He shudders, and so do I. Being the eldest, we’re the ones Father worked the most on. Communication isn’t a strong suit for either of us.
“I attempted to, but he wouldn’t answer me.”
“See, this is why I hate relationships. So much fucking work and stress.”
“It’s not a relationship. It’s just…a thing between two consenting adults.”
He kicks at my feet, and I step on his toes.
“You admitted to liking him. Coming from you, that’s practically a love declaration. Face it. It’s a relationship.”
“It’s not,” I say, feeling my heart constrict. “I do like him, it’s just…I’m confused.”
“Join the club,” he says as I hand the whiskey back to him. He takes several long pulls and then staggers to his feet. “I swear I’m confused most days, and I’m not interested in anyone. I’ll be fucked if someone actually captures my attention.”
I cock my head. “Do you think that might happen? It’s not as fun as it sounds.”
“Fuck knows. Maybe you should try to dance it off. Makes me feel better.”
I shake my head, feeling slightly tipsy from the encounter. “I don’t dance.”
“That’s what I said, and look at me now.” He turns the music up, and the beat thumps around me. It’s far too loud, and if I could stand it, I’d stay and watch Samson make a fool of himself, but there’s no way I can put up with it for long. Besides, he doesn’t allow me the pleasure. He shoves me out the door and closes it, leaving me to stand in the fresh air, trying to screw my head on straight.
There’s no point worrying about what Samson said, what he implied about Neo and me. No, it’s more important that I get to the bottom of what happened to make Neo so cold and distant. And then I can get to work on fixing it.
14
WYLDER
Neo doesn’t want to talk. Whenever I try, he refuses to answer me. He ignores me or sometimes just places his hands over his ears so he can’t hear me.
I fucking hate it. Hate that he won’t just tell me what’s wrong. I want to communicate like adults, but he’s not letting me. I hate that I’ve come to enjoy the little things he does for me during the day. The coffees. The food. Reminders to take breaks. Taking over when he can see I’m getting too stressed.
Now that he doesn’t do them anymore, I notice.
I fucking notice.
The only thing that changes over the next week is Neo’s mood. With every day that passes, it grows darker. His smiles become rarer. It’s like he’s drawing in on himself, closing the door on the sunlight within him and refusing to let it shine.
I don’t like it.
I can’t stand it.
He even pretends I didn’t ask him to pass the mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving dinner. He just leans over and gives them to Harley, like I don’t exist.
It’s the worst holiday I’ve ever celebrated. Which, growing up with a father like mine, is saying something.
After yet another day of monosyllabic answers, sad glances, and far too many feet between us, I’m at my wit’s end. I have to do something. Neo’s unhappy. He’sunhappy.
I won’t allow it.
I need to become a sleuth. A Sherlock. Never did like that guy. He was far too slow, too bogged down by details.
I rub my eyes.
Maybe I do need to be that loathsome detective.
Fuck.
