THE PRESENT
I should have taken tonight’s starless sky as a warning.
Nothing good ever happened on them.
I swung the hotel lobby door open and glared at the sky, sifting through some secrets I could offer it.
Secret #1—I may shed a tear if I get to the soup kitchen and find it closed—then poison Chantilly for making us work so late without overtime pay.
Secret #2—I screamed Nash’s name so loud when Ben made me come last night. You can’t imagine the fear fueling my veins when I peeped my head out of the closet to make sure no one heard me.
Secret #3—I snuck a bag of pita chips and cold soda from the fridge when everyone went to lunch today and Delilah came down to grab Nash’s signature on a few papers. I hid the wrapper and empty can under the couch cushions when he came back sooner than I’d expected.
Chantilly sat on the cushion above the can, and everyone went silent because they thought she farted. I said nothing, even when red flushed her cheeks and she looked at Nash like he’d throw on a knight’s armor and save her.
Does that make me the dragon and Chantilly the princess in this story? (If it’s any consolation, she’d join a league of Snow Whites, and you know how I feel about that.)
There you have it. Are three secrets enough for you, Starless Sky? Will you spare me tonight?
“Waiting for the sky to fall, Winthrop? That would only happen if you ever decided to act normal.”
My legs jerked at Nash’s lazy drawl. I tamped their reaction as best as I could, exhaling as if I’d run a marathon in the past second. My staccato heartbeat reached a climax before falling.
“Following me is pointless.” I gave the sky another fifteen seconds to respond—a shooting star, a comet, anything—before I lowered my head and began walking. “I’m never going to accept your double portions. You may as well stop.”
I didn’t have to stare at him to know the corners of his lips curled up when my stomach protested.
Loudly.
“Hmm…” Nash’s stride matched mine. “Do you really want to walk yourself to the soup kitchen alone in the dark only to walk back after you figure out it’s closed?”
Translation: are you that stubborn?
I tipped a shoulder up in a half-assed shrug and catapulted to record-breaking speeds. “If the shoe fits, it fucking fits.”
“That’s not the saying.” Nash’s hand shot out and steadied me when a car rounded the corner too closely.
My heart punched at my chest, rendering me too useless to protest as he swapped our positions, so he walked on the street side.
When I finally collected myself, I should have thanked him. Instead, I continued my speed walk. “You must wear shoes that don’t fit.”
“That’s not a saying either.” He dug two hands into his dress slacks. We waited for the sign to turn white. “For the record, I’m not following you. I volunteer at that soup kitchen. Better—I basically fund it.”
“We both know the soup kitchen is closed. It’s—” I grabbed Nash’s hand to glance at his watch, but the wild rhythm of his pulse against my fingertips distracted me. Definitely didn’t think that one through. “Umm…”
“Ten forty-six.”
Catching sight of his amusement might very well kill me, so I glared at the sky. We waited for the crosslight to turn green.
I gave you secrets.
You gave me Nash.
What the fuck, dude?
“Right.” I lowered my head. “It’s ten forty-six.”
“If you know the soup kitchen is closed, why are you still headed there?”
“Hope, young grasshopper.” I rounded the corner adjacent to the soup kitchen, recalling his note about asking Betty to find his hope. Had he ever found it? “That shit gets me full.”
“Like magic words?”
I stopped and gave in, studying his face with the vigor of a straight-A student. He seemed pleased with himself. Too confident that he’d found a pressure point of mine. The real pressure points were the questions that threatened to spill past my lips.
The most important one being—why do you even care about feeding me?
I bit my tongue.
“What do you know about magic words?”
“I know you look batshit when you mouth them during meetings with suppliers.” His arm crossed over my stomach as a car careened past us at the crosswalk. My abs flexed at his touch, my shirt suddenly feeling too thin. Meanwhile, he appeared unaffected. “People stare at me and wonder why the fuck I hired the lunatic in the ripped jeans and selcouth tees.”
“I haven’t worn the selcouth tee since—”
He cocked a brow. “Since?”
“Is there a point to this conversation, or can we eat—Wait. You’re pressing me.” My fists rested on each hip. I tipped my head up to glower at Nash. “If you think you can do some subtle ninja interrogation and find a way to trick me into eating your food, you’re as stoned as you used to be.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He gestured across the street. “The soup kitchen is closed. The lights are off. Unless…”
You hate me, don’t you, Starless Night?
