Life Next Door (Love Not Included Series Book 2) (14 page)

The whole way home, I jam out to my old Prince CD because, let’s face it, it never loses its luster.

My throat is sore by the time I make it home. I pull into the driveway and see Trent’s Jeep parked in his driveway. I jump out and run inside my house.

“Trent?” I call his name in my most theatrical voice.

I am met with silence in return. Boo. “Trent?” I try again, and still nothing. Where is that hunk of love? Elvis pun totally intended.

He has to be next door. Without even putting any thought to it, I head next door, go straight up the steps and open the door. I don’t even hesitate as I walk into the house. Things are looking up!

“Trent?” I call out. Maybe he is in the shower and I can surprise him with a little washy washy on his wanky wanky. I’m too funny for my own good. My brilliant ideas are endless.

I walk past the kitchen and there he is, standing there, looking at me like a deer in headlights. “Hey, I was calling you. I got the greatest news toda—”

 “What the hell is she doing here?!”

In my excitement to find Trent, I fail to pay attention to my surroundings and miss the other person in the room. The one and only she-devil.

“You just let her walk in the house like that?”

My elated mood and playful spirit take a nosedive at the sight of her.

“Cassie, watch it.”

Cassie? Who’s Cassie?”

“What, T? I’m sorry, but I don’t appreciate Bitter Betty over here just walking into my house. I swear, she is paying me for all the damages she’s caused to it.”

“Cass, I’m warning you,” Trent growls out.

“Don’t tell me you’re sticking up for her?” She pulls her eyes away from Trent to stare me down. She goes back and forth from my shocked face to Trent’s distressed expression.

Putting the pieces together, she suddenly stops at Trent and the questioning sneer leaves her mouth. “You’re kidding me. Are you sleeping with her?”

“Cassie, I said knock it off. That shit ain’t any of your business,” Trent shoots back, his jaw clenching.

“Any of my business?” she screeches. “This bitch has been giving me a run for my money ever since Jeff and I got together. She has been nothing but a dull fish to her ex for years. Trapping him in a loveless marriage. Now she is all bitter because he finally got out and found someone who he actually loves. May I also remind you that she keeps vandalizing my house?!” She ends that on a scoff, jerking her head at me.

The color is draining completely from my face. I am in utter shock. Jeff’s version of why we weren’t working out. Putting me in the guilty seat. Her being the victim! Her horrible words are ringing in my ear. Her translation of how our whole drama played out is sucking the battle right out of me.

“Cassie, I said shut the fuck up. If you say one more word, I swear to God—”

“T, you don’t know how horrible she was to me and Jeff. You don’t know what I went through dealing with her shit. You’re supposed to be on my side with this, you’re my brother. You need to be standing beside me in this,” she finishes.

This is when things get blurry for me. I think she just called him her brother. I look at him, mortified. “She’s your sister?” I choke out on a whisper.

“Ce…”

I put my hand up for him to stay where he is. This is simply not happening right now.

“Aw, how cute, you guys have nicknames for each other?”

Trent takes a warning step toward his sister. “Shut up, Cass,” he barks out.

She turns to me again. “Wow. Sleeping with the neighbor. Pretty hypocritical of you. Should have figured this one out when Jeff told me to come and check on things over here.”

 At this point, I tune her out. I cannot take my burning eyes off of Trent.

“You knew the whole time.”

The pain bleeding from his guilty eyes confirms my worst fear. He did. He knew what I went through and never told me. His sister was the she-devil.

“Well, now that that’s cleared up, I think you should take your bitter hussy ass back next door and get the fuck outta my house.”

I wish I was a stronger person. I wish in this exact moment I do a hundred other things than I actually, physically do. I wish I would jump on Candy like a crazed tiger and rip her hair out of her scalp, possibly take a kick to Trent’s balls while I was at it. I wish I would tell them both where to shove it and that I hope they die a slow, painful death. But unfortunately, I don’t fight. I shut down and, after taking one last glance at Trent, turn around and walk out. I hear arguing behind me, and before I know it Trent is at my heels, grabbing my arm.

“Ce, please listen to me.”

“Get your hands off me.” I twist around and glare at him. I want to say more, do more, scream—anything—but I feel sick and fear I’m going to throw up all over she-devil’s living room floor. “Don’t touch me. And don’t follow me.” I spit out the words like acid bubbling up out of my throat.

I turn and walk out the door. I walk down the porch steps and across the lawn. I walk up my steps, across my porch and to my door. I know this because I am chanting the words in my head. That might have been the only way I would have made it inside without collapsing.

