Page 26 of The Guy Next Door
At least there are some things I can still be transparent about.
“Especially with your childhood together, I can understand why you would feel that way. It was only the two of you with your father.”
I flash back to a moment with Dad, his eyes wide in that way that made me uncomfortable as he adjusted a gun in my hand.“You did better that time. Now again. Come on. Only two kinds of men in the world: those who know guns and those who don’t.”
“Dad, you’re scaring me.”
“You need to be scared, Zane. It’s the only thing that’ll keep you alive in this messed-up world. I might not always be around to protect you guys, so I need you to be my strong one.”
But I don’t want to be strong.
I tense up.
“Can we not talk about that?”
“We’ve discussed this before. Is there a reason you’re uncomfortable with it today?”
“I just don’t want to go there.”
Jesse never pushes. I’ve seen enough therapists to know it’s her job to only talk about shit I feel like talking about, but damn, she sure knows how to pick at a tender wound.
After we finish our session, I get some shut-eye.
I’m in and out through Leif’s morning routine. I’m lucky he’s mostly a homebody—aside from trips to the store, the gym, or around the neighborhood or the park for a jog. Today he doesn’t get out of the house until four in the afternoon, when I tail him to Kroger. I keep at the far end of the parking lot, and I have no doubt he’s seen me already. I’m sure he’s noticed me whenever he’s run an errand after I told him what I was up to, but he hasn’t called the cops on me, so maybe it’s ridiculous to assume that Detective Roth disclosed all my dirty secrets.
Or maybe she’s got people tailing me right now?
Am I being paranoid?
Maybe these meds aren’t working.
No, stop it! It’s not my fault. It’s how Dad trained Mike and me—that’s what Jesse’d say.
When he’s finished shopping, I tail him back to his place, but when we get to his house, he pulls into my driveway, parking by the garage doors.
The hell?
I pull in beside him, and as we get out of our cars, he heads to his trunk. “Will you give me a hand with these?”
I stand there, watching him as he pops the trunk and collects his recyclable bags from the back.
“Or are you gonna make me do it myself?” he asks.
I join him, grabbing a few bags, noticing a rather eclectic combination of meats, veggies, and cheeses.
“What is all this for?”
“Oh, some of it is stuff I picked up while I was at the store. We only need some of it.”
“For?”
“You said you liked pizza, so I was gonna make one for dinner.”
My jaw drops, and a sound escapes like I meant to say something, but I’m speechless, so I obey his orders and help him get the groceries inside.
Like the first time he came over, he makes himself at home, storing some bags in the fridge and others on the counter. While he’s searching through my drawers, I ask, “What do you need me to do?”
He pulls a cheese grater from the drawer. “Here we go. Grate the mozzarella. I already made the dough, sauce, and some chicken earlier. I’ll get the spinach ready and then swing by my place and grab those.”