Page 2 of The Guy Next Door
“I was on a jog when you called earlier. Then I swung by the store to pick up some beef for stroganoff tonight. And now I have some meals planned for the week.”
“Please, Leif, don’t tell me about the delicious meals I’m missing. I don’t need any more reasons to miss being home right now.”
I chuckle, though I can hear the sincere exhaustion and pain behind her words.
“Speaking of…how is my dear grandma doing?” I notice one of my reusable bags slipped to the back of the trunk, so I have to really get in there for it.
“Oh, the usual,” Mom replies.
A.k.a. insults, demands, and just plain cruelty.
A little over a month ago, Grandma was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. In most families, this is when everyone would eagerly join together to aid their fallen loved one. We don’t have that kind of relationship with Linda, who I’m confident is a sociopath. And even with Mom’s boundaries, being the compassionate woman she is, she wasn’t about to let Linda go through this alone—not to mention helping her sister deal with their mother—even if it meant enduring Linda at her worst.
“You’d think she’d be appreciative that her daughter and son-in-law flew out to Indiana to help out,” I say, unable to disguise my irritation.
As I lean into the trunk to grab the bag in the back, my elbow hits one of the overstuffed bags near the edge, and a can tumbles out, thumping as it hits the driveaway. “Great. Dropped the tomato sauce.”
I’m determined to finish what I started, so I grab the bag, pull it out, and collect the others.
“I can call you back when you get the groceries in,” Mom says.
“Are you kidding? If we do that, I might not get ahold of you for another five hours.”
She laughs, and as I turn to find the fallen can, I don’t see it where I heard it drop, so I check down the driveway.
“Weird,” I mutter.
I start looking around when—
“Jesus,” I say, freezing in place.
A guy is standing beside me, his face inches from mine.
I recognize that pale face.
The dirty-blond hair.
That black hoodie.
Goose bumps prick across my flesh as the hairs on my neck stand on end. The surprise has activated a primal response within me—heart racing, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I’m not even breathing.
He must’ve gotten home right after me.
I wait for him to do or say something, but he just stands there, staring with these intense, steel-blue eyes.
Even though he’s half a foot shorter than me, there’s something frightening about the way he stares, as if he’s putting a curse on me with a look.
“Leif?” Mom asks. “Am I back in the car?”
The guy moves his hand, and I pull away before I notice the can of tomato sauce he’s holding out to me.
Oh, fuck.
Catching my breath, I say, “Sorry. You surprised me.”
“Leif, what are you talking about?”