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*CHAPTER 4*

I swore under my breath. Nobody ever came to my house. Not recently anyway. And never without warning me first.

I crept slowly towards my front door, my heart pumping out an uncomfortable rhythm against my ribcage. I was about two seconds away from going to get one of Uncle David's baseball bats from the garage when a deep, familiar voice called out, muffled by the metal and glass, "Kass, open the door. I know you're in there. Fergus is in the driveway."

I let out a breath, rolling my eyes at myself as I flipped open the lock of my front door. The sight of a tall familiar figure standing in my doorway greeted me.

"You scared the crap out of me, Matt."

Matt leaned against my porch, his usual crooked smile on his face. His light brown hair was damp like he'd just gotten out of the shower. Brown eyes combed over me and his grin widened as he took me in, "By knocking on your front door?" He chuckled.

I frowned, glancing behind him to my still quiet neighborhood street, "Yeah, I guess I'm a little jumpy tonight."

His forehead furrowed, "I texted you to tell you I was coming."

Matt had been my friend for most of middle school and high school— he only lived a few streets over. We lived in an older part of town, so the day he realized there was someone his age moving in nearby he had been pounding down my door. There had even been a stint in there for a few months where we'd tried our hand at dating. I hadn't had much time for dating though, and we'd eventually called it quits, figuring it was probably best if we went back to being just friends. It had been mutual, so there hadn't been any hard feelings added to the mix.

"You've been ignoring my texts," he accused. His eyes narrowed into a glare, but they sparked playfully.

"Sorry, it wasn't on purpose."

He shifted his gaze over my shoulder, peering into my fully lit house, "Is your uncle here?"

I rolled my eyes, "You know he isn't."

He didn't wait for me to invite him in, pushing past me through the doorway and into the entryway. I closed the door behind him, re-locking both locks before turning back to face him. It had been ages since Matt had been over to my house--probably almost a year, though I'd seen him around school and when we worked the same hours at Cafe Limone.

He hadn't been working as many hours lately so it had been a while since I'd seen him last. After he'd gotten his baseball scholarship at an out-of-state university, he'd been spending more and more of his time at training camps, and it showed. In the short amount of time since I saw him last, he looked different. His hair had grown out a bit, flopping against his forehead, and he had tan lines on his face and arms. It was only a few months until he'd be leaving town for good. I'd been trying not to think too much about what that would mean. Despite the fact we couldn't be more different--personality-wise--he was one of my longest friends.

Matt's eyes skimmed the room before landing back on me, grinning, "This place hasn't changed at all."

It was true. Nothing had changed in my uncle's house since the day I moved in five years ago. David was and always had been a bachelor, and it was easy to see that in his choice of decor—beige tile, beige carpet, beige walls, beige furniture. A crumbly leather couch in front of a giant television was the only piece of furniture in the living room.

I cleared my throat, leaning back on my heels as I eyed him across the small space. I hadn't had the chance to shower yet and all I wanted to do was wash the sticky sweaty feeling off of my skin, out of my hair. "If you came by to eat all my ice cream again, you're going to be disappointed. I'm all out."

He chuckled, "Again? Dammit."

I cracked a smile as the timer on the microwave beeped in the kitchen. Leaving him in the entryway, I shuffled my way through the doorway to where the smell of melted cheese and noodles wafted. I could feel Matt following closely behind me, feel the weight of his eyes on my back. I rummaged through my uncle's dated fridge, pulling out two cans of soda. He caught the one I tossed to him mid-air.

"Speaking of things that never change," he gestured to my dinner of macaroni and cheese I was stirring with a fork, steam wafting around my fingers, "You still have the flavor palette of a six-year-old."

I grinned, "Jealousy doesn't look good on you Matt. Just because your coach has you on a strict chicken and vegetable diet doesn't mean you get to take it out on the rest of us."

He scoffed but didn't deny it which only made my grin widen.

I speared a few noodles with my fork, leaning against the counter as I took a bite. Blessed cheese and carbs. Matt eyed me, cracking open his can of soda and taking a sip.

