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He looks up at me almost instantly and my heart melts. He’s the most adorable little boy I’ve ever seen.
“Hi!” he says, and I grin, going down on my knees so that I’m more his height. “I’m Ryan!”
“Hello there,” I say with a smile, holding my hand on my forehead to shield me from the sun. “I’m Rory.”
“Rory’s a pretty name,” he responds. “We’re moving here,” he announces, and I frown because he doesn’t seem really happy about it.
“Looks like we’re going to be neighbors then. Because I live right here too.”
“That’s cool,” he says. “How old—”
“Ryan! Get over here now,” the man says harshly. I jerk at the coldness in his voice.
How can anyone sound that cold when dealing with this little cutie?
“Daddy! We have a nay-bore!”
“No, we don’t,” the man says and I stand up, reading something in his voice—something I don’t like—but also, something that warns me to prepare. “Get up in the truck for a minute and play okay? I’ll be right back.”
“Okay, Daddy,” the little boy says, back to being sad. I watch as the man lifts him up into the bed of the truck. There’s not much room in there, but he finds him a spot and proceeds to play with his dinosaur.
“Can I speak with you a moment over here?” he asks, but he uses a tone that makes me almost certain it’s not a question.
He wants to talk to me and he’s going to do it. We walk to the edge of the driveway and that’s when I know for certain that I am definitely not going to like my new neighbor—no matter how handsome he is.
“Listen, I don’t know what your game is—”
“My game?” I ask shocked and more than a little confused.
“Exactly. What you need to know is that I don’t want this.”
“Don’t want this?” I repeat like a damn parrot. Maybe I’m completely dense, but I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“I don’t want to be friends with you. I don’t want you to be friends with my son. I don’t want to talk to you and I really don’t want you to talk to my child. We are not going to be friends, we will barely be neighbors. Do you understand?”
“Oh, I think I’m getting the picture,” I tell him, coolly.
I get the picture that you’re a freaking asshole!
“Good. Now that we’ve got that clear just remember one thing,” he says, already walking away.
“What’s that?” I ask, unable to resist.
“You stay away from us and everything will be fine,” he says and I don’t think I’m imagining the warning in his voice at all.
Looks like my great morning has taken a complete nosedive. I clear my throat and walk to my car, getting inside. As I adjust my mirrors, I catch sight of the little boy looking over at me his eyes full of sadness and my heart squeezes. I try and give him a reassuring smile. He doesn’t really respond, but then with his father so close by, maybe he’s afraid to.
I back out and look up as I put the car into drive. The man has his son in his arms and he’s smiling as he looks at him. It’s an almost tender smile—which is completely at odds with what I just saw from him. It does manage to make me feel a little better—at least about the boy.
It sure doesn’t mean I’m going to enjoy having them living next door.
I hope this isn’t a sign that I settled in Whitefish way too soon…
Maybe I should have kept going until I reached Alaska?2DieselI close the door to Ryan’s new room and then lean against it for strength. My eyes shut and I ignore the emptiness I feel deep inside. For as long as I can remember, my club has been a part of me. Being without it now feels wrong, it feels empty as fuck. The silence in the house bears down on me like a physical thing and it almost suffocates me.
Ryan doesn’t like the new house. He misses Dakota—Crusher and Dani’s boy. He misses being part of the group too. They’re our family and it sucks like hell giving it up.
I had to. I didn’t have a choice. I know it—but it doesn’t mean I like it. I walk toward the kitchen, which just so happens to be on the same floor as the bedrooms. I’m not much on caring how a house is designed, but I will admit that it’s handy as hell. I grab a bottle of Patron and sit down at the small table in the corner.
Is drinking alone a sign of your life being fucked out the ass? If not, it should be. I take the first swig and let the burn hit me hard. I don’t bother pouring it in a glass. There’s no one else here to drink. There’s no one else here to do anything. There’s no loud wailing of pipes as the brothers pull into the garage. No music blaring in the bar, no candy swinging their asses for my enjoyment. There’s nothing.
