Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1) (37 page)

I plucked my cell phone up from my desk and snapped a close up picture of the ball sitting on top of my desk. I posted the picture to Facebook with a simple description.

A vestige from simpler, happier times.

Flor

Goliath Next Door

I
stared at the door, waiting for Matt to return with news. The noise coming from next door had my heart beating out of control. Graham was right next door. He was over there doing only god knew what and instead of irritating me, it had me feeling a mix of emotions.

It didn’t help that I was still analyzing one word Graham had posted to my Facebook.

Congratulations.

I didn’t know what to make of it. Was he trying to be friendly? Was that him reaching out to me, opening the lines of communication? Breaking the ice? I’d gone to his page and saw a picture of my rubber band ball and that hadn’t helped anything. The caption he’d assigned to the picture was just as confusing.

A vestige from simpler, happier times.

It was tempting to run over there and wrap my arms around his big frame just to feel him holding me again and ask him what, if anything, he meant by what he’d posted on Facebook. I couldn’t stand the time and space that stretched between us day after day. I felt as though I was dying without him. I hated that he had lied to me. I hated that I had run away from him the night of the party. I hated that we had both hurt each other. I mostly hated that I had no idea how to fix it all or if it was even repairable.

When Matt reappeared in our doorway, the expression on his face spoke volumes. I couldn’t know for certain what the dismal look on his face spelled out, but it wasn’t good. I could see that much.

“What?”

“Uh, it’s not him making the noise.” Matt’s eyes darted around nervously.

“Who is it? Halley?” My voice sounded panicky.

“Um. Not exactly. It’s a new neighbor. He sold the apartment.”

“Oh.” I sank down into the couch cushions seeking refuge from the hurt that filled my chest but there was no comfort from the hurt to be found there. I tried taking a deep breath but it hit a brick wall when it reached the lump in my throat.

“Where’d he go?” I asked Matt, not really expecting an answer but needing—
needing
—to ask anyway.

“I really don’t know, babe. I’m sure he’s at his place. Maybe it’s time you give him a call. You two can talk things out, I’m sure.”

“I hurt him, Matt. I know I did and what’s worse is that I wanted to. I wanted to hurt the man I love.” I croaked. “What does that say about me?” I swiped my hands across my cheeks, wiping away tears. “Who does that to someone they know they love?”

“Maybe you did it
because
you love him. We don’t hurt the people we
don’t
love. We don’t care enough to bother. The ones we love? They are the ones that we hurt. As dumb as it is, that’s what people do. He hurt you too. What do you think that says about him?”

“I don’t think he wanted to. I mean, I hope he didn’t want to—” I wanted to defend his behavior. I wanted to make excuses. The same excuses I’d been trying to convince myself of since we parted ways and my heart broke.

“Babe, you’re missing the point here,” Matt cut me off, chastising gently, shaking his head. “You want to know what
him
hurting
you
says about him? It says he loves you. I
know
he does. Anyone with eyes in their head can see the way that man looks at you and see that in his eyes, you hung the moon and stars. He screwed up. You screwed up. It doesn’t mean you can’t come back from that.”

“You think he loves me?” I sniffled.

“I’m sure. Never been more sure of anything else in my life.”

“Then why hasn’t he called? Why hasn’t he messaged me online? Why hasn’t he just shown up? Why did he get rid of Tommy’s apartment?” I swiped at my tears angrily, hating that I was angry and heartbroken and crying all at once, but most of all, hating that I hated myself for walking away from the man who held my heart in his hands.

“I don’t know, babe. And the only man who does know is him.” Matt shrugged helplessly and swiped his thumbs across both my cheeks, wiping away my tears.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, feeling lost and helpless.

The thing about loving someone is that they are your sponge. Every time you see them, you pour yourself out to them, all your love, all your admiration, all your hopes and dreams, and it’s sugary-sweet and they drink it up, eager to have more.

They soak in all you offer, every bit of love that you pour out to them. But when they aren’t around, for whatever reason, all that love just kind of seeps out of you and your stuck with it. It grows heavy and makes things feel weighted, immovable. The sticky sweet essence of your offering turns sour and bitter and it spoils all around you. When that happens, you find your sponge, clean up the mess you’ve made, and start over.

I wanted to clean up the mess I’d made with Graham. I wanted to start over, and I wanted to pour myself out to him in hopes that he’d drink deeply.

“I think I’ll try… I don’t know what I’ll try. I have to think about it.”

“That’s my girl.” Matt patted my knee and hugged me tightly. “You get your pretty face together, clear your head and go talk to that man, and even if things don’t go well, at least you’ll know that you tried. Right?”

“Right.” I sniffled, knowing that peace of mind wasn’t going to keep me warm at night and definitely wouldn’t make my heart hurt any less than it already did.

