He closes the bedroom door behind him, and with my head a tangle of thoughts, I find a pair of pajamas and change into them.
9
MAREK
I’m sitting on her couch reading a text message from Archie when Nikki appears in the long room that’s her living room, dining room, and kitchen. She’s wearing pink and white striped pajamas—long pants and a buttoned shirt. Her wet hair hangs in a tangle around her shoulders. I don’t think she combed it after her shower.
Jesus. This is killing me. She’s so gorgeous, so precious, but I fucking hate that checked-out look in her eyes. She’s so pale, with dark circles under her red eyes and a pink nose.
She walks into her little kitchen and fills her water glass, then guzzles it down.
I rise and move to the small counter between kitchen and dining room. “Are you hungry?”
She considers that. “Maybe?”
“What would you like? I can get something delivered. Or I can make you something if you have food.”
“My mom went shopping for me yesterday, but I’m not sure what she bought.”
Aaaaand I can literally see her skin go even whiter. She moves around the end of the counter and drops onto one of the stools there.
Dammit. She’s still not doing well.
“Put your head down.” I lay my palm on the back of her head and gently push. She bends at the waist and her back expands with a long breath.
I too pull in a slow breath to get control of my emotions. I’m pissed. Worried. Protective. I want to gather her up in my arms and hold her and make everything okay. I want to take her away and hide her from the world. We stand there for a couple of minutes and then she straightens.
“I’m okay.”
I rub in small circles on her back and move around to inspect her face. I might take exception to the word “okay” but she doesn’t look like she’s about to pass out.
So I move to her fridge and open the door. I’m not even seeing what’s in there for a moment as I battle my feelings. Then I take stock. Eggs. Cheese. Four kinds of cheese! Some fresh veg. I move to the pantry and find rice, pasta, canned tomatoes. “How about my special mac and cheese?” I ask over my shoulder. “Or a sandwich? Egg sandwich?”
“I love mac and cheese. I’m not supposed to have it, but I love it.”
“Not supposed to have it?” I freeze and gape at her.
“Carbs.” She makes a face. “I have to really watch what I eat.”
“Um. Yeah.” As an athlete, I’m conscientious about my diet. I try to fuel my body with the right balance of carbs, protein, and fats. But she’s a tiny little thing and… well, her dance routinesarepretty vigorous. Still… “But you need to eat.” I grab a box of macaroni.
“What makes it special?”
“I use alotof cheese.”
“Luckily Mom bought a lot of cheese, because I love cheese.”
“Somehow I figured that.” It’s not hard to find things in her little kitchen and I get a pan of water boiling. “So your parents were here?”
“Yes. They picked me up at the airport and brought me home and they stayed a couple of days.”
“You got home Friday night?”
“I think so.” She rubs one eyebrow. “It’s kind of a blur.”
I can’t believe they left her alone when she’s still so fragile. “Do they live nearby?”
“Not really. In Connecticut. A little place called Beaver Falls.”