“Unless?” I curled my toes inside my Chucks, knowing I’d loathe whatever answer he offered me.
“Unless you know someone who donates a shit ton of money and has a key to the place.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a set up.” I retreated a step when I realized how close we stood. “Or worse—a favor.”
“Come on, Tiger.” His jaw ticked, gaze flicking upward in a way that made me wonder if he talked to starless skies, too. “Give yourself a break.”
“If you tell me why you call me Tiger.” I bounced on my toes, wondering what else I could glean from him. Nash hoarded secrets like the Kardashians hoarded cars. He could stand to lose a few. “No bullshit. None of that abstract answer thing you pulled the other day, too.”
The pad of his thumb brushed his bottom lip. “I tell you why I call you tiger, and you go in?”
“It’s that easy.”
His curse rocked my heels back. “That’s not easy.”
The button-down he wore pulled tight when he shoved his hands inside his dress slacks. Solid stone sat beneath his shirt, and I wondered if it would ever crack. He reminded me so much of the Sisyphus statue I’d found. I almost couldn’t wait to show it to him, but I remembered I’d called the gallery and asked them to hold the Depressing Sisyphus instead.
His eyes dipped to my stomach, which took its cue to growl. “Fine.” He ran his hand through his hair—once, which I’d never figured out the meaning of.
“An actual explanation,” I warned. “Be honest.”
Waiting for him to answer felt like finishing a book and learning the next wouldn’t release for a year.
“Remember when I first said it?” His jaw ticked at his words.
“When I ran into you at my cotillion.”
“Yeah.” The scowl unfurling across his face could conquer lands and unseat kings. “After you kneed Able Small Dick Cartwright in the balls. Twice.” He delivered the words like you’d deliver a bomb. No remorse.
I jabbed at the crosswalk button, harder than necessary. “Good times.”
“I said it because you’re fierce.” Nash touched my elbow until I faced him and held eye contact. “You came out of that room looking like a warrior, ready to destroy anything that dared cross you, including me and Reed.”
Some people accept criticism well; others, compliments. I fell into a third category—neither. Mostly because I didn’t talk to many people and cared even less about their opinion of me.
It made accepting a compliment from Nash more difficult than it should have been, because it came accompanied by the underlying threat of luring me in.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, allowing them to curl into fists out of sight.
“It’s not an insult?” I barely heard my words over my pulse.
“It was never an insult.”
A hummingbird had replaced my heart, and it fluttered inside me, beating its wings to a rhythm I couldn’t keep up with.
Shut up, Heart. I can’t deal with you right now. Go hibernate.
I wanted to ask so many questions.
Why are you feeding me?
Why are you mad at the world?
Why are you mad at me?
Are you okay? Has anyone asked you that since Hank died?
Swallowing them all, I nodded across the street. “The crosslight turned green.” I dodged around Nash and made it to the door first.
He could have asked me to move, but he leaned over my body. His front pressed against my back. He reached around me and unlocked the door. I shotgunned forward at the first opportunity, making my way through the buffet with my phone’s flashlight until I realized everything had been emptied. Not even the chip packets remained at the snack station.
“Fuck.”
Nash flicked the light on from the door. “I’ll make you a sandwich in the back.”
“The deal was, I’d go inside. Not that I’d eat anything.” I trailed him into the kitchen because it felt weird to be in the buffet area without supervision. “Good thing Delilah’s your lawyer and not you.”
He ignored me, washed his hands, and pulled out ingredients with ease, obviously familiar with the kitchen’s layout. I set my phone down and studied him. His fluid movements disgusted me. No one deserved to make sandwiches with the grace of a professional athlete.
Two slices of sourdough.
Turkey.
Extra chipotle mayo.
Lettuce.
Watching him make me food felt surreal. Obviously, I knew he’d done it in the past, but seeing it was a different story. Like breaking the fourth wall.
Nash was the star quarterback who lived in his own fiery universe, and he’d somehow gravitated into my icy one. I wanted to share my starless skies and steal his scorching sun. I would never understand it, but it was my truth.
This is why happiness isn’t permanent, I thought. Life introduces you to fantasies, then makes you feel like you can’t have them. You spend the rest of your life seeking that fantasy. When you realize it grew beneath your feet, it’s too late.
