Possessive Daddy Next Door

I shake my head. “Nobody.”

I’m tempted to tell him I’m here with my boyfriend… but I don’t want to lie. And I don’t feel afraid anymore.

Max steps closer. I feel my heart start to beat faster.

He’s handsome. Really, really handsome. He’s tall and broad with muscular arms. He’s wearing jeans and boots and a long-sleeve shirt. He has earbuds in his ears and he takes them out, rolls them up, and slips them into his pocket.

“Lucky I heard you,” he says. “I was listening to a podcast and we got to a commercial.”

I grin at him. “Were you skipping ahead?”

“Yep.” He laughs. “I know it’s silly. Just hate the damn commercials.” He comes over and kneels down next to me. He has dark hair, cut short and neat. His beard is trimmed and short and his eyes are a cool, ice blue. “You mind if I take a look?”

I shake my head. “No, that’s okay.”

He helps me take my boot off again and looks at the ankle. “Sprained for sure,” he says. “Maybe broken, but I don’t think so. You said you can stand on it?”

“Hurts, but I can.”

“That’s a good sign.” He touches me gingerly. “I can bandage this up.”

“Are you a doctor?”

He chuckles, low and deep. “No, not at all. I used to be a cop in a former life.”

“Really?”

“In a former life,” he repeats. “All right, let’s get you up.” He helps me put the boot back on. “You ready?”

“Ready.”

He crouches down and practically lifts me up to my feet. I can’t believe how strong he is, but he doesn’t seem to strain at all. Once I’m up, I put all my weight on one foot. He puts my arm around his shoulder and takes most of my weight onto him.

“Okay. I don’t live far.”

“Where?” I ask. “I’ve been walking these woods my whole life and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone out here.”

“I live in a cabin over that rise,” he says, gesturing with his chin. “Along that path over there.”

“Oh,” I say. “Where the signs are.”

He grins and nods. “Former owner put those up, but yep, the signs.”

“That’s why I’ve never seen you.”

“I moved in about two years ago,” he says and we get moving. It’s slow going, but he holds most of my weight, so I can hobble along with him. “I walk the woods when I have a day off and the kid’s in daycare.”

“You have a kid?” I ask, surprised, or maybe disappointed. “And I guess your wife watches him?”

“I have a daughter,” he says. “Her name is Tabitha. And my wife died just after she was born.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s, fine. It was a couple of years ago now.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” He looks out ahead and doesn’t glance down at me, but I can’t take my eyes off him. Max is gorgeous, really handsome, and the more I look at him, the more I want to reach up and press my hand against his cheek.

We move up another hill and over the rise to where the path splits. It goes right and up out of sight, which is where I used to hike. To the left, there are signs at the trailhead: WARNING, PRIVATE PROPERTY, PROTECTED BY DOGS. It’s hand-painted on wood, the lettering almost childish and blocky and fading from weather now.

“There aren’t any dogs,” he says. “I doubt there ever were.”

I laugh and lean against him. He catches me and rights my weight a bit so I don’t stumble onto my ankle. “I always thought that was a little much.”

“The guy that lived here before was a little paranoid, honestly. He had all this stuff stocked in the basement. Offered to leave it, too.”

“Really? I bet you took it.”

He laughs and shakes his head. We walk past the signs and I feel strange for a moment. I remember being a young girl and walking this trail. I would never, ever go near those signs. They really creeped me out back then but now they just seem like some stupid joke.

“Nah,” he says. “That stuff’s more trouble than it’s worth. You stockpile a hundred cans of beans, but when they start to expire in a few years, you’re ether eating beans for every single meal for a year or you’re throwing it all away.”

“Does it have to be beans?” I ask. “I mean, I could do that with wine.”

He laughs again. I like his laugh. It’s low and genuine. “I don’t think wine has quite the same nutritional value.”

“True, but it’s a lot more fun.”

“Believe it or not, apocalypse prep people aren’t super into having fun. They’re more into, like, guns. And beans.”

“Guns and beans. Sounds like a good time.”

He grins at me and we keep going. “What were you doing out here, anyway?”

“Oh, just hiking.” We move around a bend in the trail and ahead I spot a little cabin. “You?”