Page 65 of Unexpected

With Hazel safe, I turned my attention back to Chris, who was outwardly fuming. He shifted and opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but smartly thought better of it.

He stomped back to his house like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum. I walked back inside with a smug grin as my phone vibrated in my pocket.

Hazel: THANK YOU

Me: Anytime, Angel. Guy’s a fucking creep.

As I waited for her response, I grabbed my Bluetooth speaker from the kitchen and headed to take a shower that I so desperately needed. Not one but two dogs pooped directly on me, and even changing my scrubs and scrubbing my arms didn’t make me feel any cleaner. I needed a long, hot shower.

I flipped on the Bluetooth speaker, turned the water in the shower to a skin-melting temperature and read Hazel’s response.

Hazel: 100%. When a guy says that his wife is cockblocking him…

Me: What a piece of shit. Want me to beat his ass?

Hazel: I think you staring him down worked for now at least. You can look seriously mean and intimidating when you want to

Me: What do you mean when I want to? I always look mean and intimidating.

Hazel: Sure. You keep telling yourself that, tough guy

I rolled my eyes at her sassy reply but was secretly excited the more and more she seemed to return to her snarky self. I had missed her witty comebacks and our verbal sparring matches.

We had been texting back and forth since we went our separate ways after a long day spent apartment hunting. I sincerely believed that my reaction to the third apartment complex we toured—the one where my divorce became nasty and violent—would dissuade Hazel from wanting anything to do with me. She had just left a fucked-up relationship, the last thing she needed was some guy who couldn’t keep his emotions in check because of shit that had happened several years before.

But I was nonetheless happy—fucking ecstatic—that Hazel took my emotions in stride. She listened to what I had to say and didn’t press for too much more information than I was willing to fork over.

I had to worry about the present, though, because the idea of telling her much more than I already had about my fucked-up past had me an anxious and stressed-out mess. Some of it I knew could be a deal breaker, especially for her.

And I wasn’t ready to risk telling her at that point—the selfish part of me wanted to keep our good thing going. Before we got too serious—if it ever came to that—I would tell her.

We both deserved some happy shit in our lives.

The long shower I thought I wanted to take didn’t seem so nice when I knew I could be talking to Hazel.Fuck, yeah, I knew I had it bad.

I did, however, make sure to scrub all of the possibly lingering fecal matter from my body and stood with my head bowed under the warm spray, slowly walking the temperature of the water higher until it couldn’t go any warmer.

I stepped out of the shower with relaxed muscles as the steam wafted through the air and fogged up the mirror. All my large towels were dirty—courtesy of Josh—so I wrapped a regular-sized towel around my waist the best I could. A regular person would have done fine with the towel, but there was a good almost two-inch gap where you could see most of my right thigh and part of my dick if you were looking closely.

I retrieved my phone from the counter, thought for a minute and then shot a text back to my neighbor.

Me: What are you up to tonight?

I stepped out of the bathroom, hoping the towel would stay around my waist for a moment until I could find a pair of sweatpants and dry off properly, when I spotted the lights on in Hazel’s bedroom. The warm light of her room was inviting—or at least that’s what I told myself—as I stopped to peer through the curtains.

Her blinds were open, so I had a clear line of sight into her bedroom. I could tell, based on the pictures she had removed from the walls, the piles of clothes on the floor and a few boxes stacked in the corner, that she was in full packing swing. With her lease signed and a plan in place, I could tell she was feeling better. It also helped that the bruises were fading—or at least the ones on the outside.

Hazel was perched on the end of their king-size bed, the white comforter pulled up and the pillows placed perfectly at the top of the bed. She was still wearing her black leggings, but it looked like she had already shed her long-sleeved top from earlier and was now only in a dark-green sports bra. Her legs were dangling off the end of the bed, swinging as she drank from her water bottle and typed on her phone.

She dropped her phone to her side and held her large water with two hands before she returned her attention to the TV in front of her. My phone buzzed right on cue.

Hazel: Packing, packing and more packing. May try to write some, too.

Me: How is the packing going? I’ll come over soon to help out. Also, glad to see you haven’t lost your writing muse.

I sent the text and immediately watched through the window to see her response. My chest tightened when she picked up her phone and a huge smile spread across her face. She squeezed her water bottle between her legs so she could type using both hands.

Hazel: I would never turn down free packing help, and yes, the muse is still around. He’s actually making it hard to focus on anything else at this point. I can’t write fast enough.

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