The line inched along and though my hand was cramped and tired, I still marveled that I was signing my book—a book that people were buying! It still baffled me and I knew that I’d never tire of this feeling for as long as I lived. I couldn’t believe how quickly my publisher whipped up copies of my book. Once I signed their proposal, things went into overdrive and I was blissfully lost in a whirlwind of the publishing industry.

They hadn’t changed much and they loved my illustrations as they were and the book itself was quite short on account of being a children’s book, but once I signed the contract they’d offered me, I had the first official copy in a matter of days.

I ran my fingertips over the glossy finish on the cover. I thumbed through the pages, letting my eyes drift over the words I had written and the pictures I illustrated. It was perfect in every sense of the word.

They’d given me very little notice about the Viscount Convention but I was here, signing books and chatting with other Viscount authors and so many avid readers. If I was dreaming, I never wanted to wake up. I was in my element and thrilled to be there, but Graham was on my mind and had been since I decided to reach out to him. I was still unsure of how or when or where I’d do it, but I knew I wanted to, and that felt like a step in the right direction.

“Happy reading,” I said offering a smile to the woman standing in front of my table with her arm draped over her son’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Miss Randall,” he mumbled shyly in that way that kids do when their parents instruct them to say something specific. It was rehearsed but no less endearing.

“You’re welcome.” I smiled as they turned to walk away. My permanent marker rolled across the table and fell to the floor before I could catch it. “Shoot,” I grumbled hoping I didn’t look like the rookie that I was. With my head partially covered by the tablecloth, I reached under the table and retrieved my marker.

When I righted myself in my seat I’m certain that my gasp was audible.

Graham.

“Hi,” he said in his deep voice, looking unsure of himself but so incredibly handsome. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I stared up at him as though I’d been met with a ghost.

“Hi,” I whispered back. He slid a copy of my book across the table and I looked up at him feeling a mix of emotions. “Your leg,” I mumbled, leaning forward across the table to see that he appeared to be okay.

“All better.”

“I can see that.” I settled back into my chair and met his gaze again.

“I haven’t read it yet,” he said with his dark eyes glued to the title,
Goliath Next Door
. “What’s the book about?”

“The boy next door. Adventures. Childish nonsense,” I whispered.

“And is he a hero or a villain?”

“Both.” I swallowed.

“Does he come out all right in the end?”

“You’ll have to read it and find out.”

“I don’t read books.”

“I know. So why are you buying mine?”

“Because I promised I would. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Halley’s having a baby,” he somewhat blurted.

“You’re going to be an uncle. Congratulations. That’s wonderful.” I smiled.

“Thank you.” He gave a small smile and made me ache to see it after what felt like ages. “She said to tell you hi.”

I only nodded and worked to clear my thoughts enough to sign my own name.

I signed the book and slid it across to him. His gaze was heavy and I felt it in every receptor in my body.

“Can we talk?”

“I won’t be done here for another hour or so,” I said, noting the time on my cell phone beside me. Graham nodded.

“Okay. Can I give you a call tonight?”

“Sure. Yes. That would be fine.” He nodded and I opened the book on the title page where I signed my name and wrote the only thing I could think to write.

Thank you for being my Goliath next door.

-Flor

The last hour of the convention seemed to crawl by. I checked the time on my phone repeatedly it seemed to be at a standstill. When the final few readers trickled through the convention, I all but ran from the building. I needed to hail a cab, get home and gather my thoughts. Graham said he would call me tonight and I had a lot I wanted to say—a lot I
needed
to say.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and started down the sidewalk, hoping I’d grab a cab soon. I had been outside for all of three minutes and I was already sweating.

I rounded the corner and nearly jumped out of my own skin when I saw Graham leaning against the brick building.

“Hey. Sorry,” he said reaching out to me briefly before withdrawing his hand. He had no idea how much I craved his touch. He couldn’t have known that had his hand landed on mine, I wouldn’t have let it go.

“Hey,” I breathed.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted hastily.

“It’s okay. I just didn’t see you there.” I tugged the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder, feeling restless in his presence.

“No. Flor.” He shook his head looking frustrated. “
I’m sorry
.”

“Oh.”

“I was scared,” he went on as though he’d explode if he didn’t say what he held inside. I knew the feeling well. The haunted look in his eyes made my heart ache. As much as I hated what he did, seeing him so conflicted and tormented hurt.

I loved him. There was no denying it. My broken heart was proof of the love that I carried there. A heart doesn’t break for a person for which they carry no love. A heart only breaks when a full heart sustains a blow that weakens the vessel that carries that love. I knew that now even if I hadn’t known it before.

I didn’t know what to say to that confession. I looked down, not at all liking the fact that tears were threatening to spill forth with me standing on the sidewalk in broad daylight.