Sure, he’s helping us now, but that doesn’t mean we’re okay. The weight of what I did lingers between us, and I have no idea how to fix it. I keep hoping he’ll say something, give me a chance to explain, but every look he sends my way reminds me how far we’ve drifted.
At least there’s a difference in the way he talks to Koen. It’s guarded, of course it is, but there’s also an ease there. A flicker of the Nicholas I got to know, the one who doesn’t measure every word before he says it. It’s subtle, but I catch it, and I hope so much that even if I fucked things up with him, at least all of this brought him his best friend back.
“Hey, Trouble, you good?” Ace murmurs beside me, his voice pulling me from my thoughts. I glance over, and he’s already leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. It’s so sudden, so light, that my chest flutters.
“Hey,” I whisper as I smile at him. “I’m good, you?”
“I am.” He smiles back as his hand finds the small of my back, the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of the shirt and my clothes underneath. Today was a huge day for him on so many levels, and the fact that we’re here like this is a miracle.
When Ace nods and directs his gaze down at the cat, I turn my attention back to Nicholas, only to find his eyes already on me. The sadness in them is a punch to the gut, and before I can say anything, he looks away, focusing on Koen again.
“Girl,” Annabelle’s arm brushes mine as she murmurs in my ear. “What did you do to that guy?”
A lot.
“Why?”
“Because…” she says conspiratorially. “Whenever you’re not looking, he stares at you like a kicked puppy. Heliterallygave you his last shirt and doesn’t even want it back, even though he’s sitting there in all his glorious nakedness.”
“Belle…” I warn.
“I’m just saying,” she continues, unbothered. “It looks like you’re not treating him right. That is puppy abuse.”
“He’s not a puppy,” I mutter, but the words sound weak, even to me.
After maybe another half hour of me watching and pining after him, Nicholas stands suddenly. “Thanks for the food. I’m heading home.” His gaze flicks to me briefly, sadness still lingering there when he turns and walks out of the living room.
Annabelle doesn’t miss a beat. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Nico, wait.” I push up from the couch and race after him, the hem of his shirt fluttering against my thighs as I move. I catch up just as he’s reaching the garage door and grab his arm, pulling him to a stop. “Please,” I beg breathlessly, unsure if it’s from the sprint or the rush of emotions swirling in me.
He turns, his expression carefully neutral, though I can see the tension in his jaw. It only makes the guilt twist harder in my chest. “What,Novalee?”
“Your shirt.” I fumble with the buttons, already pulling it off my shoulders. “Here, you should?—”
“You can keep it.”
“But you’re…” My words falter as my gaze drops, and my eyes trace the lines of his chest and defined ab muscles. He’s stunning. My mouth goes dry, and I lose the thread of what I was going to say.
His finger hooks under my chin, tilting my head back up until my eyes meet his. For a fleeting moment, there’s something soft in his gaze, but it hardens just as quickly—a shield slamming into place. “You’ve got enough guys in there waiting for you.”
Ouch.
“Nico,” I breathe out, the ache in my tone clear as day.
“That wasn’t fair,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m hurt, okay? I’m hurt, and maybe I should be the bigger person,but it’s fucking difficult. All of it is.” My lips part, but he keeps going, cutting my interruption. “My mother is a monster who killed one of my favorite people. I have to hang out with people I’ve hated for over a decade, people who hated me, only to find out things weren’t what they seemed. That we were apart because of some misunderstanding, and I spent years alone fornothing.”
Again, I want to open my mouth to apologize, but he barrels on. “And the person I thought I was in love with isn’t who she said she is. And she’s in love with three other men. And?—”
“Nico,” I almost whimper.
He reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair from my face. “You’re not the person you made me believe you are,” he says softly. But there’s no warmth in the words. They’re a wall going up between us.
“I would like to talk. To apologize, to explain?—”
“Remember when I told you about the girl Veronica sent after me?” he cuts me off.
Shit.