The second the door slams, I fall to the ground. There’s nothing more damaging than betrayal, and Trent just handed me his straight on a silver platter. He knew all along who I was and what happened. How could he not tell me his sister was the enemy? Was he setting me up? Were they in this together to get back at me? Why would he not tell me? And why was she making it out to seem like I was the bad guy? My husband cheated on me! With her! I didn’t go apeshit or make him stay with me! I walked away quietly and fair. Okay, so maybe not quietly, but I had to show some emotion at what was happening to me. And what did Cassie mean when she said Jeff was in a dull marriage? Was I a bad wife? Since when was Jeff such a poor victim in our colorless marriage? Last I checked, it takes two to tango. Both parties were at fault. All these crazy questions are flying around in my head, all making this look like it’s my fault.

No way. I’m starting to lose focus on the issue at hand here.

Trent lied to me.

Why would he ruin what we had? He knows how I feel about trust and honesty. On more than one occasion, I shared with him the whole fiasco with Jeff and the neighbor, and he just stayed quiet! He didn’t at any point step in and say, “Well, if you must know, that floozy is my sister.”

It’s like history is rewriting itself, but this time I’m the author. I knew this was a bad idea. I knew this wasn’t going to end well, and sure enough, that’s how it’s playing out. Why did I have to fall in love with the neighbor? Why does his sister have to be the she-devil? Inside my head right now, I’m screaming bloody murder. I am tearing apart my life limb for limb at the mess I’ve made. Looks like it’s come full circle with my life next door. 

In this whole battle, I do not cry. I don’t know why. You would think now would be a pretty appropriate time to turn on the waterworks. I’m leaning against the door, when I hear the footsteps. I know its Trent. He has that powerful vibe that you can just feel when he’s approaching.

He knocks on the door and tries to open it but my body blocks the door from moving any further. “CeCe?”

Hearing my name on his lips, once a musical treat, but now a painful tug at my beat-up heart. I refuse to say broken because I refuse to admit that I am weak.

“CeCe, let me in, baby. Please let me explain.”

“Go away,” I say in a tone that attempts and fails to show no emotion.

“CeCe...” He makes another attempt to push the door but I don’t budge. It seems that my heavy heart and emotions are giving me the strength I need to stop him from getting in.

“I’m not going to tell you again, Trent. Leave. And do not come back here.”

“Babe...”

“Do not call me that. Do not call me ANYTHING!” I stand up and whip my body around, opening the door, slamming it against the wall. “I think your
sister
did enough talking, which definitely made me realize you didn’t do enough of it. You’re a liar, a coward for being a liar and a fucking asshole for what you’ve done.” I am pretty choked-up by the end of my tirade, but I refuse to cry. I refuse to give him that. “I hope you sleep well at night knowing you really pulled one over on me here.”

The pain flowing out of Trent’s eyes is killing me. I can sense his fear of how this is going to end. I fight to stay strong though. “CeCe, stop. Don’t do this.”

 “I’m not doing anything, Trent. You’ve had the pleasure of doing it all yourself.”

He steps forward. “CeCe, goddammit, it’s not how it looks. You know I love—”

It’s amazing how your body naturally reacts to certain situations. I don’t let him finish spitting out those tainted words; my hand goes up and slaps the last of that sentence right out of him. Since I don’t think either one of us saw that coming, we both freeze at the aftermath of my actions. My adrenaline is shooting through the roof right now. My hand is tingling from the hard contact it made to Trent’s face. He makes no effort to retaliate. He just looks at me, pained, because he knows this is the beginning of the end for us.

“I’m not going to tell you again. Get off my porch. And don’t come back here.”

With that, I take a step back and swing the door shut, slamming it in his face. A little disappointed at Trent’s lack of fight, he does exactly what I ask and leaves my porch.

It’s quite sad how today started off so perfect and is ending so horribly. The good news I meant to share completely forgotten, I pull myself away from the door and head toward my bedroom. Maybe if I go to sleep, I will wake up tomorrow and this will all be a bad dream. I will turn over and see Trent lying next to me like he was just this morning when I kissed him breathlessly, like my life depended on it to survive.

I make it to my room and see Jake sleeping on my bed. I don’t even change out of my work clothes; I just lie next to him and snuggle into his furry body. I do the one thing I really wish I wouldn’t do—I cry. I also mask my reasoning for the tears and swear my breakdown is caused by the fact that I will probably have to give back the dog.

Apparently a good night’s cry does not make for a good night sleep. I wake up on Friday morning feeling horrible and living the same nightmare I fell asleep to. The more time that passes, the more flooded I become with emotions. I am practically drowning with regret, denial, loss…geez, you name it. I figure it’s the five stages of loss. Today is the beginning of stage one: denial and isolation. The first red flag is the moment I call Katie and fake sick to call out of work. She, of course, thinks it’s a prank, because me calling out of work means pigs are flying. Like everywhere. I explain a rare rash and that it’s just not safe to leave the house. Half of that story is true, because I cannot fathom stepping foot out of my safe haven and seeing the neighbor. And yes. He has been demoted back to neighbor.

