CHAPTER 2. Connor #2
I decided I’d stay home and play games instead. I had one more shift to get through, and then a full week to catch up on everything sitting untouched in my Steam library.
Not exactly rest. But it would keep me occupied.
And then Noah knocked on my door at 2:37 a.m., clearly drunk, with a ridiculous proposal.
The idea was unhinged and completely outside my comfort zone.
But it was also an alternative. A reason to leave the apartment. To be somewhere other than inside my own head. To do something other than sit alone thinking about illness and loneliness and dying alone.
I didn’t say yes right away, even if it felt strangely inevitable. I needed to make sure he wasn’t delirious from whatever he’d had to drink—which, honestly, might not have been that much. I have a suspicion Noah gets drunk easily. No real evidence—just a working theory.
So I waited until morning.
As the highway curves gently to the right and the hills start unfolding in the distance, it occurs to me that I know almost nothing about him beyond what was written on that sheet of paper sitting in the cup holder between us. Well—except for what carries through our absurdly thin walls.
I know he has friends over most Fridays around eight.
They stay for hours, eating pizza or sushi and dissecting someone’s relationship.
I know he watches cooking shows and drag competitions.
Sometimes he puts on soppy movies and sits on the couch by his front door, crying quietly enough that he probably assumes no one can hear him.
Now that I’ve seen the sheet he prepared for me, some of the things I’d noticed before make more sense.
The work calls, for example. Sometimes eight or ten in a single day, broken up by loud sighs and pacing that makes the floorboards creak. Now I know what they’re about—he raises funds for an animal rescue.
And now I know who Maya is—the person he talks to for hours every Sunday. His sister.
Still, overheard details only get me so far. If we’re going to make this convincing, I need more than fragments. And since Noah clearly isn’t going to break the silence on his own, I do.
“Tell me about your ex,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road.
It’s not something I’d usually ask. I don’t make a habit of digging into people’s romantic history. But this isn’t exactly standard. If I’m supposed to be the boyfriend brought specifically to make someone jealous, I should at least know what I’m dealing with.
I feel him stiffen beside me, his posture locking up like I’ve hit a nerve.
For a moment, I think he won’t answer. Then he exhales quietly and says, “It’s a long story.”
“We have two hours,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. I’m not trying to pry. I just need to know what I’m walking into.
He takes another long breath and stares straight ahead. “Rick and I… we weren’t public. No one knew. Not my parents. Not his. No one.”
“I gathered that,” I say. “From the bold and underlined warnings in the instruction sheet.”
A faint, self-conscious smile flickers across his face. “Yeah. That might’ve been excessive.” He swallows. “Sorry. I’m just—” He gestures vaguely, then lets the sentence trail off.
“Nervous?” I ask.
He nods.
“Did your sister know?”
“No. Rick didn’t want anyone to know. He was paranoid about it getting back to his parents, so I had to lie—even to Maya.
” He swallows. “I couldn’t keep it completely to myself, though.
So I told my best friends—Milo and Britney.
They don’t run in the same circles as his family, so it wasn’t like it could get back to them. ”
I let the silence stretch instead of filling it.
When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “It’s just—Rick’s supposed to take over his dad’s company one day. If this ever got out, he could lose everything. If anyone found out he was…” He hesitates.
“Gay?” I offer.
“Yeah.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Or bi. Or whatever he is. I don’t even know anymore. He always said it was complicated.”
I glance at him briefly. His profile is rigid, his jaw clenched hard enough that I can see the muscle working beneath his skin.
“So this weekend will be the first time you’ve seen him since the breakup?”
Noah nods. “Yeah. First time in six months. And he’s going to show up with his new girlfriend, Cassidy Whitmore.”
“She sounds expensive,” I say.
Noah’s mouth tightens. “She is. She and Rick have known each other since diapers. She’s basically American royalty.”
I let that sit.
“Rick’s family is very rich too,” he goes on. “And very…traditional.” He says the word like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “They have expectations. About who their son is supposed to be. Who he’s supposed to marry. You know families like that.”
“So, oil-painting-over-the-fireplace rich?” I ask.
That pulls a real laugh out of him. “Sort of.”
“How long were you two together?”
“Three years.”
“That’s a long time.”
That’s most of the time I’ve lived across the hall from him.
Noah gives a small, humorless huff. “Apparently not long enough to earn a decent breakup.”
I glance at him. “How did he do it?”
