1
NOVA NICHOLS
HEROES NEVER DIE
Ryan Nichols is my hero. He’s my world.
He’s exactly who they model comic books and blockbuster movies after, when they write about the tall, dark, and annoyingly handsome lead swooping in to save the city.
Ryan Nichols is also my twin brother, older than me by mere minutes, and no matter how much I adore his existence, brothers were put on this planet to annoy their little sisters.
It’s in the rules.
“Let’s go, Nova!” Ryan slings my kitchen door open and pokes his head inside, his rear-end still on the back deck.
I startle and spill my coffee, the piping hot liquid dribbling along my wrist as I glance over my shoulder and snarl. “You’re a jerk.”
He grins and swaggers across the threshold, coming up behind me and grabbing my coffee. The scent of chopped wood and aftershave filters into the room, settling in the base of my lungs and providing me with a moment ofhome.
Thisis home.
Heis home.
But then he goes and ruins it all by plopping my mug in the sink and tipping it to the side, dark liquid washing down the drain.Bastard.
Staff Sergeant Ryan Nichols is not onlymyhero... he’s an American hero who has spent more of his adult life outside our borders than in. His visits these days aren’t as regular as I’d like, and never for long enough before the phone rings and he’s gone again.
But for now, at least for this week, I get to soak him up and store away the contentment I feel when we’re in the same room.
Annoying tendencies and all.
“You know you love me, kiddo.” He flicks the back of my neck and darts away. Because my duty, as his sister, is to spin and smack him with those handy skills he made damn sure I learned the instant I was old enough to swing. He snags the keys to my truck and heads out the door with a smile so broad, I have no chance of holding on to my annoyance.
Perks of being a hero, I guess.
“We’re headin’ to Dukes,” he calls from outside, stomping his boots against the top step with a noisythud-thud-thud.It’s a habit we’ve had since we were kids, because if we tracked mud into the house and Mom found out about it, we were toast. “If you’re not in the truck in thirty seconds, I’m leaving without you. Then you’ll pout about how we never spend time together.”
“You didn’t have to waste my coffee.” And yet, I slide off mystool and grab my phone. “You’ve been here for three days, and you’re already pissing me off.”
“Let’s go, Nova!”
I jump and snicker, skidding across the kitchen and bursting through the back door after him. Another habit, I guess, ingrained after two decades where our driveway curls around the side of the house and into the backyard.
No one uses our front door except salesmen and strangers.
I emerge into a sunny September day and catch the red flash of a cardinal darting into the trees at the back of our yard. The branches swell with deep green leaves, while the gardens below overflow with bright color. This is my favorite time of the year; after the summer heat has passed, but the October chill is yet to slide in.
Ryan hangs out of the truck door, his muscular chest wrapped in a shirt we both know the ladies like, and cargo pants he seems to think are necessary, even while he’s stateside.
It’s all about the pockets, kiddo. It’s about having everything you need nearby.
“I’m dying of hunger, Nova. And you’re standing between me and a breakfast burger.”
“You could’ve eaten here, ya know?” I turn and lock up the house, dragging the door closed and taking a moment longer than necessary.It’s what siblings do.“The coffee pot was full, the fridge is stocked. I could’ve even made you a breakfast burger the way they do it at the diner.”
“But I want Dukes.” He drops into the driver’s side and slams the door, then he starts the old engine and grins at her purr. Just as smooth as it was when it rolled off the showroom floor. Because Ry is a tinkerer of machines, and he makes damnsure to come home at least once a year to service mine and ensure its reliability.
Moving across my back porch with slow steps and a sweeping gaze, I take this moment, as I have a million times before, to acknowledge how eerily alike he and our father appear. How when he pulls on a pair of sunglasses to cover hazel eyes—the same as mine—and tugs on a baseball cap to squash down his dark locks—notthe same as mine—he becomes Terrance Nichols’ clone.
