Page 13 of Demean (DeLancy Crime Family)

CHAPTEREIGHT

TRISTAN

Three Days Later . . .

Finally, being out of the hospital is a relief unlike any other. Sitting outside of my new place is even better. I was discharged earlier today after meeting with the hospital staff that kept coming in to speak with me. I didn’t want to talk to some quack about what happened to me. I listened slightly to the physical therapist about rehab and what I needed to do. They showed me a few exercises and told me that I needed to make sure to do them but also get into the PT office.

I glance up at the night sky, not really seeing much due to the streetlamps illuminating the front of the shotgun house. All the houses on this street and the next block over belong to me personally. I bought them as an investment. You can never go wrong with real estate.

Félix, no matter how many times I told him to leave, came back to the hospital. He, at least the last time, didn’t stick around. Instead, he brought a bag of clothes for me and a phone and said all of my accounts and investments were back under my name. He left right after, and I’m glad for it.

The first thing I did after he left was call my property manager and ask about any available housing. I could easily have gone to Félix’s. The house is his, but it’s the one we all grew up in. It holds memories of our mother, and none of us could see it taken away. Not even with the horrors that have happened within the walls. It still holds too many good ones.

I lucked out in having one of the shotgun houses available. I had Marcy, the manager, go out to one of the local furniture stores, and have the place furnished with the necessities. All I needed was a couch, bed, and whatnot.

When I got in earlier, I took a taxi, again refusing anything from my family.

It sucks because we’ve always been close, especially my twin sister and myself. But right now, I can’t be around them. I don’t want to see the pitiful looks they’ll give me.

I lean back on the footstool that’s considered my back porch and sigh. Things shouldn’t be like this. Not between my family and me, yet it is what it is, and there’s no going back.

I listen to my surroundings and make a mental list of what I’ve yet to do to secure my place and make sure nothing and no one can get into it. Hell, I’ll have to figure out the car situation as well. The car I had is what Dimitri burned up, and I know it wasn’t replaced, considering I wasdead. Maybe I’ll get an old beater and say fuck it all to the world. Then again, I’m a cars man. I like my flashy cars. I could always get a blacked-out Dodge Charger.

The door to the place next to mine slams shut from the front, and I cringe at the idea of having a noisy neighbor. I didn’t ask Marcy or the others that work under her who my neighbors were since I really didn’t give a damn. I just want to be left alone. I guess I could’ve at least found out something, so I don’t have to worry about pesky people making lots of noise in the middle of the night.

Shit, it’s nearly two in the morning. It’s probably some partier coming home from a club.

Lights flick on in, and the next thing I know, the back door opens to the house, and to my surprise, my neighbor steps outside. I glance over and find myself shocked by who the person is.

It’s not some partier coming home from the clubs. It’s Poppy.

Son of a bitch.

I should have found out who my neighbor was before coming home. Maybe then I could have found a different place.

Fuck.

Memories of her face the other day . . . the way I told her to leave my room at the hospital is nearly crumpling. I was a major dick to her, and she didn’t deserve it.

From the look on her face, she looks exhausted after a night of dancing on a stage in front of dozens of men. Men who would probably envision themselves being inside her while she moved her beautiful body over their dicks.

Images pop into my mind, and I shake them away without thought. I don’t need to think of her like that. She doesn’t deserve anyone treating her less than who she is . . . pure class. Most would say she’s not because of her profession. That’s nothing but a job. Poppy is exquisite, sweet, polite, and cares for those around her. I don’t have to be involved in her everyday life to know this about it. I’ve seen it firsthand.

I’m unable to take my eyes off her as she glances around the dark back area that runs behind all the shotgun houses on this stretch. Maybe I should think about doing some fencing. Then again, no one would really have much room to do anything except touch either side of the fence. The houses aren’t big whatsoever. They’re all one bedroom with a bathroom and open space that leads from the front of the house to the back for the living room and kitchen space.

Each place has its own back stoop, and that’s it besides the small patch of green that runs along the walkway where the steps meet the ground. It wouldn’t make sense to fence in the space, even if it would gander a small amount of privacy.

Poppy moves to take a seat on her own porch and releases a breath. I cock my head surprised she didn’t see me sitting here. But she looks to be in her own head.

I’m sure I’m part of that reason. I’ll have to do something about it. I just don’t know how. Normally if I need advice on something like this, I’d call up Désirée and talk to her about it, but that can’t happen. Not right now.

Without taking my eyes off Poppy, I shift and give away the fact she’s not alone.

I stare into the most entrancing eyes as she whips her head around to meet mine, seeming far too surprised by my presence. “Hello, neighbor.”

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