"So, you going to tell me what made you drop by here out of the blue or what?" I asked, my words coming out garbled around my mouthful of food.

He fiddled with the mettle pop top on his can, "I can't just stop in to hang out?"

I swallowed hard, noodles burning the back of my throat a little on the way down, "I mean, you can, it's just not something you normally do anymore."

I didn't mean for them to, but those words sent a small surge of sadness through me. While Matt and I used to spend tons of time together--well, as much as I could spend with anyone with how busy I constantly was--those times were slowly becoming few and far between.

He shuffled around uncomfortably, eyes still on the top of his can, "Yeah, I guess you're right." He took a long sip of his soda before letting his eyes drift back to me. "I heard about your neighbor and I wanted to make sure you were okay. Lauren said you'd made it to work this morning but when you didn't text me back, I figured I should drop by."

The last bite of noodles I'd taken turned to ash in my mouth and I swallowed around it uncomfortably, appetite leaving with his words, "Yeah, I'm okay. It's just been a lot to take in. Seeing something like that I mean." I admitted, fiddling with the scraped edge of my fork. I couldn't make myself look at him and see whatever expression was playing out on his face.

After a long silent moment, he finally asked, "Which neighbor was it?"

"George."

"He's the one who always helped you around the house, isn't he?"

I nodded, "He was a good person. A really good person." Probably the kindest I'd ever met. Mr. Morelli had always been like the grandpa I'd never had. Peering through his spectacles at me, inviting me over to play Scrabble at his house. When my car's rotting battery would go out from time to time, he'd pull out the jumper cables from his garage and jump it for me so I could make it to work on time. If something in my house broke, he'd come over and fix it for me.

I had to force myself to not think about him the way I'd seen him this morning, what would probably be my last memory of him. If I lingered on them for too long I was sure the tears would resurface.

"Anyway," Matt said, running his fingers through his hair, "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. If you ever do want to talk about it, I'm here. I know we don't see each other as much as we used to, but you're still my friend, Kassie."

"I know that," I told him, feeling a bit awkward all of the sudden, "And thanks. For coming to check on me I mean."

He nodded, eyeing me for another moment before darting a glance over at the clock over the stove.

"You have to go?" I guessed, noting the way his fingers tapped a disjointed beat on the counter.

His brown eyes crinkled, shooting me a sheepish grin, "I had plans to hang with the guys from the team. But I mean, I can stay here if you need company. Or you come out with us?"

I might like hanging out with Matt but spending the night with him and a bunch of his baseball buddies was not high on my list of things I wanted to do tonight. Or any night for that matter. There were only so many batting statistics I could listen to before I wanted to claw my own ears off.

"Thanks, but I'm fine," I said, only half lying, "I have to work in the morning, so I should probably just get some sleep."

He nodded, understanding lighting his eyes, "Alright, if you're sure. You work too much, Montgomery."

"Yeah, yeah."

I walked him to the front door, waving to him as he made his way down the driveway to his car. I re-locked the front door as his little car disappeared around the corner, shaking my head to dispel my circling thoughts. The silence left behind in Matt's wake was more stifling than ever as I made my way upstairs. I showered mechanically. It had been a long day and I really was spent.

Even still, paranoia had me triple checking that my doors and windows were locked and that the curtains and blinds were pulled tightly against the window. That my uncle's baseball bat I'd rummaged from the garage was leaning against my side table. As exhausted as I was though, in my bed, I fidgeted.

I listened to the quiet creaking of the house, the wind rattling the window panes. I counted backward from one hundred a few times as I listened to the familiar sound of the train in the distance. Trying to do that thing people tell you to do when you can't sleep—slowly trying to relax one body part at a time. Every time I was about to drift off, though, the bloody mess from my street this morning popped back into my head, making my muscles stiffen, and jolting me back to consciousness.

Finally, after what felt like hours of trying to lull myself to sleep, pure exhaustion finally sent me into a light doze. I was just on the brink of sleep, my mind going fuzzy when I was wrenched from the first slips of sleep by a shattering crash outside my window.

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