Andrew glares at him, hoping to convey what a traitor he thinks Nicki is. Unfortunately, Nicki owns every word he says, winking at Andrew, the smug fucker. “Why the fuck would you ever think he wants to be alone when he’s sick?”
“Uh, because he said so,” Charlie frowns, rising to stand in front of Nicki.
“He wants to be taken care of. He wants comfort. You’re going to take care of him while I’m gone, or you’ll be sorry.”
“Fuck off, Nicholas.” Charlie’s jaw is clenched, whether in agitation at Nicki or Andrew is unclear.
Ignoring Charlie, Nicki moves towards Andrew and bends over the side of the couch to kiss his forehead before smoothing his hair back. For a man who is nothing but harsh words and no tact, he’s surprisingly gentle with Andrew in a way that makes his insides wobble.
Who knew handsome, grumpy, antagonistic Nicholas Whitmore could be so tender. Certainly not Andrew, who never could’ve imagined where all this might lead. He’d been so sure fake dating only ended up with real romance in his novels, but for the first time, real life is playing out better than one of his books.
“Princesses need their rest,” Nicki whispers quietly enough Charlie won’t overhear the endearment.
“I’ve rested enough,” Andrew protests automatically.
Nicki makes a disgruntled noise, the weight of his hand on Andrew’s head making his eyes close automatically. God, Andrew likes how it feels when Nicki does that. Whether that big, strong hand is at the back of his neck or smoothing through his hair, it settles something in him.
“Make sure he rests,” Nicki demands, the words directed at Charlie.
Andrew doesn’t open his eyes, keeping them shut so he can pretend he’s not being talked about.
“I took care of him before you. Pretty sure I can manage,” Charlie snarks.
There’s anger in his tone, the kind that only appears in his happy-go-lucky twin’s voice when he’s worried. Andrew hates that he’s made everyone worry. Suddenly unable to stomach being the focus of so much attention, he buries his face into the back of the couch much like he used to as a kid, as if no one can see him if he can’t see them.
The sound of Charlie and Nicki’s hushed voices drops as they take their conversation to the door. Minutes later, the couch dips behind him as Charlie lays beside him.
“Annie.”
Refusing to cry, Andrew shoves his face deeper into the couch. Everything is changing, with Nicki but with Charlie, too. The more his mask falls around Nicki, the harder it’s becoming to keep it up at all.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew whispers.
“Why are you always apologizing?” Charlie asks.
“I hate making you all worry. I don’t…I don’t want to be trouble.”
“Too fucking bad. Be more trouble.”
“No.”
“Yes,” Charlie challenges, always so damn argumentative. “It’s about damn time you let us in. I would’ve shoved my way in before if I’d realized you were lying.”
“I wasn’t lying, I was...slightly distorting the truth to make things easier for everyone.”
“That’s literally lying, Annie.”
“Yeah,” Andrew admits, pulling his face out of the couch so he doesn’t suffocate.
There’s no hiding from Charlie, his fingers smoothing through Andrew’s hair that does nothing to keep the traitorous tears at bay. He doesn’t want to do this now, or ever, but maybe it’s better this way.
“Do you remember that day at the beach?”
Andrew closes his eyes, and suddenly he can taste the salt water and the bile, and can feel the lack of oxygen. It happened so fast. A simple bet. The desire to beat Charlie. An overestimation of his own swimming skills despite knowing the undercurrent wasn’t safe. He almost drowned that day. If the lifeguards hadn’t been so quick, if the CPR hadn’t worked, Andrew might not be here.
Agreeing to the bet from Charlie had been reckless, uncharacteristically so for Andrew, but the sun had been bright and his joy big, and he’d wanted to beat Charlie by swimming further past the buoy despite the warnings. He wanted to havefun. It was the last time he made that mistake.
Andrew hadn’t died that day, but a part of him had.