“He texted me.” He lifts his fingers in air quotes. “‘I can’t be gay.’ Couldn’t even say it to my face. Or at least call me.”
“That’s a coward move.”
“Yeah.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “It is. And a week later he was dating Cassidy.”
We fall quiet again, the highway humming beneath us.
“I think I’ve seen him a couple of times,” I say after a moment. “The blond guy, right?”
“Yeah.” Noah shifts in his seat. “He didn’t come over much. Thought the walls were too thin.” He glances at me like he expects me to connect it, then hesitates before adding, “For sex.”
I blink and turn toward him. He’s flushed all the way to his ears.
“They are thin,” I say. “For everything. Not just sex.”
He laughs under his breath. “Exactly. Thank God most of our building is elderly. You should’ve heard it before the Hills had their last baby.”
“When was that?”
“Before you moved in. They were…busy. Pretty much all day.”
I grimace. “Thanks for that mental image.”
“Sorry,” he chuckles. “But eventually Mrs. Hill got pregnant—thank God. After that, it was just baby crying.” He goes quiet again, then adds, “Anyway, that’s our stupid story. I loved him, but he hid me like I was something dirty.”
I nod but don’t offer comfort. I understand that kind of arrangement better than I’d like to.
Quinn used to kiss me senseless in the back room of his dad’s pub, then act as if he barely knew me if we crossed paths the next day.
He told me he loved me on Friday nights and wouldn’t meet my eyes on Sunday mornings.
I let it go on longer than I should have, convincing myself that what we had in private somehow made up for the way he treated me in public.
Eventually, it stopped being enough.
When I ended it, I didn’t make a scene. I just told him I couldn’t keep doing it—couldn’t keep being someone he only acknowledged behind closed doors.
Part of me expected him to argue, to promise he’d figure it out, to say something that would make staying easier. He didn’t. I left town not long after.
Even now, years later, I don’t like thinking about Quinn. Not because I love him or miss him, but because I remember how easily I reshaped myself around his fears, how little it took for me to accept less than I deserved.
Beside me, Noah is sitting beside me with one leg folded up on the seat, his shoe off, a pristine white sock bright against the dark interior.
“So,” I say, breaking the silence, “what exactly do you want me to do this weekend? I read the instruction sheet, but it’s light on direction.”
Noah straightens slightly in his seat, clearly relieved to be discussing logistics instead of feelings.
“We’ve been dating a couple of months,” he says.
“We met at a coffee shop—I spilled coffee on you, you thought it was cute instead of annoying, we started talking, and…” He shrugs. “That’s basically it.”
“So we’re a rom-com cliché,” I say.
“I don’t have any better ideas,” Noah admits, some of the energy draining out of him. “Does it sound fake?”
“Well,” I say, a little thrown by how genuinely worried he looks, “don’t you think Rick might remember me as your neighbor? It might be a little strange if you claim we met at a coffee shop.”
Noah goes red almost instantly. “Shit,” he mutters, like the flaw in his plan just punched him in the face. “You’re right. I didn’t even think about that. Shit. What do we do?”
“Let’s keep it simple,” I say, giving him a small smile. “I’m your neighbor, and we’ve known each other for two years. A couple of months ago, things changed and we started dating. The closer we stay to the truth, the less likely we are to mess it up.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.” He exhales, already halfway to spiraling. “Sorry. I’m really not good at lying, am I?”
I snort. “You’re okay.”
There’s a brief pause, and then I steer us back where we were.
“So we’re serious, then?”
Noah nods, shoulders tight. “Serious. Monogamous.” He swallows. “In love.”
“In love,” I repeat. “Wow. Okay.” I don’t think he realizes I’m messing with him. “I’ll try to sell it.”
His whole body seems to tense at that.
“You don’t have to—” Noah starts, then stops. He takes a breath. “You don’t have to kiss me or anything. Just laugh at my jokes. Talk to me. Pretend I’m funny and interesting.”
“Pretend?” A small smirk tugs at my mouth. “You think you’re not funny or interesting?”
Noah blinks at me, uncertain whether I’m serious or just teasing him. “I mean, I’m okay. Sometimes. Anyway, just don’t overdo it. If you act too impressed, it’ll look suspicious. We need believable.”
That does it. I bite down a smile and say, “I’ll aim for believable.”
We drive in silence for another stretch. The highway runs straight ahead, fields on either side shifting from early-spring yellow into deeper green. A hawk circles overhead, barely moving its wings.