Page 64 of Bad Boy Neighbor

“And the little boy?”

Her smile quickly fades, the corner of her eyes blinking as she clears her throat. “He didn’t make it.”

We both stand quietly, unable to piece a sentence together to lift the sadness away from this moment. Life is unfair and has a cruel way of stripping people of their souls. I’ve been fortunate in life never to have lost anyone close to me.

“My father calls these parties frivolous. No matter what I do, it’s never good enough. Before college, I considered studying medicine, but I deemed it rather pointless since he wouldn’t entertain a daughter not marrying and settling into his chosen life for us.”

I felt myself flinch. The mention of her controlling father still strikes a chord. I love Pa, but if he’d have ever told me not to play soccer, I would never have listened. But that’s the difference between Pa and her father—Pa would never have asked me to do something I didn’t want to do.

“Oliver?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” I tell her, though part of me knows she isn’t strong enough yet. It will take some miracle for her to grow a backbone, and time is quickly running out.

I sensed her need to be alone, to figure herself out through this mess she calls her life. It’s what I need to do when I am confused. Solitude for clarity always helps me gain perspective.

“I need to do this.”

“You do, but you know that,” I remind her.

She takes a deep breath, smiling as she strokes the plaque. “Oliver?”

“Hmm…”

“I want to be there with you tomorrow if you’ll let me.”

A part of me begins to shut down, the raw emotion of tomorrow’s reality crashing into me hard and fast. I can’t talk about it or let my thoughts fester in front of her.

“I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m a big boy.”

“Oh... okay.”

“Listen, we should go. I’ll call you when I’m done tomorrow, anyway.”

She nods, turning away from me.

Damn! I’ve hurt her. She wants to be there with me. Yet, I’m not ready. Tomorrow is make or break, and if it turns out to be break, I won’t be ready for her to see me crumble into nothing.

We walk back toward the Jeep, and without a word, she grabs her bag and tells me she’ll catch a taxi.

I don’t stop her or say goodbye.

I’m sitting in some bar not far from the hotel, drowning my sorrows with bourbon. It’s the closest one—the proximity is within short walking distance. It’s not anything fun, a bit classy, but still served the goods I need to ease the nervous tension building inside me.

The girl at the bar, blonde with the longest legs I’ve seen in a while, begins to chat me up. She leans in close, plays with her hair, and runs her finger along her lips way too many times. She’s keen. I could have her, which I contemplate but shut it down.

Gabriella has spoiled me for anyone else.

And I loathed her for that.

A rowdy bunch of men steps in, demanding the waitress to serve them. They’re dressed in designer suits—arrogant-looking fuckers. The kind who belong on Wall Street snorting crack off hookers’ arseholes.

“C’mon, Gemma, serve us a round, and maybe I’ll give you some like last week.”

The dude bumps into me, not apologizing. Fucking bastard. He’s an inch or so shorter than me. Dark hair slicked to the side like a fucking pussy.

---