Ryan (Mallick Brothers 2)

"Anytime, honey," he said as he turned away.

I knew a platitude when I heard it.

I was expertly versed in them.

He didn't mean anytime and I wasn't going to let myself hope for anything more than just that one time.

Just that one time that someone pulled me out of my comfort zone and I hadn't felt like I was dying.

So on that, I went into my apartment, let Rocky out, and climbed into my tub, then proceeded to drive myself just a little crazier as I played, rewound, replayed, fast-forwarded, rewound, and played the night over and over again in my mind.

Amy would have had a lot to say about it too.

You know, if I told her.

Somehow that night, the first night of progress in years, I had also managed to give up on getting better.

That next morning was the first morning in years that I didn't get up and dressed and stand at my door, trying to convince myself to go out.

Because I had gone out.

And it didn't make anything better.

In fact, I actually felt a hell of a lot worse.FIVERyan"Where is she?" my mother asked, craning her head past me as I stood in the doorway.

No Merry Christmas.

"Where is who?" I asked, struggling to hold onto the four bags and two giant boxes I was juggling.

"Where is who?" she scoffed, taking one of the boxes that was starting to topple and moving inward so I could pass. "I heard all about this neighbor woman."

Jesus Christ.

The grapevine in my family put high school rumor mills to shame.

"Sorry you lost your twenty bucks, Ma," I said, shaking my head at her as I walked into the empty of people but full of presents living room and putting my stuff under the tree. Or, rather, in the middle of the room since the pile spread out from under the tree to almost the center of the room.

"Fifty actually," she said, giving me a smirk as she helped me arrange things. "You should know better than to bet on your sons settling down by now."

"Honey, Shane is in a serious relationship. There is hope for the rest of you yet." She stood, taking the bags I had brought the gifts in with and moving toward the kitchen. I knew from a lifetime of knowing her that I was meant to follow. And being met with a platter of fresh Christmas cookies wasn't a bad way to deal with the inevitable interrogation that would follow. "So, what happened?"

"What happened with what? She's my neighbor, Ma. That's it."

"Oh, please," she said, waving a mismatched woven oven mitt that I knew Fee had helped Becca make her for her last birthday at me. "I hear she's gorgeous."

"She is," I agreed. It was a simple fact. She was maybe the prettiest woman I had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. But that didn't mean anything.

"And I heard that you threw her over your shoulder all fireman-style and saved her and her cat's life."

God.

"Yep," I agreed, reaching for another cookie, wishing suddenly that she laced those with rum like she did her coffee cakes we would indulge in later.

"And you still couldn't close?" she asked, giving me what I could only call a disappointed smirk.

"Close?" I repeated, brow raising.

"Close. Seal the deal. Fuck he..."

"Alright then," I cut her off on an uncomfortable laugh. Didn't matter that I was a grown ass man and she was a grown ass woman. It would never be comfortable to hear your mother talk about you 'sealing the deal' with someone. Not even in my crazy as fuck family. "She's just my neighbor, Mom. She was fucking frozen in fear and I dragged her out of there and patched up her hand and..."

"Patched up her hand, huh?" she asked, lips twitching and knowing her as well as I did, I just knew there was going to be something about 'playing doctor' coming out of her lips next.

"And that's it," I added with finality. "She's agoraphobic, Mom. It's not like me saving her from carbon monoxide poisoning somehow cured her of that."

In fact, there was no cure for it.

I knew that because, stupid fuck I was, I had went online and searched it.

I found out a lot. I understood it better though I was pretty sure there was no way to truly get it unless you went through it, like any mental illness.

But because I searched it, I knew that the recovery was full of steps forward and back and frustration and disappointment.

And seeing as I hadn't seen her outside her apartment since that night in my car, I figured she wasn't making any kind of progress.

"Besides," I went on, going past her toward where a few decanters of liquor were sitting on the counter and pouring myself a drink, "she's a nice girl."