Jumping out of the truck, my eyes wander over to the house next door. It was one of my father’s rental properties back before I turned seventeen, but then he stopped renting it out. It’s weird knowing that someone is staying there now; someone beautiful as hell . . . from what I could see.

I have to admit, I was a little shocked when I saw her staring out the window at me, as if she wanted nothing more than to know me. She was looking as if she had no shame, even knowing that I had caught her; she just stared back. It took just that one moment for me to get lost in those damn eyes. I just need to remember to keep my distance, although, it shouldn’t be that hard. I’m used to it.

Already knowing I won’t able to sleep, because I never can, I grab my guitar and sit on the back porch. I let myself enjoy the feel of the light breeze against my T-shirt as I play.

It’s been years since I have been able to play my guitar in this spot, and feeling it in my hands is bringing back a lot of memories. Memories that consist of the person I wish I could have been—the person I tried to be and failed due to my need to fight. Everything started with fighting and ended with it.

I spent many nights out on this back porch, playing music for my mother and Alex. That was back before everything went to shit; back before I lost everything.

I WAKE UP TO THE sound of pounding; really loud pounding that sounds like someone is murdering something. I grab my pillow and wrap it around my head, trying my best to block out the noise, but it’s no use. It just keeps going and going, making me jump with each hit.

It takes a few seconds to shake off my sleepiness enough to realize that the pounding is coming from outside, next door. It’s then that I remember the taxi and the guy that we were spying on in the middle of the night. He’s back for one day and already he’s disturbing the peace. What the hell?

Based on the light beaming in from outside it can’t be late. I roll over and check my phone for the time. I grimace at the bright screen before tossing it aside. “And at seven in the morning,” I grumble. I don’t care how good this guy looks; seven in the morning is enough to make me want to throat punch anyone.

Burying my face in my pillow, I shake my head before rolling over to the edge of the bed and sitting up. I sit here, briefly cursing under my breath before noticing that the pounding has stopped. “Oh thank God. Sleep. I need sleep,” I mumble, while rolling back into bed and closing my eyes, getting comfortable once again.

Not even five seconds later the pounding starts up again, causing me to jump up and scream. “Damn you!” I rub my hands over my face and yawn, realizing that getting any more sleep is a lost cause. I think about opening my window and tossing a stiletto at his head, but quickly decide that the early morning Lyric is thinking and not the rational one, so I decide against it. I’m working on being better behaved, reformed. I promised.

Throwing on a tank top, a pair of shorts, and my beat up Chucks, I pull my hair up and walk out the front door. The early morning sun hits me hard, causing me to squint my eyes and shield my face as I jog down the steps and around to the side of the house.

A gush of wind hits me, sending a shiver all over me as I make my way through the grass to where the pounding is still going strong. The guy is kneeling down on the front porch with a nail between his lips pounding away at a 2x4 plank of wood.

His black hooded sweatshirt covers his head and most of his face, so all I can make out is a pair of old tattered jeans, a studded belt around his waist, and some beat up shoes covered in dirt. Even covered up he looks appealing. You can see the ridges of muscles along his back flex with each swing of the hammer and through his jeans you can make out the thickness of his legs. That alone is enough to make me want to tackle him from behind. Screw hitting him with a shoe.

I stand here watching him for a few seconds before he stops, reaches for the nail in his mouth, and swings one time, hitting it through the board with a growl.

“What do you want?”

His sudden, deep voice scares me, causing me to jump back and grab my chest. “Well shit! You scared me.”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “I scared you?” He reaches for another nail as he slides further down the board. “You’re the one on my porch, creeping on me.”

The tone in his voice makes it very clear that he doesn’t want to be bothered, but for some reason it makes me want to stay just because he woke my ass up. “Well you’re the one that woke me up at the ass crack of dawn with your hammering. Some people work at night and actually have to sleep, you know? Sleep much?” I ask in a clipped tone.

He’s silent for a second. “No. Not really.” He pounds into the board one more time before reaching for another nail and scooting even further down.

I should probably just leave, but I don’t. I’m wide awake now, and from the looks of it Bailey is sleeping hard. If this guy wants to wake me up, then he can deal with me hanging around.

“Well, thanks for making sure no one else can either.” I walk up the steps and grab a handful of nails, causing him to take an annoyed breath as I kneel down beside him and hold one out. “I always did hate the comfort of my nice, warm bed and all. I mean who doesn’t?”

I keep waiting for him to look up at me, but he doesn’t. It’s as if he’s trying to avoid being seen. It only makes me more curious, but I don’t want to push him and make him more uncomfortable.

We’re both silent as he works. I hand him the nails, he takes them and hits each in with one swing every time, me yawning as I watch. He works as if he’s got a lot of built up anger to get out. Every swing packs heat and with each contact, he looks a bit more relaxed, his breathing evening out.

“Why haven’t I seen you here until now?” I question while handing him another nail. “Bailey and I have been renting out that little house for a few years now and no one has been in or out? Did you just move in?”

He freezes momentarily before taking another swing and then drops the hammer. “No one?” His tone is flat.

I shake my head even though I know he can’t see me. It doesn’t matter. His body language tells me he already knows the answer.

Taking a deep breath he runs his hands over his face before pushing back his hood and sighing. He stands to his feet and leans over the railing, squeezing the wood in his hands before I can get a good look at his face. The fact that no one has been here seems to bother him; like a lot.