As much as I want to say this is something I have to do alone, I think I’ll feel better with Nico there. If I break down, he’ll be there to catch me.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll wait until you stop by and we can get started.”
Nico stops me before I get to my car and gives me a quick kiss. I lean in for another, savoring his taste.
“I’ll be there at like ten, okay?”
“Okay.”
After one more kiss, he walks toward his car, leaving me with my heart in my throat.
Just as I thought,it was hard as fuck packing up Hendrix’s things. We only finished the closet, pulling out his many tailored suits and boxing them up for donation. Despite not wanting to appear weak, tears streamed down my face pretty much the entire time. Nico pretended not to notice at first, then handed me a tissue when I couldn’t stop them. He didn’t make a thing of it, didn’t point it out to poke fun. He just helped me pack while I mourned my friend.
When the closet was empty of everything but the many boxes and bags, I was done. I couldn’t keep going. I was too raw.
Before I could say it, Nico stretches his arms over his head. “I think we made good progress. We can come back in a few more days to finish up. You hungry?”
I shake my head and clean my face. “No, but I could use a drink.”
“Let’s go sit out on the balcony. The night air will clear your head.”
We step out of the closet and make our way to the door. Before we leave, I pick up the picture frame from beside the bed, looking at the pic of Hen and me. Nico looks at it over my shoulder. “That’s a good photo. You should put it in your room.”
I jolt at the idea. It’s so simple that I probably should have thought of it myself. But I never wanted to disturb anything in Hen’s room. Now that I’m packing, I can keep this for myself.
Holding the photo to my chest, I leave Hen’s room andwalk the few steps to my own, planting the picture on my nightstand.
When I leave my room, I see the balcony door open, the gossamer curtain blowing in the breeze. I step outside and find Nico leaning against the railing, looking down at the traffic below.
“Thought we were supposed to watch the stars,” I murmur as I grab a beer from the sixpack, open it and stand beside him.
He glances over at me, a soft grin on his face. “Come on, handsome,” he walks over to one of the chairs and sits down, patting his thigh. “You can sit on Santa’s lap while we name constellations and you can tell me if you were a good boy.”
I snort a laugh, but that doesn’t stop me from doing exactly that, planting myself on his lap and settling against Nico’s strong chest. He wraps an arm around me, holding me close.
His hand is right near my scar, the last memory of my mother. He asked me once where I got it from, but I shut him down. No one knows, not even Hen, Carter, or Dad. It’s something I kept to myself. I felt like if I told someone, it would take more of my mom away from me.
But I want Nico to know. If anyone would keep my secret, it’s him. I trust him not to even mistakenly mention it. Nico is a vault.
Exactly what I need.
After taking a long swallow of my beer, I set it down on the table and grab Nico’s hand. I trail it up to where the graze scar is and rub his fingers back and forth over it. “When I was eight, someone attacked our car, trying to kill my dad. My mom, she protected us, using her body to cover ours.”
“I heard. I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
“She was a hero, but she couldn’t save us all from complete harm. One of the bullets that tore through herbody grazed me. The pain was…indescribable. At eight, it was the worst physical pain I’ve ever felt in my life. I screamed and cried, but Dad thought it was the pain of losing my mother. And I let him believe that. This is the last thing I have of her. The last reminder that my mother lived and died for us.”
“Fuck, baby. I didn’t know.”
My belly swoops at the endearment as tears spill down my face. “No one does.” I turn to him, hoping to impress upon him that when I say no one, I mean it. “I want to keep it that way.”
With gentle hands, Nico wipes some of my tears, then pulls me in for a sweet kiss. “It’ll stay that way.”
I smile. “Have you ever seen a picture of my mom?”
“A few when we went to your house for dinner.”
I pull my wallet from my pocket. “Those are of her being all dressy for the wives of the family. This is the real her.”
