Page 1 of Defending Mateo
Chapter
One
August 13th
9:33 P.M.
Ally Thatcher jumped at the sound of shattering glass.
The sudden sound slicing through her quiet apartment had her pulse racing and her heart feeling like it wanted to hammer its way right out of her chest.
With a sigh, she looked down at the shards of glass littering the floor of her kitchen. What a mess. How could she be so stupid as not to pay attention to where she was setting down her glass of water?
Well, she knew the answer to that particular question.
The same reason she couldn’t concentrate on anything recently. The reason she wasn't sleeping well, the reason she was even more introverted and alone than usual, and the reason she’d been making mistakes at work when she normally never made mistakes. Ally was one of the most organized, careful, cautious people on the planet.
Almost always anyway.
Except for one thing.
Falling for her sexy neighbor who wore leather jackets even in the middle of summer, who rode a motorcycle, and was so out of her league he never should have even taken the time to glance her way.
Yet he did.
Had anyway.
But not anymore.
Stepping carefully around the glass that was just begging for her bare feet to step on, Ally headed to the small laundry space in her apartment. It had been the reason she chose to rent this place, she’d hated having to go to the local laundromat when she lived at her last apartment. While this building had a pool, a gym, and its own gardens complete with a playground for kids and a dog park, none of those things mattered to her. This had been what sealed the deal.
Now she grabbed a dustpan and broom and headed back to the kitchen. Because she was the kind of clumsy person who had been made fun of in school since she preferred books to other kids and was terrible at sports, always making a fool of herself, of course, she stepped on a piece of the broken glass.
Hissing at the pain that stabbed up her leg, she sighed again, knowing she’d now be cleaning up blood as well as water, plus the glass shards. So much for heading to bed to read for a while before attempting sleep. It was going to take her several minutes to get this mess tidied up, and she already knew the trash bin was full, because she’d debated taking it out when she cooked dinner earlier.
Would have taken it out if she weren't a coward who avoided things rather than confront them.
Walking past her neighbor’s apartment, knowing he’d ghosted her so easily, so completely, always sent a shaft of pain through her heart much like the one the glass had just sent through her foot.
Tonight, though, it had to be done. She’d piled too much garbage into the bin and couldn’t balance the glass. Just her luck that she’d make her own night worse than it already was. As if being home alone, lonely, and aching for companionship but unsure how to go about making friends, and too embarrassed to even attempt dating again after she’d been ghosted so thoroughly, wasn't bad enough.
“Where would you even meet a guy?” she muttered to herself as she hobbled across the kitchen with the glass in the dustpan. It was a fair question. She worked from home because she ran her own accounting business. On the odd occasion she had to meet a client in person, she did it at a local coffee shop down the street. She did her grocery shopping, went for a daily walk, and stopped off at that coffee shop for a daily hit of her favorite drink, sometimes treating herself with one of their homemade muffins. That was about the extent of her life.
Pitiful.
That was the only way to describe a twenty-eight-year-old woman who had no friends, no family, no one to notice if she just disappeared off the face of the earth.
The last person she’d had any meaningful contact with after her grandparents died six and seven years ago was her neighbor. A man she’d thought she was falling in love with. Who didn't seem to mind if she was shy and awkward, and that she didn't really have any hobbies outside of reading romance novels like they were oxygen she needed to live. Which in a way, they were. Living vicariously through those happy couples was the only way she’d ever have connections, even if they weren't real-world connections.
But it had been wishful thinking on her part. Her feelings weren't reciprocated. She still remembered the burn of rejection when she’d gone to call him one morning, same as she did every morning, only to find he’d blocked her. If she were a braverwoman, she would have stormed next door and demanded an explanation.
Only she wasn't brave. Instead, all she’d done was shrink further in on herself each time she was sure it must have been a mistake and tried calling again. And again, and again. But none of those calls went through, none of her texts were delivered, and she hadn't laid eyes on him since that day five months ago. Whether he’d moved or he was avoiding her, she wasn't sure, and she’d never ask.
Nope.
Cowards never did.
Especially weak and awkward ones, ones who were too shy to make friends, too boring to have anything of interest to anyone else, and too used to rejection to dredge up a bit of courage to step outside of her comfort zone.
