Chapter 21
Sydney
Dragging my weary body into the house, I flop onto the couch and lean my head back. Why was I so tired?
It hadn’t been a particularly trying day. I only had two surgical cases, and they were completely uneventful. I wasn’t on call today. My clinic patients weren’t late or overly demanding.
The sensation of my skin crawling as if eyes were back on me had returned when consulting on a patient in the emergency room. But no matter where I looked, I couldn’t find anything or anyone to explain it.
I’d finally shaken the feeling, stopping by the cafeteria to pick up my usual salad for lunch before returning to our office. Once there, I couldn’t ignore the boisterous commotion. Everyone was so animated and exuberant.
Another nurse had announced she was pregnant.
Why is this niggling at me? It’s not something that’s kept me awake at night. It isn’t like I’d been suffering through infertility like so many women.
I’d honestly not considered having children a big priority. Sure, it could be the lackluster relationship I had with my own parents. Or the fact my career might have a negative impact on my son or daughter. Yet, I have to face it. I’m in my mid-thirties. If I want to conceive a child, the time is quickly ticking away.
But how could I do this alone? Use a sperm donor? And if I was able to conceive, I’d likely have to hire an au pair or live-in nanny given the restraints of my job. Is that really what I want? To share my home and my child with a stranger?
Would I want a child without Matteo?
Because I can’t imagine having a baby without him. While we didn’t have serious conversations about having children, I never doubted he’d be a great father if it should happen. He was so supportive and loving. The way he’d dote on me after a long day at work, even though his was likely just as grueling.
But if my relationship with my parents is strained, it had nothing on Matteo’s relationship with his family. There were so many things I didn’t know. It had to be complicated or possibly even painful if the three of them had to move from their home in Italy to the states for a “fresh start.” It never seemed like a good time to push for more information, knowing I could be trudging up bitter memories.
So as heartbreaking as it might be, I have to acknowledge it once and for all. Much like my marriage to Matteo, this is simply one more dream I need to let go of.
Getting up, I make my way to the kitchen. As I reach to open the refrigerator door, I notice the crystal vase sitting beside it. I’d meant to grab some flowers at the market on the way home. To brighten up this depressing space.
Looking around, I practically stomp my foot for letting myself wallow. Enough is enough. I storm over to my front windows and pull the drapes open before moving to the back of the house and repeating the action. Room to room I go, letting in what’s left of the day’s sunlight.
For years, we’d lived shrouded in darkness. I assumed it was because we started the day early and so Matteo wanted to wind down early. He was also an amorous lover. It was not uncommon many nights after work for us to have sex in the main rooms of the house. Gah. Don’t reminisce about that too long or you will be depressed.
Yet misery has settled into our home, as if it’s a paying tenant. While the drawn curtains were just a product of my life before Matteo left, it now feels akin to seasonal affective disorder. The darker winter months often sapping one’s energy, causing moodiness and decreased interest in the things that once brought joy. There’s a reason this resolves in the spring. Because the light comes flooding back in, bringing the arid soil back to life.
So that’s what I need. Flowers and light. Maybe that’ll allow me to focus on my bucket list. The things I want to look forward to versus all the things I’ve lost.
Reaching for my phone, I find an upbeat playlist and connect to the Bluetooth speaker in my kitchen. No sad or melancholy songs allowed.
Heading to the shower, I make quick work of washing off the negativity of the day. “Baby One More Time,” the Kung Fu Panda version by Tenacious D, begins to play, and I break out in a fit of giggles as I dance within the tile walls. Jack Black never fails to crack me up.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve dried off, run a towel through my hair, put on a little light blue satin shorts and camisole set, and gathered a light plate of random items for dinner. I’m flouncing around my kitchen and living room with a glass of wine in my hand, nibbling on fruit, olives, and cheese, when I curiously notice a distant light bouncing around in my backyard.
What is that?
My feet are frozen to the floor, the kitchen island between me and the sliding glass door. Placing my drink down, I reach for my phone and pause the music. I can’t hear it over the pulse whooshing in my ears, anyway.
Then the light comes closer. And closer. Shit, what do I do?
I don’t own a weapon of any kind. Oh, hold up. I dash to the closet and grab the baseball bat Matteo had bought for his nephew’s birthday years before. The one he never gave him because he left like a thief in the night, apparently forgetting it was there. Never mind that now, Sydney. You have more important things to focus on than—
Bang, bang, bang.
“Ahhhhh!” I don’t know which is scarier. The menacing pounding on my glass door by a stranger, or the startling sound of the scream tearing through my lips. Do I hide behind the closet door? I mean, it’s unlikely he missed seeing me with the curtains open and all of the lights on.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Holy shit.” Grasping the bat in a death grip, I slowly walk to the back door, my body shaking in fear. Wait. Should I call the police? Running over to grab my phone, my body begins to tremble more violently as I hold my cell precariously in one hand, the bat in the other.
The closer I get to the glass door, the brighter the light shines, backed by nightfall. As the man’s face comes into view, I discover it’s my freaky neighbor. Heck, I don’t even know his name. Cracking open the sliding glass door, I tilt my head at the spectacle in front of me. The large, stocky man with his pith helmet blinding me is holding a big white ball of fur.
“Hi,” I stammer in an uncomfortable greeting, my hand tightly wrapped around the bat by my side.
“I like your pussy.”
