She’s come a long way since she got here. We both have.
I don’t want to think about what’s going to happen when the road clears, but it’s getting warmer every day, and my time holding her as she falls asleep is slipping through my fingers faster than I’d like.
21
ESTE
“One more, angel. You can handle it.”
I’m not sure I can, but it’s too good to say no. I open my mouth and groan as Nico slips the fork between my lips. My ex didn’t cook, and, for a while, I thought a list of all the best takeout spots in Chicago was the hottest thing a guy could have. I was wrong. At this point, I’m already so far gone over Nico that his ability to whip my favorite pasta dish up out of ingredients in his cellar is just the final nail in the coffin.
Him being able to cook is hot. Him specifically cooking my favorite meal just in case I needed something comforting after therapy is even hotter. Not to mention him feeding me after giving me two orgasms to help me switch off and letting me drool on him in my sleep when we napped.
“You’re fucking up my standards,” I tell him as he swipes a piece of his homemade sourdough through the sauce and holds it out to me. Has bread ever tasted this good? Jesus.
“How so?”
“I woke up with your fingers between my legs, you’ve spent over twenty-four hours baking me a loaf of bread, you made my favorite meal from scratch, and now you’re literally feeding me after giving me multiple orgasms. No one will ever be able to compete.”
A smirk curves Nico’s lips. “Good.”
I sound like I’m joking, Ishouldbe joking, but I’m not. It’s just another reminder that, once the road clears, I’ll have no reason to keep invading his personal space, even if I really like invading his personal space.
Nico’s gaze zeroes in on my face, like he can see my mind drifting back to pre-orgasm Este. “You ready to talk about it?”
“Do I have to?” I wrinkle my nose, and he taps the tip.
“I held up my side of the deal, did I not?”
“That you did.” I can’t even pretend he didn’t. My body is still so worn out, I’m not sure I could make it upstairs by myself. “It was just one of those therapy sessions. Did you ever do therapy?” I ask, even though I could probably guess, all things considered.
“Twice. Once after the crash, once at the start of this year, but I’ve never made it past the first appointment.” He casts his gaze at his lap, like he’s embarrassed.
I grab his hand, threading our fingers together and squeezing. “The fact that you even tried again this year after so long is really fucking impressive. It’s a step, Nico.”
He squeezes back. “Maybe. But we’re talking about you.”
In the time I’ve spent with Nico, it’s clear he isn’t usedto opening up. But he seems more inclined to do so when I do, and, though I wish I could just forget my session today, on the slim chance it encourages him to talk, it’s worth talking about.
“My therapist—Rebecca—generally lets me lead the sessions. Obviously, I’m still processing everything from the crash, and she said that right now it’s important for me to have a space where I can focus on what I need to. Crisis management, I guess, and then, when I’m ready, we’ll focus on the bigger picture stuff and building long-term coping strategies or whatever. It works for now. But technically, the airline hired her so they can check in whenever they want.”
“They checked in?” Nico guesses, and I nod.
“Yeah. It’s like my dads—they’re in denial, I think. My boss wanted to know when I’m going back, even though I handed my resignation in months ago, and they won’t accept it because it’s just a ‘trauma response.’”
Nico frowns. “Can they do that? Not accept your resignation?”
“They cannot. And they wouldn’t bother trying if I weren’t the owner’s granddaughter.” Or if I weren’t so young or a woman. As hard as I’ve tried to prove myself, I know there will always be an air of “we know better” in an industry dominated by men.
“I don’t think they understand that the longer they drag it out, the harder it is for me. This job is everything I’ve ever wanted—I’ve spent my whole life training for it. I’m not walking away from it like it means nothing. I wish I could just get over it, but I can’t. I’ve tried.” My voicecracks, and Nico shifts to tug me into his arms. A single tear drizzles down my cheek as I continue. “I did the airline-ordered therapy, I tried hypnosis, I tried forcing myself to get on a plane, I tried medication. I’ve tried everything, but the reality is that all the hard work I put in is worthless because I can’t do it. And I’m not going to force myself, because no one who isn’t completely confident and enthusiastic should be sitting in a cockpit with that kind of responsibility.”
“The fact that you recognize that is the reason you’re exactly the kind of person who should be in the job. But it’s okay if it’s not the job for you anymore, angel. You’re twenty-six. You have more than enough time to pivot.”
“Iknow that. I’m not the problem for once,” I point out, and Nico smiles, tracing the curve of my mouth with his pinky.
“Of course you’re not. You’re perfect. You could never be the problem.” There’s not an ounce of sarcasm in his tone, and I snort.
“I’ve been more of a problem for you than anyone else.”