I set my phone on the countertop opposite of him, leaned against it, and gripped it with both hands. When Nash added a layer of Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles inside the sandwich, my head jerked back.
My favorite sandwich.
He remembered.
How the fuck?
Never once did he look up to me. His attention to detail unnerved me. He sliced the bread diagonally, placed it on a rectangular plate, and set it beside my hand on the counter. My feet seemed less solid as I stared at it.
It occurred to me that we knew more about one another than we’d let on.
Getting to know someone is like gaining weight. Scattered bits acquired here and there. Next thing you know, you’re twenty pounds heavier, wondering where the hell all of it came from.
“What?” he asked when I didn’t touch it.
“Umm…” I tugged the hem of my tee.
“Jesus, Emery, spit it out.” Nash shot me a look that suggested he didn’t know why he was putting himself through this. “You’ve never been shy before. Don’t start now.”
I went with the first thing I could think of.
“There’s no card…”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
I expected him to ignore me, but he shook his head, grabbed a pen and paper from a drawer, and set it on the counter. His tongue swiped his lips as he wrote. Slowly at first, then quick scribbles I feared I wouldn’t be able to read.
He folded the note and set it beside the sandwich. “Don’t read it now.”
“But—”
“Do you want it or not?”
I tucked the note into my pocket before he could take it back. “Fine.”
My stomach growled. I eyed the sandwich and toyed with the bread.
“What now?” His lips pressed together. He ran his hand through his hair. Twice. “Just eat the sandwich. Fuck.”
His persistence reached a point where I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t understand his motives, but I knew he genuinely wanted me fed, and that offered me leverage. It was a matter of how much.
“If I let you feed me,” I began, taking my time, “I get to ask two things of you—a favor and a question. I expect the truth.”
“You used up your honesty for the day.”
I jutted my chin up, daring him to pull a Chantilly and argue. “Nash.”
“What?”
My eyes peered at him. I hoped he saw how much I meant it. “Work with me. Please.”
He took his time examining me. I thought he’d given up on feeding me until he grabbed the sandwich and held it in front of my lips.
“Take a bite first, then we talk.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks. I leaned forward and bit into the sandwich, pulling back when my lips brushed against his finger. I hurried to chew, unable to enjoy the taste as his eyes fixated on my mouth.
“What’s the favor?” he asked when I swallowed.
“I want a centerpiece for the hotel.”
“Why?”
The door seemed further away.
I peeked at it and considered making a run for it. “Why what?”
“You know what I’m asking. Stop being cute.” A fingertip met the bottom of my chin. The slightest touch turned me to face him. “Why do you want the centerpiece so much?”
“This isn’t part of the deal.” His touch burned my chin. I dislodged from it with a shake of my head. “I eat, and you do it. That’s the deal.”
“Fuck the deal. Answer the question.”
“You can’t follow rules, can you?”
“Rules are made to separate leaders from followers. I know which I am, and it seems you’re not the one I thought you were.” He set the sandwich down and folded his arms across his chest, studying my face like he didn’t understand me and didn’t fully understand why he wanted to. “You could ask for any favor. A centerpiece doesn’t benefit you. Why this?”
I resented Nash for being so relentless. His conviction matched my own, which meant every time we spoke, one of us won and one of us lost. And I usually sat on the losing side.
What was that Robert Kiyosaki quote?
Sometimes you win, and sometimes you learn.
I swallowed my pride and took the L, wondering what the fuck it taught me. “You don’t care about Haling Cove’s location.”
“Because you know me so well?”
“I do.”
I fidgeted with my fingers, telling myself my words wouldn’t condemn me. So what if I knew Nash? He’d lived on my dad’s estate for almost ten years. It’d be less normal if I didn’t know Nash.
I continued, “I don’t like that I do, but it doesn’t change the fact that I know you. You don’t care about Haling Cove, but Betty cares about you. Haling Cove is close to Eastridge. That means she’ll be here during the grand opening.”
My pulse leapt in my throat, nearly choking me, a reminder of what a pain in the ass it could be. Loving someone Nash loved seemed more intimate in the moment. As if it were a degree too close to him.
“And?” he asked.
I considered lying, but what would the point? He usually saw through it. Plus, lies cost more than truths, and I was broke with a capital B.
