I wrenched myself away from the window and scooped it up, returning to the scene of the crime and flopping on the couch.
Nash:tell me you stayed with her
That was an easy one.
Locke:course i did. she just went to bed
Nash:where are u?
Locke:on the couch
Nash:doing what?
Locke:texting u
He sent me a middle finger emoji. Then a blue heart that compelled me to keep typing.
Locke:i’m rinsing her coffee machine. i’ll be up when you get back
Nash:i don’t know when i’ll be back
Locke:doesn’t matter. i’ll be here
The subtext made my chest tight. I leaned back, rubbing it. Then I let it be, cos honestly, it wasn’t the worst feeling in the world to give a shit about someone.
Missing him hurt, though, and it made me yearn for the piece of my heart I’d sent to bed. Made me think of my daughter and everything Nash and Orla had done for her today. Everything they’d fuckin’chosento be for her. There were a lot of stand-up souls in the Rebel Kings, but somehow I’d caught feelings for the best.
I did the rounds, blowing out all the candles and switching off appliances. Then I washed up in the cloakroom reserved for brothers and dozed off watchingRaiders of the Lost Arkon mute.
Woke up to the mellow strum of an acoustic guitar and the sense of everything being right with the world. At least, the one that existed within the walls of Orla’s top-floor flat.
I opened my eyes.
Nash noticed and grinned at me from behind Willow’s guitar. “You left this in the car.”
I pushed myself upright.
He gave me a moment to get my shit together and take in the sight of him barefoot,shirtless, and fixing my daughter’s Santiago. To acclimate to the fact that he’d let himself into the flat, showered if his damp hair was anything to go by, and settled himself down without me hearing a thing.
“Easy,” he murmured, apparently reading my mind. “You didn’t wake up because you knew it was me.”
“That right?”
Nash strummed the guitar again. “Yup. I mean, Alexei’s been teaching me to ninja, but I’d never sneak up on you, and you always hear everyone else coming.”
Cos I’d learned the hard way that I had to, not that it had ever done me much good.
Fuck that.
I rubbed my face, pushing that mood away. “What’s wrong with the guitar? Willow never told me it was broken.”
“Headstock.” Nash held out the instrument, showing me a hairline crack in the upper part. “An easy fix if you catch it early.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Nash snorted. “Shut up, Locke.”
Nice. I settled back on the couch, watching him work, losing myself in his sexy concentration. In his deft fingers and expert skills when he deemed the guitar fixed enough to play properly. Sometimes I kidded myself that I knew this dude, even without a map of all the fucked-up things he’d lived through to get to this point.
