Big Man Next Door by Penny Wylder

Author:Penny Wylder [Wylder, Penny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-21T18:30:00+00:00

9

Heather

It's twelve thirty in the morning, and Ian still isn't home. I heard him slam the door not long after he stormed out of my apartment. I didn't go after him, even though I wanted to. I just don't think it would have helped at all.

He's mad, I'm mad, and all that will equal is another blow out. Running after him will fix nothing if we don't cool down. But it's been hours now, and it's starting to worry me that he isn't home yet.

Peeking through the blind in my living room, the parking lot is dimly lit, and his truck is parked in the same spot it always is. Wherever he went, he didn't drive.

Dropping onto my couch, I pull my knees in and hug them against my chest. My phone is attached to my hip. I keep checking the time every few minutes. I can hardly sit still as my heart races and my stomach twists into a ball of knots.

I should have reacted differently.

I was excited to cook for him and ended up throwing out the entire meal because I didn't even want to look at it. It's immature, I know, but anger makes you do things.

And yet, I'm up, worrying myself to death because he's gone, and I have no idea where he is or when he's coming back. I'm not even angry anymore, I actually feel stupid about the whole thing.

My eyes grow heavy. I'm having trouble keeping them open. I'm trying, I'm trying so hard to stay awake. Blinking slower and slower, I drift in and out of consciousness.

A beam of sun streams into my apartment, hitting me in the face and waking me up. Sitting up straight, I check the time and see that it's six in the morning. Jumping up from the couch, I check the lot again and his truck is still there.

His truck shouldn't be here, he should be at work right now.

Every inch of my body begins to shake as my nerves take over. I can't shake the thought that something happened to him. Pacing my apartment, I tap my lips with the pads of my fingers.

I need to go check and see if he's home.

No, he's not my boyfriend, he doesn't need to tell me shit.

But what if something's wrong. . .

My brain is battling with itself. But it's my gut that makes the final decision.

Tearing my door open, I cross the hall in three long steps. Holding my hand up, I hover for a long second before knocking on his door. Nibbling on my bottom lip, I rest my hands on my lower back and wait.

Nothing.

Knocking again, I hit the door a little harder. “Ian, are you home?” I ask, pressing my ear to the door and listening.

There's a chance he came home while I was out and is now crashed himself. I have no clue if he got drunk and is out like a light.

Silence.

Slamming my fist on the door, I make sure it's loud enough that he can hear no matter where he is in his apartment.

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