The Player Next Door

I ease from my chair. “I should get back.”

Just as I reach for the door handle, Wendy calls out, “You’re not at all like her.”

I turn to find Wendy smiling at me. “I know.” But finally, it’s nice to hear that someone else in Polson Falls recognizes it too.

I shiver against the cold as I stand at Shane’s front door, my arms aching beneath the weight of Cody’s textbooks. I carried them the two blocks home, my heart pounding in my throat the entire time. And now I’ve stood here for a full two minutes, contemplating whether I should just leave them in a pile on the mat.

Instead, I knock.

Approaching footfalls sound a moment before the door creaks open.

I sigh at the sight of Shane standing in his doorway, casually pushing a hand through his messy hair. I’ve never been able to choose which version I like more—the gelled waves or the silken mop when he lets his hair air-dry after a shower. It’s the latter now.

“Hey.” He licks his lips nervously.

“Penelope asked that I send some homework for Cody,” I say by way of greeting. “I’m going to set up some assignments for him in Google Classroom, if he has a computer at home?”

“Yeah, Pen and Travis bought him a laptop last Christmas.” He smooths a hand over the back of his neck, pulling his T-shirt tight across his chest.

I can’t help but admire his arms. Do men always look even better after you’ve broken up with them? I’ve never cared enough to notice before. “Okay, well, I’ll pull that all together for him tonight.” I’ve got nothing better to do, besides consoling Justine while she shifts between sobbing and plotting murder. “There’s also a card tucked into his math textbook. All the kids in the class signed it.”

Shane’s face brightens. “He’ll love that.”

I hesitate, not wanting to linger but not wanting to leave. “How is he?”

“Whiny.” He smirks. “The crutches are way less cool than he was thinking they’d be. Wait till he gets his real cast.”

“I’m sure it’ll be covered in signatures in no time. I’ll make sure to have an extra-thick marker in class.”

An unbearable stretch of awkward silence hangs between us.

“Do you want to come in?” Shane asks, at the same time I say, “I should go.”

“Scar—”

“We’re doing the right thing.” I set my jaw. Seeing him is a thousand times harder than I anticipated. I need to leave now, before I cave.

“I know we are. Cody comes first, and we have to do what’s best for him. There’s too much baggage that comes with us.” His sighs reluctantly. “You were right. You’re always right. I’m not going to try to change your mind.”

He’s saying all the right things. So why do they feel like all the wrong things?

I struggle to clear the emotion suddenly clogging my throat. “I need to get home. Justine’s staying with me for a while.”

“Here.” He leans forward to collect the books from my grasp, his hands and arms grazing mine, sending electricity coursing through my limbs and inciting an ache deep within my bones.

I inhale the scent of him, feeling his penetrating gaze as he studies me from only inches away. He’s always been so adept at withering my resolve, and he knows it. It would take nothing for him to do so now, and then we’d be right back where we started.

Only this time, I’d be angry with myself.

Thankfully, he steps back, freeing my sore arms to fall by my sides.

“If you ever need anything at all, any help around the house …” He lets his words drift.

“I’ll give my friendly neighbor a call.” I back away, swallowing back the tears that threaten.

His broad chest rises with his inhale. With one last, longing look, he disappears into his house.

That night, it’s Justine’s turn to offer her shoulder.

I cry on it for hours.

Thirty

“Smartfood or Lay’s BBQ?” Justine alternates between bags, waving each in the air, a questioning look on her face.

“Both?”

She cocks her head, as if the thought never crossed her mind, and then proceeds to tear both bags open. “Okay, so I ordered that new Hemsworth movie, but we’re watching The Bachelor first.”

I groan. “So I can listen to you yell at the TV for an hour?”

“Hey! Men are all lecherous, lying assholes and these women need to be told,” she snaps, indignant. It’s been a week since Bill came out of his cheater’s closet. Justine is still hiding out at my house, scrubbing my baseboards while cursing at the skilled tradesmen over the phone for having penises while she’s placing them in jobs.

I glance at the clock. It’s eleven on Friday night. I’m exhausted after an arduous week of teaching when all I wanted to do was stay in my bed. We’re both in sweatpants, hair piled high, with no intention of venturing out into the world until Sunday. I’ve promised to go back with her to our old apartment so she doesn’t have to face walking in there alone. Bill has already moved out, but has “so generously” agreed to pay his half of the rent for the next two months while she either finds a new roommate or another place altogether.