The Neighbor #3 (The Neighbor #3) by Claire Adams

THE
NEIGHBOR #3
    Book
3
    By
Claire Adams

 
    This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual
events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

 
    Copyright
© 2014 Claire Adams

 
 
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    Chapter One
    Ryder’s bedroom was awash in sunlight the next
morning. It occurred to me that I had never spent this time of day in the
bedroom with him. Last time it was so early the sun wasn’t even rising
yet.   It was heavenly.
    “Afterglow,” he said with distinct pleasure in
his voice. “I have never basked in it like this before. I have certainly never
experienced it with a woman like you. One of my favorite albums is So Much for the Afterglow by Everclear . I just
made myself look old again since they are a 1990’s post-grunge band. I think I
am babbling, which I do when I am relaxed,” Ryder said.
    I wasn’t paying attention to a word Ryder was
saying. He was going on about music while all I could think about was that I
was naked in bed with Ryder Curran again…my human sexuality   professor, my golf instructor, my
boyfriend/partner—and a person who had cancer. It wasn’t the easiest thing to
wrap my mind around.
    His king bed could have been a twin and we
would have ample space; our bodies were twisted around each other in a sensual
embrace. I took a good look at his head in the direct sunlight. The cancer, the
scar—everything was starting to make sense. He had not lost all his hair but it
was clearly a worry. It must have been why he liked to wear a cap all the time.
I laid my head on his shoulder, wrapped my arm around his neck, and fingered
his scar with my forefinger.
    “Stop.” Ryder shot up making me jump.
    “It’s okay,” I said.
    He eyed me suspiciously for a moment, and then
spoke in an angry tone. “You know I have cancer obviously since you’re so damn
curious about everything. How did you find out?” Ryder asked.
    “You forget that my father had cancer. I
learned a lot about it. I saw the pill bottles in the bathroom and I was especially
familiar with the anti-nausea medications and the Tropisteron .
When my father was ill, we had to administer it through his IV drip. I was
surprised to see it as an oral med.” I had a great deal of cancer information
stored in the back of my mind.
    “Since you think you’re so smart, can you tell
from the drugs what type of cancer I have?” Ryder asked.   I wasn’t sure if the question was antagonist
or curious in nature.
    “Since your head has been cut open I assume
you have—or had—brain cancer. And I am aware it’s not contagious, so lay back
down with me.”
    He stared at me for a moment and then spoke.
“For a little while, I liked to say I just had a malignant tumor. It sounded
less dire. After all I have been through, you would
think that I would’ve made peace with the cancer.”
    “So…you’re in denial?”
    “Something like that.
I am not going to make friends with cancer. Some have told me that I should
consider it the enemy. I’m not going to do that either. I just throw a cap on
my head, take the pills and let the pros stick me with needles, and then I
ignore it.”
    Ryder was finally opening up to me. “You must
think about it when you are puking your guts out,” I said referring to our
first night together. It was not the alcohol,