SIX
Kieran pulled into the driveway, and the house felt familiar again in that quiet, reassuring way. Same angle of light. Same faint salt in the air. Same neighbor wind chime with its tiny, judgmental song.
The dogs launched out of the car like they’d been gone for weeks instead of two days.
“Okay, okay—easy,” Kieran said, wrangling leashes and doors and enthusiasm. He ushered them into the backyard, watched them take off at full speed, then headed inside with one clear priority.
A shower. Immediately.
He dropped his bag in the hallway. Kicked off his shoes. Peeled off his clothes as he walked, leaving a trail for some more responsible future version of himself to deal with.
He was halfway to the bathroom when the dogs started barking.
Not the someone is dying bark.
The we have discovered something that now belongs to us bark.
Kieran sighed. Naked and resigned, he turned back toward the yard.
“Hold on,” he called. “I’m coming.”
He slid the back door open just as Hank skidded to a stop in front of him, tail high, eyes wild, mouth proudly clamped around a bright pink plastic toy.
“Oh no,” Kieran said instantly. “Absolutely not.”
Hank took off. Straight across the yard.
“Hank!” Kieran hissed, lunging forward on instinct. “Drop it. That’s not yours.”
Hank zigzagged like he was being chased by the law, toy squeaking triumphantly between his teeth. Mabel joined in for moral support, barking with the pure conviction that this was the best game anyone had ever invented.
Kieran chased after him, bare feet slapping against the grass, arms outstretched, dignity already a lost cause.
“Hank, drop it!” Kieran said, lunging after him. “You are too old for this shit!”
That’s when he heard it.
Laughter.
High, unfiltered, delighted laughter, the kind that only came from someone who had zero concept of consequences. It floated over the fence easily, followed by the patter of small feet and a babbling voice that was definitely a child.
Kieran froze mid-step.
Hank did not.
The dog veered straight for the fence, presenting his stolen prize with triumphant pride, tail wagging hard enough to throw off his balance.
“Oh my god,” Kieran whispered.
A voice rose on the other side of the fence—warm, amused, distracted.
“Alright,” Rory said. “Where did it…?”
Another object sailed over the fence.
A second toy. A doll.
Hank abandoned the first one and immediately upgraded.
Kieran groaned, sprinting after him.
“Hank, stop! That is a baby! You stole a baby!”
And that was the exact moment Rory’s head popped up over the fence.
He was clearly in assessment mode, eyes scanning the yard, ready to negotiate, retrieve, de-escalate.
Instead, he locked eyes with Kieran.
Who was standing in the middle of his backyard.
Completely naked.
Mid-chase.
Arms out.
Dick out.
Rory blinked.
Kieran blinked.
Hank stopped between them, tail wagging with obscene pride.
Somewhere behind Rory, the toddler shrieked with laughter, thrilled by the chaos she had caused.
“Oh,” Rory said finally. “Wow.”
Kieran’s brain rebooted.
“Hello,” he replied, because apparently that was the most appropriate word for this moment.
Rory’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “I was just…she tossed her toys.”
“Yes,” Kieran said quickly. “I can see that now.”
Hank dropped the toy at Kieran’s feet like a peace offering.
He bent to grab it, forgetting he was naked, and then stood back up too fast.
Rory cleared his throat. “I’ll look away.”
“That would be great,” Kieran said. “For everyone involved.”
Rory turned around instantly, hands up. “I swear I wasn’t trying to see your whole…situation.”
“Fantastic,” Kieran said, grabbing the toy and holding it like it was a legal document. “Because this is not how I normally enjoy a backyard.”
Behind Rory, the toddler laughed again, delighted.
Rory glanced over his shoulder, still facing away. “She thinks this is the best thing that’s happened all day.”
Hank barked.
Kieran sighed. “He will be riding this high for weeks.”
Rory laughed, and it did something deeply inconvenient to Kieran.
“Sorry,” Rory said. “Clearly she’s a bad influence.”
“It’s fine,” Kieran said. “I usually greet neighbors fully clothed, but I like to keep things unpredictable, apparently.”
Rory shook his head, still smiling. “You’ve definitely made an impression.”
“Mission accomplished,” Kieran said.
Rory reached back over the fence, accepting the toy without turning around. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to return this to its rightful owner and pretend this entire sequence of events did not happen.”
“That sounds great. Healthy neighbor boundaries,” Kieran said.
Rory paused, then glanced back long enough to smirk. “For what it’s worth…you run fast.”
Kieran groaned. “Please leave.”
Rory disappeared back into his yard as the dogs barreled inside like nothing extraordinary had occurred.
Kieran stood there naked, breathless, and quite aware that whatever he thought he knew about his neighbor Rory Kline had shifted.
Shower. Now. Then memory wipe, if possible.
Next door, the toddler laughed again—utterly pleased with herself.
And Hank wagged his tail like a criminal who had no regrets.
The water went from hot to punishing in under ten seconds.
Kieran cranked the handle until it bordered on aggressive, steam already blooming against the tile, erasing evidence. He stepped under it without hesitation, gasping when it hit his shoulders, welcoming the sting.
The water poured down his back, over his neck, his hair plastering to his face. He braced his hands against the wall and let his head drop forward, breathing through the heat with grim, clinical focus.
The fence. Rory’s face. The pause. The look.
“Oh my god,” Kieran muttered aloud, voice swallowed by the spray.
Why had he chased the dog. Why hadn’t he grabbed a towel. Why did his life insist on staging moments like this with an audience.
His brain, unhelpful and thorough, began inventory.
Was that indecent exposure?
Technically, it was his yard.
But also, fences are porous concepts.
Did Rory see everything?
Did he glance? Did he assess?
“Nope,” Kieran said sharply, scrubbing shampoo into his hair like it had personally betrayed him. “We are not doing this.”
He thought about Rory’s expression—not shocked or offended. More surprised. Amused.
Kieran leaned his forehead against the tile. He imagined every possible retelling…
Rory telling a friend, “So yeah, my neighbor sprinted buck ass naked across his yard like a Greek tragedy.”
Rory telling no one but remembering forever.
Rory never thinking about it again, which somehow made it worse.
The toddler’s laughter replayed in his head and he groaned, sliding his hands down his face.
“Jesus,” he whispered. “There was a child. A literal child.”
Even though he rationally knew that he hadn’t been anywhere near her, hadn’t exposed himself intentionally, hadn’t done anything illegal or malicious or remotely planned, his brain refused to let logic in the room.
The water kept coming, relentless.
He straightened suddenly, panic flaring.
What if Rory thought…what if this changed everything?
Kieran laughed once, sharp and breathless, tipping his head back into the spray.
“Changed what?” he shouted to himself. “This isn’t anything.”
He dragged his hands down his arms, grounding himself in sensation that wasn’t memory. Heat. Water. Here. Now.
Eventually, the spiral burned itself out—not because it resolved, but because it exhausted him.
Kieran shut the water off and let the steam curl around him, pulse still loud in his ears but slower now.
“Well,” he said quietly, reaching for a towel. “That was humbling.”
He wrapped it around his waist, armored by terry cloth and shame.
There was nothing Kieran needed more than a goddamn nap.