“Don’t let it get you down.” I walk to the shed doors and peek outside. “I’d be way more humiliated about being afraid of the dark.”
“Oh, shut up!” She laughs, soothing the ache biting at my soul. “I’ll see you soon. Don’t take too long because I’m curious as hell, and there’ll come a point I don’t care if you’re there or not.”
“Good to know where I stand.” Slipping out of the shed andturning back to close the doors, I cast a cursory glance toward the house before spinning the other way and jogging straight toward the trees. On the other side is my house, and soon after that, her. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
18
NOVA
GET OUT AND GO
My feet bounce with nerves, and anticipation leaves me with a stomach in turmoil. Neither of which are sensations I particularly enjoy. But I wait outside the bank at the fifteen-minute mark, my purse straps slung over one arm and my back pressed to the brick wall.
Fifteen minutes, though Lincoln said he’d be ten.
Or maybe I mentioned ten, expecting him to drop everything and meet my demands.
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and moisten it, even as a gusty breeze flitters along Main Street and dries it out again immediately after. Just when I’m tempted to tap my nails against the bank’s exterior and risk destroying them, Lincoln barrels into an empty parking slot in his rental and cuts the engine with a sharp wrench of his keys. Unsnapping his belt—like he knows if he doesn’t hurry, I might lose my nerve and run away—he slides out of the car and slams the door in the time I take to inhale just once.
Stalking my way, he tugs me in, his hand on the back of my head, and my face slamming into his chest. His shirt mops up my tears, and his hug hides the sound of my hitching breath.
“Sorry.” He rubs my back in slow, soothing circles, his lips hovering by my ear. “I hurried. I’m sorry I took longer than I meant to.”
“It’s okay.” I won’t cry. I won’t panic. I refuse to lose my shit and look more like a fool than I already am. Instead, I inhale the scent of his aftershave, and with it, the tang of motor oil I love so much. “I’m not gonna cry.”
Chuckling, he leans back and swipes the pads of his thumbs beneath my eyes to mop up my teary mess. “Okay.”
“No, really.” I set my hands on his stomach and nudge him back just far enough that I can stand on my own two feet. Then I broaden my shoulders and lift my chin.Pretendingto be proud, in my experience, comes with a hundred percent success rate of looking the part.
Sort of.
Not really.
“People will start avoiding me soon if I don’t stop this craziness.” Curiosity battles with dread, but I turn toward the lawyer’s office and watch the sidewalk as we move. “I’ll become that weird lady who makes people uncomfortable. Eventually, everyone will stop inviting me places, and then they’ll cross the street if they see me coming. I’ll go down in history as that weird, scary, old spinster who terrifies children.”
“You’re allowed to be emotional.” He extends his hand, palm side up. But he doesn’t force our connection. He doesn’t snatch my hand like some others might. He simply waits. When I accept, twining our fingers together, the worry in his eyessoftens to something much nicer. “You’ve just gone through the most traumatic event of your life.”
“Which is why you won’t sleep with me.” I snicker. “Seems so odd thatI’mthe one grieving, andyouwon’t make me happy when I ask.”
“Seems so odd thatyouannoy the shit out of me with that nonsense, andIdon’t just do the damn thing I wanna do,” he tosses right back, his jaw clenching. “I assure you, Nova Nichols. Iwantto. I’m just trying really fucking hard not to make things worse.”
“Uh-huh.” I cuddle into his arm, if only to hide my watery smile. “I’ve heard this before.”
“Never in the history of ever have I tried so hardnotto get laid,” he groans. “My denial is like a disease eating away at my bones. Every time I say no, I grow weaker.”
“Sounds like we know the cure, then.” I tug him left and push the legal office doors open, stepping into air-conditioned cool and a lobby that clearly represents the oodles of money these people make from grieving clients.
A water feature. A standing desk.Abercrombie and Aberdeenin giant lettering on a sparkling white wall.
I keep hold of Lincoln’s hand, but I steer us toward the desk and smile at the woman on the other side. “Nova Nichols. I’m here to see Jodie.”
“Of course.” She doesn’t even make us sit and wait. Striding to the end of her long desk and gesturing for us to follow, she stalks along a wide hallway in a skirt suit with a dangerously high split in the back and high heels not all that different from the kind I wore out two nights ago. “Ms. Aberdeen is finishing up a meeting right now. But she said to let you into the boardroom,where you’ll find your belongings.” Stopping at a door with a number three prominently displayed in gold, she slips a key into the lock and pushes the heavy wood open. Finally, she steps out of the way and gestures us inside. “I placed your belongings in here personally, Ms. Nichols, approximately twenty minutes ago. After which point, I locked the door. No one has come in or out in all that time.”
“Okay.” I attempt to ignore the box on the table in the middle of the room, though it may as well be a giant neon sign with confetti cannons on the side and creepy doll music piping from hidden speakers.
Ignoring it is impossible.
“It’s all yours now.” Smiling and backing away, Tegan’s gaze flickers from me to Lincoln. “The room is yours until you’re done. Open your parcel here, if you wish, or take it away. It’s entirely up to you.” Closing the door, she flips the locks, the ominous click-clack bouncing through a room that could send a person into a spiral of claustrophobia if they’re not careful.
