Chapter 4 #2
I’ve felt guilty from the second she believed I was Luca. All last night while we talked. Flirted. When she cried out his goddamn name and not mine. Guilt. It’s certainly not new for me. It’s my closest companion and darkest nemesis.
But this sort of guilt is different than my norm.
Because last night when I was with her, I wasn’t a single dad, heartbroken and ruined and so miserable with everything, I can hardly stand my reflection. I wasn’t quite Luca either, but I was certainly more carefree than I can remember being since Reese died.
Elle was fun and beautiful and fuck, she felt so good.
Could tonight have gone any worse?
But I’d rather have lied to Elle about my name than have had Stella find out what I was up to.
“I’m not a baby, you know,” Stella interjects, snapping me out of my reverie.
“I know you’re not.” I cross the kitchen, dropping my elbows onto the counter beside her. “If anything, it’s because I worry about you spending so much time alone.”
“The kids in my school are lame.”
I grin. “I know, but maybe you’ll find a group this year.”
“Doubt it. Highly doubt it.”
“You need females to talk to about stuff, and I’m not very good at being a woman.”
Stella laughs at my lame dad joke as I knew she would, dropping her temple onto my shoulder. “I have Grandma and Aunt Rina for that stuff. And now Layla and Amelia too.”
But you don’t have a mom. And that’s my fault.
“I’m going to bed,” she announces just as a yawn slips past her lips.
It’s Saturday night. She spent her Friday night with her uncle and tonight at home reading.
As much as I hate to admit it, at thirteen, she should be out more.
Going to the mall or having sleepover parties with friends.
She has Layla, but Layla is a year older and in high school.
Stella is in eighth grade.
Part of me wonders if my permanent bad temper and universal dismay for the world is rubbing off on her.
She gets up, shutting off the kitchen lights, and I follow her, my glass of water in hand.
Gulliver trails along, the click of his nails on the floors filling the silent dark house as we ascend the stairs. “Night, Bellas. Love you.” I kiss the top of Stella’s head as we reach her door.
“Night, Dad. Love you.”
My baby. Some days, she’s all that keeps me going. My perfect girl. I just wish I could make it easier for her. All of it. The missing half of her soul where her mother should be.
Gulliver enters her room right on her heels, having taken to sleeping at the foot of her bed. “Watch over our girl,” I tell him just as Stella closes the door in my face, giving me the teenage eye roll I’ve come to expect from her right before she does.
I head straight for my bedroom at the end of the hall.
Setting my glass on my nightstand, I flop down on my bed only to sit straight back up when my neighbor’s bedroom light flicks on, casting a yellow shadow across my floor.
How could I have forgotten her bedroom window faces mine?
I groan, wishing our houses weren’t as close as they are. Big houses built on long, narrow lots.
Typically there’s a tree separating us, but this time of year, the leaves are falling, and her light shines directly into my room from a mere thirty feet away.
Flashes of her on her back, her panties and bras strewn about, flicker unabatingly through my head. Then it morphs. Me on my knees, her heeled foot dangling over my shoulder as I tasted her.
Shit. I run a hand through my hair, clenching the back of my neck in a tight squeeze. I need to get a grip and fast. I force myself up and off my bed, brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed, toeing off my jeans and throwing my long-sleeved shirt in the direction of the closet.
Her light is out by the time I draw back the sheets and slip into the comfort of my cool bed.
But in the darkness that surrounds me, everything is amplified.
Which is probably why I can hear her crying.
Even a house away.
Jesus. She’s crying . Did I do that?
No. I don’t have that sort of power. Do I?
Climbing back out of bed, I drift over to my open window, pressing my fingers against the screen, unable to stop myself from listening to her even though I know it’s wrong.
My head falls against the mesh before I can stop it.
The wire crossbar pattern digs into my skin.
It’s cool tonight, but not cold. Pleasant, and it seems I’m not the only one who likes to sleep with their window open.
Gasping sobs climb their way out of her house, carrying on the breeze into mine. They’re suffocatingly beautiful. Achingly sweet. Painfully exquisite.
They breach my divide and enter me. Burrowing into places I wish she didn’t have access to. I saw her heartache last night. Watched her frown. It disturbed me then, and it disturbs me now. Is this about her ex or something else? And why do I want to know so bad?
What is it about her?
A woman I barely know.
I close my eyes and draw in a deep, shuddering breath.
Her sobs pull at me. Find the dark spot I’ve systematically shut down over the years.
I don’t want to feel what she’s feeling, but I can’t force myself to walk away either.
That sweet, bubbly, beautiful woman who is all sunshine, honesty, and dry humor is drowning in sadness.
Is her world as ugly as mine? I hope not. Then I think of Stella, and a reluctant smile curves up the edges of my lips. My bright light. My sun.
My hand comes up to my chest, rubbing the tight spot the sound of Elle’s tears elicits.
And even though this feels wrong, like I should shut my window and give her the privacy she thinks she has, I can’t.
Because I know that pain. I understand the tortured thoughts that accompany it.
They’ve become my most intimate friends.
That crying is heartbreak.
It’s, I don’t know how I found myself here and I’m scared. It’s, will my life ever be right again? It’s tragedy in its most intrusive form.
A jagged knife slices me directly through the heart.
And for just a few moments, I allow myself to bleed with her.
But once those few minutes are up, I close my window, lock it up, and get back in bed.
Setting my mind straight. I have no space for someone like her in my life. No desire for it either.
So she can go right along hating me.
I’ll make sure of it.