My neighbor likes to listen to loud rock music. His name is Jared and he’s a big fan of Led Zeppelin, AC/DC and Black Sabbath. Not that you’d guess it by looking at him. He’s a neat and proper little freak, an accountant in some big firm or other, always in a suit and a tie, clean-shaven and his hair combed back.

The exact opposite of me in fact, with me rocking the street bum style, complete with a beard and hair long enough to braid in the back. Longer than I’ve ever had it, and it’s not even a fucking statement of style. I just… don’t fucking care.

Anyway, I honestly don’t have a fucking clue why we like each other, but we do. He borrows sugar and coffee from me so often I wonder if he ever buys any, and sometimes he drives me to work when I’m too wasted to drive in the morning.

Like today.

“Partied too hard again, huh?” he mumbles between his teeth, as he often does, watching me climb into his sleek Ford Focus, dark and clean and immaculate like his slicked back dark hair with the neat parting on the side.

Too Clark Kent-ish for this early in the morning.

He starts the car, not waiting for an answer, which is a good thing. I guess he knows my moods by now. The bitter dark coffee I had is churning in my stomach alarmingly.

His fault for using up all my sugar, so I am justified in glaring at him as he slips into morning traffic, heading to the city.

He ignores me, mostly, fiddling with the MP3 Player, thankfully not blasting any hard rock at my aching head but a podcast about…something. Not even sure what. Some financial report or other. The male voice droning on about numbers and markets and fuck knows what is lulling me to sleep.

“Hey.” Jared’s voice and his elbow in my ribs jostle me wide awake.

What the fuck, right? Can’t a guy catch a wink around here?

“What?” I mutter irritably, redoubling my glare. “Eyes on the street, buddy. Lemme sleep.”

He ignores me. “Have you heard from your girl?”

My girl? Not… “Mind your own business, dude.”

He also ignores my questionable brand of friendliness – but hey, it’s morning, I’m hungover, and he’s supposed to be doing me a favor, not torturing me.

“Haven? Heidi? What was her name?”

“Fuck you, man.”

“Pretty girl, honey chestnut hair, great rack, long legs?”

“I said, fuck y—”

“And so in love with you.”

I swallow hard. “Whatever.”

“Head over heels. Her eyes would light up when she looked at you. She’d smile, that silly, faint smile you only wear when you—”

“Shut up, Jared.” I scrub a hand over my face, scratch at my beard, avoid his shrewd gaze. “She left, and you know it. Why the hell are you rubbing it in?”

“Why did you split up?”

“She’s the one who left.”

“You drove her away and now you spend your nights moping and fucking around. Was it worth it?”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Wake me up when we get into town. And remind me to take a cab next time.”

Seriously.

Scratch what I said at the beginning about being goddamn friends.

Motherfucker.

* * *

I manage to cut my hand pretty deep while working on a car at the Garage – don’t ask, I fucking dunno how it happened – and was sent to get stitches and then home early, like a kid caught doing mischief at school.

It feels like a punishment all right, because at home all I can do is think, wallow and rehash everything that went down between Hailey and me.

Fuck, I need to stop thinking about her.

And for the record, I’m not moping.

Just being pensive, is all.

I just don’t get how she got under my skin, when no other girl ever did. When I never wanted a girl like that. With a need melting my bones. I never had to work to get a girl before, never worried I wasn’t good enough for her. I fell damn hard for Hailey.

And look where it got me.

Jesus Christ, that’s enough of this self-pity party. There’s not even booze to go with it, I finished it all. Not even my trusted bottle of Scotch has more than two drops left.

Here I thought I had enough booze in the apartment to get an army unit drunk. Had, being the operative word. Somehow, at some point, I drank it all and guess what?

It solved jack shit. So I don’t fucking know why I’m still looking for it.

The booze, not the solution. I doubt there’s a solution other than pulling my head out of my ass, accepting Hailey is gone for good and starting over. I’ll just… What?

Hit restart? I wish it was that simple. Maybe I’ll go punch the bag at the gym, even though my hand’s fucked up.

Hell if I care. I’m running on a strange sort of fury, mingled with regret and sorrow and the need to do something or I’ll come apart.

A knock on the door brings me up short.

Only one person I know knocks on the door instead of ringing the damn doorbell. What the hell does he want now? Chewing me out this morning wasn’t enough?

I open the door for Jared, and his gaze immediately slides to my bandaged hand. The guy never misses anything, but today I’m over the psychoanalysis, thank you very much.

“What,” I growl, “do you want?”

“Is that a way to greet your neighbor?” He pushes past me with the ease of long experience and plants his ass on my sofa. “Call her.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all you want.” He leans back, spreading his damn legs, making himself all comfortable. “But you should listen to me.”

“Or you should shut your trap.”

“Call her.” He smirks at me. “Otherwise, with the way you’re going, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

I wince. “Dunno what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“No? Three weeks ago, you crashed your truck and you walked away alive because you’re one lucky bastard. Two weeks ago, you burned your arm on an engine so badly you were sent straight to the ER.” He’s counting the accidents on his fingers.

Fucker.

That burn still hurts, dammit.

“And now this,” he goes on.

“This doesn’t fucking count. Cutting my hand a little isn’t fatal, Jared.”

“No accident is fatal until it is.”

I stare back at him. “Bullshit.”

“And love isn’t love until it is. Cherish what you have, dude.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t have Hailey.”

“You’re not trying to get her back, man.”

“And what would you know about love, huh?”

A shadow passes over his gaze, and I don’t have to ask to know that there’s a story he has never told me. I won’t ask.

That shadow looks a lot like sadness and regret, and I have enough of my own right now.

Because, fuck, why did Hailey have to go? Why did she have to stab me in the back?

And why is this guy intent on breaking me all over again with all these goddamn questions?

I stalk to my room to change for the gym. Still time to punch the hell out of that bag and pretend it’s my own face.

“You should call her, Kaden!” he hollers after me, and I lift my hand to give him the finger as I stumble into my room and stare blindly at my open closet.

What’s the use of listening? I never listen. Stubborn as a one-horned bull, my dad used to say.

Which is probably why I should have seen it all coming…