My eyes spring wide, and I instinctively take a step back. Um, what the?
His words are thick with a European accent. It’s the first time I’ve actually heard this man speak after all of the years he’s lived next door. I had to have misheard him.
“I’m sorry?”
He lifts the armful of white fluff. “Your cat. In my yard.” He leans to the side as if he’s attempting to look around me into the house. “Your husband not home?”
Alarm bells are clanging loudly in my head. “Oh, he’s in the other room,” I blurt. Had he not noticed Matteo’s car hasn’t been parked in our driveway in years?
“Oh. I normally see his car on the street. But not today.”
What? This guy really isn’t making any sense. I need to find a way to get him to leave. “We don’t have a cat. But I’ll ask my husband if he’s seen it before.”
He continues to stare blankly at me, but I’m feeling more than a little vulnerable standing here in front of this man in my skimpy pajamas. “Good luck finding the owner,” I add, quickly pulling the door closed, flipping the lock, and pulling the drapes shut. Sure, it might be rude, but nothing about this encounter seems normal.
My legs wobble under the weight of my tremulous gait. What the hell just happened? Rubbing my hands up and down my arms, I can’t seem to stop the quivering. That really rattled my cage. I might need to return to the bathroom to take a long soak in the tub to calm my nerves.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Ahhhhh!” Holy crap. If I make it through this night without having a stroke, it’ll be a miracle. Now he’s at the other door. I timidly move in that direction, squeezing the bat tighter. Had he come around here to try again?
Peering through the peephole, my mouth drops open when I find Matteo standing there. He’s dressed head to toe in black, his face awash with either anger or concern. He’s so broody, it’s difficult to tell. But I admit, sometimes it’s hard to make out anything through the instant lust that often clouds my vision.
He storms past me as I open the door. Unable to help myself, I step out onto the porch and look around for his car. There’s a black Cadillac Escalade parked down the street. But I assume Matteo’s car is parked in the drive. He often drove home a different car each night from the shop. I always thought it was his way of test driving them. Not sure how anyone would know which is his. My goofy neighbor doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Does he?
“What are you doing here?”
Matteo doesn’t answer at first. I realize he’s too busy taking inventory of my attire.
“Hey, maniac.” I snap my fingers up near his face. “Up here.” Wagging my fingers back and forth between us, I use the tips to point to my eyes. “Have you been following me?”
“What?” he snaps. “Why would you say that?”
“Hmm, let’s see. You storm into my date.”
“At the steak place?”
“Yes!” Crossing my arms over my chest, I roll my eyes. “You just happen to be at The Zone both times I’m there.”
I’m here, because you’re here.
“Coincidence.”
“Sure it is. Cut the crap, Matteo. The neighbor told me he’s seen your car outside the house.” He flinches. It’s nearly imperceptible, but I caught it.
“So, you’ve gotten cozy with Josef?” he growls.
“Josef? You know his name?”
“Yes, I know his name.” He practically snarls. “You don’t think I’d look into who’s living next to my wife?”
I drop my head back in frustration. “Lord, that again.”
Matteo walks over to the front windows, pulling the drapes closed.
“Hey!” I snap, outraged. “In case you forgot, you don’t live here anymore. You can leave now.” It’s a lot of bravado, and I know it. Yet, I hope it’s lost on him. I’ve never been so grateful to have him come waltzing in my door after my neighbor’s unwelcome visit.
But having him standing here in the place we made a home together is already tearing at my heart. I should be pissed at his presence. The audacity to stomp past me like he still lives here. So why am I pining for this arrogant, heartless asshole right now? God, I just want to feel his arms around me after that weird interaction with Josef.
“It’s late. You don’t need everyone who walks or drives by to see you in your sexy underwear.”
Sexy underwear? Gah, get a grip, Syd.
My eyes connect with his, a crackle of electricity swirling in the air between us. The feeling is almost palpable.
Matteo steps forward, grasping my wrists, pinning my hands against the wall above my head. Then he’s on me, pressing his body into mine, covering my mouth with his. His tongue sweeps over my lips before darting in between, rolling with mine. Instead of being infuriated by his presence here, my body is a brazen hussy groaning into his mouth.
He pushes his pelvis into me, his hard length noticeable against my stomach. I’m too tired and lonely to fight this. How could anyone fight this? I’m so tired of questioning every motive. Lonely because my heart and body, it seems, only want him. Why am I letting this man back into my life after all he’s done? His mouth skates down my neck, and the rational part of my mind short circuits.
Uhhh! This man fries my brain, that’s why.
Through my fog of lust, I’m second guessing everything. Losing hope in my ability to have a normal relationship. Is this all I’m meant for? Because I’m a strong, bright, independent woman. So why am I falling like a house of cards for this man? Because if nothing changes, I’m certain he’ll sabotage any attempt at a second chance.
It’s only physical, I remind myself . Get your needs met and don’t look back, you dirty hoe. Besides, it’s the least he can do after everything he’s put you through. Give you one night of passion after all these years.
Yet moments of clarity sneak through the mental mist, trying to keep me from going under. Neither of us has been drinking this time. There’s nothing to cloud our judgment. Well, except the undeniable spark that coils between us whenever we’re together.
The feel of his body on mine is setting my core aflame. I should stop this. I need to stop this.
Fine. Go ahead and break my heart.
Because, God help me, I don’t want to stop.