They say that in times of distress, your brain uses a defense mechanism that blocks out the bad stuff and attempts to avoid all facts. The shock of a traumatic situation (and the crash and burn of one’s love life definitely falls under traumatic) will help pull you through to the next stage. Therefore, I plan on spending a lot of time denying my situation. Life next door is a mere figment of my imagination. Glitch in the system. Neighbor who? I decide that being awake for stage one is overrated and I crawl back under my covers and go back to sleep.

Elvis sang a song once (I know I'm turning into my parents) about time. Some mumbo jumbo about time healing broken hearts, then something about time standing still since being apart. Well, I hate Elvis, and time is not a concern for me at this point. It’s truly the least of my problems. The real problem is the annoying vibrating phone that won’t stop. Seriously, what don’t people understand about avoidance?! I sit up and grab at my phone.

Him.

I don’t bother answering or reading any of his texts. He doesn’t exist to me. I delete the abundance of calls and messages.

Does. Not. Exist.

I do get a text from Katie saying she really thought I was kidding and now she is worried because it’s seriously not normal for me to not come in.

As I read on, her texts turn from worried to frantic because she doesn’t have enough stock to last the rest of the day, let alone make it through the weekend. I'm not sure if guilt is in stage one, but darn it, she just made me feel it. To make matters worse, I look over at Jake next to me who looks like he might waterfall urine all over my room if I don’t pull my shit together and let him out.

“I'm sorry, my furry baby, you’re right. The world isn’t ending. People still need to pee.” I rub his head and get up. I do what’s right and text Katie that I will bake some stuff from home, knowing my kitchen is well stocked with sugar galore. If there is ever an apocalypse, I want to make sure I have close to a lifetime supply of ingredients so I can still bake. I am a baker through and through. I do what’s normal and practically crawl to the living room window to confirm the neighbors’ car is gone. Once confirmation is made, I stand with confidence and head back to the kitchen, letting Jake out the back.

I spend the entire day and into the early evening baking. I zone out and focus on what comes naturally. I can turn off my brain no matter what, and my hands can still create anything with sugar. I always knew I was destined to become a pastry chef. From the time I knew what sugar was, I was obsessed with it. I would help my mother in the kitchen on the weekends and together we would concoct the most amazing creations.

Baking is truly an art form. You literally take powder and liquids and in the end you create the most amazing sculptures, whether it’s small like a cupcake, or huge like a three-tier, magnificent wedding cake. I was lucky to find a culinary school near the community college, and while I was attending culinary classes during the day, I would take online business classes for entrepreneurship. I knew I wanted to run my own shop one day. And not to sound conceited, but I knew I had the talent to do it.

I take my mind to a happy place and spend the entire day baking and rolling, shaping and icing. What seems like minutes is actually hours, and I finally text Katie that her goods will be ready for her to pick up after she leaves work. Of course, I told her I had to leave them outside on the swing because it wasn’t safe for her and I didn’t want her to catch what I had. If you translate that into “I don’t want to run into neighbor,” then oh well.

At 5:30 that evening, I hear Katie pull up. I feel bad because I should just let Katie in. I could confide in her and she could help me get through this mess I call my life. But of course, I can’t show that I am weak, therefore I don’t. I watch her pick up the first couple of boxes and walk them back to her car. Like clockwork, I watch the neighbor’s Jeep pull into his driveway. I watch him get out and assess Katie’s actions. He stalls for a second before he is strutting over to my side of the battlefield.

I’ve never claimed to be mature, and while I hide under the front windowsill, I stick my ear to the wall in hopes of hearing his voice. “She
what
?” I hear Trent ask.

“She didn’t come in to work today. Says she has a really bad rash. So she baked from home and left everything on the porch for me to grab.”

“Has she ever called in to work?” he asks.

“Never. I'm a bit worried about her. Is she okay?” she asks him. Well, he should know the answer to that one.

I hear Trent’s heavy sigh. “Shit, Katie, I fucked up. And she won’t talk to me.” Well, that’s the understatement of the century.

In a voice I’ve never heard come from Katie, I hear her uncordially respond, “Well, it must have been pretty bad for her to skip work. Should have known you weren’t good enough for someone like her. She should be treated like gold. And her not showing up to work today means you obviously didn’t do that.” I hear Katie wrestle with the last of the boxes on the swing and then footsteps hit the porch steps.

“Katie, wait. Have you talked to her? Has she said anything to you?”

“You know what? I'm not sure she is any of your concern anymore, and if she is, I’m sure she will make a move.” At that I hear her start her car and pull out. I’m slumped against the wall. I haven’t heard him walk back home. What is he doing? I hear him mumble something into my door. Then he leaves without a fight.

Bad dream.
This is all a bad dream.

I crawl down the hallway to my bed and climb in.

I close my eyes and let his voice burn into my unconscious.

Bad dream.