“Alright,” Darren says slowly, like he’s deciding if he should say more. But he doesn’t. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
Then I pull the phone away from my ear and hang up before he can say he loves me.
I already know it’s true. I just can’t hear it right now.
Not as I sit here, slowly getting fucked up just to make it through the day, while he’s left circling around my silence, trying not to spook it.
I don’t deserve unwavering love and support, or the space he keeps making for me to land in when I don’t even know how to show up.
With a deep sigh, I close my eyes and squeeze them shut, focusing on the pressure building behind my eyelids, the pull of tight muscles, and the sharp edge of tension I wish would tip into something real. I squeeze harder, willing it to hurt, like the pain might crack something open.
But nothing happens.
Another slow, empty breath leaves me before I open my eyes and drain what’s left in my glass.
Then I reach forward and pour another.
Guess I’ll be hungover tomorrow after all.
But before I can even take the first sip, there’s a knock at the door.
Fuck’s sake…
If this is my crazy fucking neighbour again, bitching about that useless bush on the property line, I swear to fuckinggod, I’m going to lose it.
I take a long drink, set the glass down with a hard clink, and head for the door, ready to rip this asshole a new one. It’s a fucking bush. Trim it. Rip it out. Set it on fire for all I care.
But when I whip the door open, it’s not my neighbour.
It’s Alder.
He tilts his head slightly, curiosity flickering across his face as he takes in whatever expression I’m wearing—a mix of anger, confusion, and something else I don’t have a name for.
But he just nods and glances down the street. “Nice neighbourhood.”
Then he steps inside, slipping past me like he’s been here a hundred times before.
I close the door slowly and watch him cross the living room, his gaze moving casually over the space as he takes everything in. He stops in front of the coffee table as his eyes land on the whiskey bottle and my glass, then looks up at me and cocks an eyebrow.
But I just stare back at him.
I should be wondering how he found out where I live and why he’s here… but I don’t even care. However, Iwillcare if he has anything to say about me drinking on a late fucking Saturday afternoon in my own home that he waltzed into unannounced.
“Going to offer me one?” he asks simply.
My gaze stays locked on his for a moment longer, almost like I don’t have a choice. There’s a quiet but charged spark behind his eyes, and his presence in my home is somehow both settling and disruptive.
I don’t know how or why he keeps slipping past the mechanisms I’ve built to keep people out… but I do know I’m not stopping him.
So I head into the kitchen and grab another glass. He watches me the whole way, quiet intensity radiating off him as I hold it out for him.
He takes it with a dark smile and doesn’t look away from me as he pours himself a drink. I raise my glass and take a long pull while he does the same.
And he doesn’t say a word. He just watches me… waiting for me to ask the question we both know is sitting between us.
Why are you here?
