Page 83 of Bad Boy Neighbor

Your Mother.

I wiped the tears away with every word I read. Emotional pain has a biological purpose—it is the foundation of becoming a warrior. It educates us to reevaluate the unhealthy relationships surrounding us. It makes you question your beliefs, wreaks havoc on your soul, but most importantly, it sings to your heart. A song of truth, a melody only you can play.

At times, I find myself strong enough to pursue my father, Miles. But like a strong current building from an impending storm, I’m easily swept away into self-pity mode, imagining how different my life could have been if my mother followed her true love.

During these self-destructive moments, my childhood replays like an old-time movie. My father, as I know him, has always treated me as an outsider. I was never good enough to be his daughter and never enough for our family. I was destined to be a disgrace to the family because I did not carry the Carmichael blood.

But the universe has a way of guiding us when darkness blinds our vision.

Sebastian had a business opportunity requiring a visit to Australia. I knew Oliver had returned to Sydney after hearing Sebastian mention it to Lana one day.

Lana was excited to visit Sebastian’s hometown for the first time, and to my surprise, they asked me to come along. At first, I politely declined. But it wasn’t long after, and only last week, the man who is supposedly my father responded to the message I’d sent to him on social media.

I was surprised, shocked, half expecting him to tell me he isn’t interested in any communication. I researched and read many stories of adoptive kids tracing their biological parents. My situation was unique, but nevertheless had the same sentiments. The good part, Miles wanted contact, a chance to explain what happened twenty-five years ago and to finally meet me.

And hello universe—he lives in Sydney.

It made sense to travel with Lana and Sebastian. A fourteen-hour flight warranted traveling companions. What didn’t make sense was to throw Oliver back into the equation.

There was a feeling in my gut that said move on—he hasn’t called you nor bothered to track you down.

What’s done is done.

Yet, another feeling in my heart says, fix the mess you’ve contributed to. This isn’t his fault. Oliver gave me the ultimatum, told me he loved me, and I chose to walk away out of fear.

My courage begins to build with every step I take closer to his apartment. Perhaps it’s wrong of me to ask Sebastian to somehow gain me access to Oliver’s apartment when the concierge refused my entry. But he happily did so, not exactly sure how, and now I’m standing in the foyer, knocking on the door, but I’m met with dead silence.

Then I hear the ping of the elevator and feminine laughter behind the doors. The second they open, there he stands, as handsome as I remember him, dressed in a formal blue tuxedo.

A woman is draped over his arm. Her posture’s loose, and she’s somewhat intoxicated.

The shock paralyzes his face, rendering him speechless. A stupid part of me was expecting his welcoming smile, but nothing comes. Instead, his mouth remains an uncharacteristic grim line amid his barely-there stubble. Almost robotically, his hand rises toward the door handle, ignoring the blonde’s babble as he fumbles for his keys.

He’s being anything but inviting.

Callous words, refuting my need to apologize follow.

“It’s a bit too late for apologies. I think it’s best you leave. Besides, I’ve got someone here, and she’s waiting.”

He’s every bit the arrogant Aussie I remember him to be, and somewhere during his need to fight me, I crumble.

I wanted to remind him how we shared our vulnerabilities more readily than trading cards, experienced a new world away from home in which we both found love. I desperately wanted to tell him how I visited our pier on my morning runs, listen to songs that remind me of him, and how I would sleep on his side of the bed with the same pillow he slept on in my arms.

But most importantly, I wanted to tell him I still loved him.

That feeling, despite time lapsing, has never faded away.

But I did none of that.

I walked away because he has moved on.

The nausea swirled like a vicious tornado inside my empty stomach. My head swam with half-formed regrets.

I shouldn’t have walked away.

If only I went with him to his appointment.

If only I had half the strength I have now, could I have said I love you when it was right for me to admit that to him?

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