He held her, pressed her head to his chest and let her cry her heart out. All the tension, the worry, the fear built up in her over the last few months coalesced into a shirt-soaking deluge of tears.
“He hasn’t done anything,” she sobbed.
“Okay.”
His hand stroked her hair, slowly, mesmerizingly, soothing her ragged nerves until her sobbing eased, leaving her quivering and hiccupping for breath.
“Oh, God,” she mumbled into his chest. “I am so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s okay, bunny.”
The old nickname, coming from all her job hopping, touched something deep inside her, deep and warm. He continued to stroke her hair and rub his hand up and down her back. She became aware that the thin cotton of her tank top was a flimsy barrier between her skin and Nate’s warm hand. But it felt so good, so comforting.
“I’ll wait up with you for him.” He pressed his face against the top of her head.
“Thank you.”
They stayed like that, and she took solace in his embrace. They talked about inconsequential things—the house, the weather, mutual friends—while the flickering fire cast a spell and emotional exhaustion took its toll. Krissa fell asleep in Nate’s arms.
A crashing woke her up.
Krissa lifted her head. Where was she? A man’s hard body was beneath her, his strong arms around her. What was that noise?
Some scuffling, another bang and then Derek’s slurred voice from across the room. “Hey. What’sh going on here?”
If that was Derek standing in the kitchen, who was…oh, yeah. Nate. Krissa struggled to sit up, pushing her hair out of her face, while Nate released her and rubbed his eyes.
“Derek.” She sat on the couch, hands on the cushion on either side of her hips as she leaned forward, struggled to focus on him in the dark. “Where were you?”
His shirt was rumpled, tie gone, collar unbuttoned. His suit jacket lay on the floor in a heap with his shoes. His blond hair stood up and he stared at them with blurry eyes.
He took two unsteady steps forward. His brows drew together. “Nate?”
“Yeah, Nate.” Gathering her sleepy wits, she stood. “You’re drunk, you idiot. Nate is here, remember? You were supposed to pick him up at the airport?”
Derek stared in confusion at his old friend. Nate pushed a hand through his hair and stood, too. “Hey, man. Good to see you.”
Nate moved over to Derek to give him a masculine hug and slap on the back. Derek returned it but still seemed disoriented. “I forgot you were coming, bud.”
“Yeah, you and Krissa both. Good to know I’m so memorable.”
Derek swayed on his feet.
“Looks like you’ve been having a good time.” Nate’s voice hardened. “Have a seat, man.”
He pushed Derek down to the couch and he went down easily, almost falling.
Krissa wrapped her arms around herself. The room was very warm from the fireplace that had been going for the last few hours, but a chill stroked over her skin. She glanced at herwatch. “Derek, it’s two in the morning, for God’s sake. Where the hell have you been?”
He gazed back at her bleary-eyed, sadness not obliterated by intoxication. “I’m sorry, Krissa.”
She rolled her lips in, sank her teeth into the top lip. She closed her eyes, and turned away, her chest tightening.
“Sorry to you too, Nate. I totally forgot.” Derek sighed.
“Don’t worry about me. But Krissa was worried about you, man. Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning. When you’re sober.”
Derek scrubbed his hands over his face, sagged back into the couch, and blinked at them. “You’re right. I’m an asshole.” He focused on Krissa. “Sorry I didn’t call, baby.”
