“I guess I am,” I say with a smile. “Funny how that works out.”
She cocks her head, eyes narrowing. “You’re holding back, Kincaid. Don’t think I can’t see it.”
I start to protest and she holds up a hand, interrupting. “And that’s fine. I appreciate what you felt comfortable sharing, but I feel the need to say something else.”
There’s a gentleness to her voice. A softness to her presence. The rest of the world fades away and it’s just us, sitting at the edge of a pier, basking in sunlight and good company. Lucy puts her hand over mine and cranes her neck to meet my eyes.
“Your dad would be proud of you, Nash. You said you wanted to honor him by following in his footsteps and you have. Look at what you’ve done for me. You’ve gone above and beyond, making sure I have the best possible chance of getting my life back. And I’m no one special. Basically a stranger. Someone your brother knew when he was younger.”
You’re incredibly special.
The thought comes unbidden as the wind blows a lock of hair into Lucy’s face. I brush it back, tuck it behind her ear.
“I’m really grateful for you,” she says, her voice low and real and honest, “and I think your dad would be really proud.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, then clear my throat and glance away. “Well, on that note, we should probably head back, don’t you think? We still have physical therapy to get through and I’m gonna need to swim for an hour to work off that sandwich.”
Lucy takes her hand off mine, brushing imaginary crumbs off her lap. “Yep. That all sounds good. Thanks for giving up so much of your day off for me.”
“Of course. This was surprisingly nice.”
Lucy grins. “Oh wow. Look at that. Nash Kincaid had fun and no one got hurt.”
I help her to her feet, aware of the scent of her shampoo, the softness of her skin and all I can think isyet. No one got hurt… yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lucy
The water’s gone lukewarm, but I can’t bring myself to get out of the tub. Not yet. Not when everything in my life feels so strange and blurry and undefined. Like the steam on the mirror, the fog on the horizon.
Nash’s spare bathroom is quite luxurious. Small and quiet, all slate-gray tile and matte black fixtures. A glass-walled shower stands across from the freestanding bathtub. The lighting is soft and indirect, casting golden pools across the stone floor. Even the silence feels intentional here. I tip my head back against the edge of the tub, one knee poking above the surface like a little island. My phone buzzes and I smile. Stella and Gabby know about the kiss last week and have been teasing me ever since.
Instead of a message from my friends, Mom’s name flashesacross my screen.
Mom
Been a couple days. How ya holding up?
I quickly fire of a response that minimizes my injury, maximizes my happiness, and doesn’t mention Nash at all, then happily open a text from Stella to distract myself.
Stella
So?? Is Nash still walking around shirtless but pretending he just wants to be friends?
Twice today alone. It was cruel and unnecessary
Gabby
Your definition of cruel differs from mine
You haven’t seen what I’ve seen
Stella
You’re so dramatic
YOU HAVEN’T SEEN WHAT I’VE SEEN
