Page 52 of The Guy Next Door
“Hey,” I say, approaching him and resting my hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me.”
He looks at my hand on him, and then his gaze meets mine again, though it’s warmer now. His shoulders relax like he’s letting his guard down a bit. But this whole thing leaves me wondering what the hell could have changed so much in the past few days.
The tension in me intensifies, and as much as I worry about his mental health, there’s another fear I can’t shake, and it’s something that’s easier to discuss, so I just say it. “Is it last week? Do you regret it? That would explain why you haven’t texted as much. That’s probably why you didn’t want me to come over today.”
Fuck.
“I’m sorry,” I add. “I shouldn’t have asked you to show me that. It was inappropriate, and…” The next words are hard to force out, but I somehow manage. “We don’t have to do anything like that again, if it’s made you uneasy.”
He chuckles. Is he relieved I said it so he didn’t have to? “You think that’s what’s on my mind?”
Okay, maybe I’m totally wrong, then.
“Leif, the only way I would regret any of that is ifyouregretted it, so I want you to get that out of your pretty head.” He flicks his thumb through my bangs. “Why didn’t you wear a beanie tonight? It’s cold out.”
“You don’t deserve the beanie,” I tease.
“Now you’re just being mean.”
His gaze meets mine again, but briefly.
I can tell something’s still bothering him, but at least this exchange assures me it’s not about what we’ve done together, which on the one hand is a relief, but on the other, concerns me that it could be much worse.
He inspects my mouth like he’s about to lurch forward and take it.
I’m tempted to take his, when he whispers, “Can I show you something?”
“Of course.”
“Just…please don’t be weird about it.”
I rub my thumb along the fabric of his sweater. “Zane, don’t you get by now that you can trust me?”
He turns his head subtly either way, his gaze shifting as though he’s still debating if he should even show me whatever the hell it is. Then he closes his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters as he retrieves his phone from his back pocket.
“You mentioned the Chelsby Hill Public Library the other day, and I haven’t been able to let it go. So on Monday, when I told you I was gonna run some errands, I actually went there. I didn’t even know what I was looking for, and then I saw…”
He shows me a photo of a man. It’s an average-looking guy in his late thirties or early forties. Dark-brown hair. Wearing a button-down shirt, sporting a friendly smile for the camera.
“This face ring any bells?”
I shake my head. “Why? Should I know him?”
“He was at the library when I went on Monday.”
“I’m not following. A lot of people go to that library.”
He huffs like he doesn’t want to tell me whatever he’s thinking, but then he says, “He was the teacher Mike met up with. The one I tried to frame to get Roth to look into.”
I turn back to the image, almost wishing I could place it from somewhere to give Zane what he seems to need to hear. Of course, I can’t do that. I have to be honest. As I open my mouth to assure him I don’t know this man, he cuts me off, “Please, pretend I didn’t ask.”
He shoves his phone back into his pocket.
Nearly as quickly as he’d let his guard down, his jaw clenches and he looks mad enough to start pounding his fist into the wall.
Now he really won’t look me in the eyes.
I want to soothe him. Want to chase away whatever worry he has. “Zane,” I say, moving closer to him. “Please talk to me about this.”