Page 84 of Bad Boy Neighbor

My heart is torn into pieces, already fragile from the broken state my mistakes have left it in. My melancholy mood and nerves over meeting Miles tomorrow hangs over me like a black storm cloud, raining my personal sorrow down on me in bucketloads.

Seeing Oliver has fueled the flame burning out of control.

There’s no way to extinguish a flame of that magnitude. So instead, I cry myself to sleep, a mixture of releasing emotions and my utter exhaustion. The weight of the world is resting heavily on my weakened shoulders.

Tomorrow will be a new day.

I will finally meet the man who should have been my father from the moment I was born.

The man who stole my mother’s heart, just like Oliver had stolen mine.

Twenty-Six

Gabriella

Ifind myself in a state of panic all day long.

Miles agreed to meet me in the hotel lobby.

The day I’ve been anxiously waiting for is here. Everything hinges on this moment, and once done, it can never be undone.

I changed my outfit three times and barely ate any food but rather survived on caffeine. Australian coffee has a nice taste unlike the stuff back home. It’s much stronger which probably explains my jittery hands and inability to slow down my heart rate.

Butterflies swarm in my stomach, my head buzzing with possibilities.

What if he doesn’t like me?

What if he tells me to stay out of his life?

I’m not sure if I have the strength to face rejection from someone who is supposedly my family.

Inside the lobby, I nervously check my surroundings. I’ve seen pictures of him on social media, so I know what he looks like.

A tall man, exactly like the photographs, walks toward me with a welcoming smile. Unknowingly, the breath I’d been holding releases at a steady pace.

Trust your gut.

Everything will be okay.

Upon seeing him for the first time, I examined all his features, stunned by our resemblances—the shape of his eyes, the bridge of his nose, even the arch of his brows.

“You must be Gabriella.” His smile captures his sentiments, and just like me, I watch him examine my features with a nostalgic expression. “You’re beautiful. Just like your mother.”

“And you must be Miles…” I pause, unsure of what to call him. “Or should I be calling your Mr. Kelly?”

“Miles is just fine.”

Standing here in the lobby proves awkward, so Miles suggests a quaint restaurant a block away.

We commence our walk past the other establishments and a load of Japanese tourists exiting a large coach. Miles tells me about his exchange-student program in high school which led to a year in Japan. To this day, he’s still fluent in Japanese.

“Japan, wow. So how did swimming come into play?”

We take a seat inside the restaurant by the large bay window. It’s not as busy or rowdy as the hotels we walked past, yet a perfect place to eat and talk without shouting through loud noises.

“I was a strong swimmer growing up, and my height proved an advantage. I tried out for the state championship, won first place, and a retired Olympic coach recruited and introduced me to all the right people. The rest is… well, a long story.” He laughs, grabbing the menu and quickly scanning it before placing it down again.

My father was an athlete.

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