keep to myself.”

  I slide my hand over his, my fingers interlocking with his. He drops his gaze to our hands, then slowly brings those beautiful green eyes to mine. I swear I can hear my pounding heart. Or is that his?

  Shaking his head again, he pulls his hand out of mine and runs it through his hair. “Sorry. I came here to help you feel better, not to make this about me.” He forces a smile, then focuses on the photo album. “Your mom was beautiful. Just like you.”

  “Thanks,” I say, feeling my face heat up. “But I don’t really see myself as pretty.”

  Zane gently grabs my arm. “Come here.”

  I let him pull me to the hallway mirror. He nods at my reflection. “What do you see when you look at yourself?”

  I give him a look. “Are we really doing this?”

  “Yep. Tell me what you see.”

  “A girl.”

  He nods for me to go on. I lift my hands like I have no idea what he wants from me.

  “Okay,” Zane relents. “I’ll tell you what I see.” His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “I see this amazing person who’s had some shit in her life. But she’s got an awesome dad who loves her to death. She’s a strong person, able to tackle anything she sets her mind to. She’s beautiful, both inside and out.” He gestures to me. “Now tell me what you see.”

  “A girl,” I say.

  He frowns. “Amelia, you’re not even trying.” Taking hold of my shoulders, he gently pushes me closer to the mirror. “How can you not see the amazing person staring back at you?”

  “Can we maybe do something else?”

  He studies his reflection for a little while. “You know what I see when I look at myself? I see a guy who’s been through shit. I could let it consume me. But I don’t. I try to be the best version of myself and hope everything else falls into place.”

  I’m so curious what happened to him. Why he has those scars, what happened to his parents. But I need to accept his decision of keeping it locked up.

  “Your turn, Lia,” he says. “Just try it.”

  I face the mirror, puffing out my cheeks. “I guess I see a girl who wants to get close to people again. She doesn’t want to push them away anymore. She doesn’t want to be scared anymore, not of Josh, of…guys…of letting herself feel…Ugh, this is coming out so stupid. Can we stop now? Let’s watch a movie or something.” I move toward the living room.

  Zane’s fingers close around my wrist. “I’m sorry if I forced you to dig deep.”

  He kind of did, but the odd part is that I don’t regret it. It felt…good to let it out.

  “I just want you to smile again,” he continues. “To be happy.”

  I smile at him, a pure, genuine one. “I am happy, and that’s all because of you. So thanks.”

  “You don’t have to thank me all the time, Lia. All I care about is making you happy.”

  I stare at him, ready to ask why my happiness is so important to him, when the front door opens and Dad enters. Zane drops his hand from my wrist and I suddenly feel cold.

  Dad freezes in place when he takes me and Zane in. “Hi,” he says. “What’s going on here?”

  Zane and I exchange a glance. “Homework,” I blurt. “We’re studying for a test.”

  Dad nods, slinking toward his room. He’s trying to mask it, but any idiot can feel the pain dripping off him.

  “I’m going to talk to him,” I tell Zane.

  “I’ll wait here.” He drops down on the sofa.

  Dad’s sitting on his bed, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, his hair messy as though he ran his hand through it repeatedly.

  “Dad?” I step inside. “Is something wrong?” I bite my lip. “I know you didn’t stay behind at school to take care of school stuff.” I lower myself on the bed. “You don’t have to hide anything from me. I’m not a little kid.”

  He lifts his eyes and I notice just how sunken in his face is.

  “Dad, have you eaten anything today? Besides breakfast, I mean.”

  He forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He holds out his hand for me and I slip it inside. “You’re right, sweetie. I did lie to you.” He shakes his head. “I feel like I need to be strong for us, that I need to hold us together.”

  “You know that’s crazy.”

  He laughs lightly. “Most days, I don’t even have time to feel anything. I have you to take care of, the school, Matt’s family.” He sighs. “I’m afraid he’s not doing so well. He has an infection and the doctors don’t know if he’ll pull through.”

  I hug him. “I’m so sorry, Dad.”

  “Add that to an already difficult day and I don’t know how I managed to pull through.” He leans back to look into my eyes. “You’re the only thing that gets me through the days.” He laughs again. “I pretend to be strong and confident, but I’m crumbling inside and I don’t know how much longer I can handle this.”

  I just stare at him as his words slowly enter my brain. My dad is not okay. He’s been pushing my needs before his own, but it’s time for him to take
care of himself.

  I clutch both his hands in mine. “Dad, you can’t go on like this. You’re always telling me to talk to someone, to not hold everything in. But what about you? You need to talk to someone. Have you spoken to anyone about Mom’s death?”

  He shakes his head.

  I hug him again. “Please, Dad. See someone. You don’t have to be strong just because you’re the dad. It’s okay for you to ask for help. I lost my mom and I can’t…I can’t bear the thought of…” My voice chokes up and I can’t continue.

  He kisses the top of my head. “Maybe I should take today’s speaker’s advice, huh?”

  “Definitely.”

  “But I need to be there for you. To take care of you.”

  I squeeze his hands. “The only way you can be there for me is if you’re well. Besides, don’t you think I should be there for you, too?”

  His smile is strained. “I see so much of your mother in you. Okay, I’ll see someone. I’ll get better.” He kisses the top of my head again. “Thanks for that, sweetie.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Caleb

  Once I’ve cleaned up the kitchen after dinner, I climb up to my room and drop down at my desk. My fingers drum against the wood as I finish up my last bit of homework. For some reason, I’m having a hard time concentrating lately. It’s not only Lia who consumes my thoughts. She’s filled most of the gap in my heart since the day my mother passed away, but it’s still there. Maybe it always will be. Aidan’s not the only one who’s a little lost. Sure I have my dream of being a professional chef, but my passion—my true passion—is buried in a box in my closet.

  My eyes fling to said closet before I can stop them. It’s almost as if it’s glowing, enticing me to dig inside. To fish out the items that used to mean the world to me.

  Before I know what I’m doing, I’m on my knees before the closet, shoving aside the many boxes until I find the one hidden away, never to be opened again. Well, looks like it’ll be opened right now.

  I pull the flaps open and peek inside. The first thing that greets me is an old, worn-out deck of cards. My first one. Dad bought them for me on my fourth birthday.