“And,” I drawled, rushing out a breath with my words, “I want her to be proud of what I helped build.”
His silence made my feet bounce against the linoleum. I waited for him to wash away that glint from his eyes. It made the room feel hotter, the floor less sturdy, and my stomach prick with little needles.
I broke first. “Will you do it or what?”
“Done.” That glint never left his eyes. If anything, it grew, a balloon near its popping point. “Eat the food.”
Beside us, my phone buzzed. I shot my eyes to it, praying it wasn’t a notification from the Eastridge United app before I remembered I’d shut those off. Reed’s name flashed on the screen.
I didn’t move to answer.
Nash had picked up the sandwich again, but it hovered in his hands as he eyed the phone. “You’re ignoring him?”
“He’s proposing to Basil.”
I didn’t elaborate.
“I don’t understand it.”
“Neither do I.” I automatically bit into the sandwich when he held it up to me, then stepped back after I realized what I’d done. His amusement didn’t waver as I glared at him, chewed, and swallowed. “I don’t like him like that anymore,” I added since he continued giving me a look that suggested I did.
“Sure.”
“I swear.”
“I believe you.”
“I mean it.”
I swiped hair out of my eyes and frowned, realizing something. Reed never made me feel like I floated in the air while tethered to the ground. A feeling I only knew existed because it was the type of off-balance that engulfed me whenever Nash neared.
As if the memory of who he used to be made who he currently was that much more enticing. The fighter who fed me turned into the billionaire C.E.O. who fed me, and not a single person in this fucking world could guess why, but at least I came closest.
“Reed and I never would have been good together anyway,” I added.
“I know.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”
Nash tilted his head and scanned my body. “Did Reed ever make you come?”
“We both know he didn’t. Either your point is flying over my head, or it’s so meaningless, giving it my attention would be a waste of time. I could be listening to Danez Smith poems right now.”
He ignored me, a glimpse of a smile forming. “Did he ever make you wet without touching you?”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Not everything in life is about sex.”
Nash set the sandwich down. “Not my point.”
That smile shined in full force, and it occurred to me that I didn’t remember ever seeing it. His smile could cure cancer, abolish student loan debt, and bring world peace. I wanted to pocket it and save it for myself. World peace sounded boring anyway.
“Would you ever let Reed touch you like I have?” he asked, engulfing me with just his words. It was like we stood in the unfinished suite again, and I couldn’t get the taste of him off my tongue.
I focused on my toes, wiggled them inside my Chucks, and counted each one to distract myself. “I can barely believe I let you touch me,” I muttered.
Or that I’d let you do it again.
“Did you ever feel like fighting for him?” His eyes read my face, collecting all the answers he needed from the dumbfounded expression pasted on it. “If someone looked at him wrong, talked to him wrong, touched him wrong, you would pick up a fucking sword and dive into battle without remembering to grab your armor?”
“I’d fight for him,” I protested.
I would.
Reed was my best friend.
If he called me up at four a.m. and told me he’d killed someone, I’d help him dig a damn grave outside a police station if he needed me to.
Nash shook his head like he found me sad and pathetic. His confidence punished me, because it meant he believed in his words, and when Nash believed, I did, too.
“You’d fight beside him, not for him. Two separate things. If he asked you to put down the sword, you’d listen because your stake isn’t bone-deep, a reflex, an untrained instinct. You have a choice in it, and that is the difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. You can control one, but you sure as hell can’t control the other.”
“What do you know about love?” I spit out, hating the gap in our wisdom.
In ten years, would I say things like this?
Would I even know things like this?
He slid off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the counter, stopping only to loosen his tie. “Enough to know you were never in love with Reed.”
“But how?”
“Because I know what love looks like. I had to watch Ma and Dad love each other, then lose each other. Your parents have the most money of anyone I’ve ever met, but mine are the richest people I’ve ever known.” He tore off his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and folded his cuffs midway up his arms, stopping just when the penance tattoo peeked out. “If I tell you anything worth learning, it’s this. Love is the most expensive thing you’ll ever own. You pay for it with grief, tears, and a piece of your soul, but in return, you receive happiness, memories, and life.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Words matter to you, yet you throw the most important one around without understanding what it means.”
Yes, but why does that matter to you? Why does it bother you enough to correct me? Why, why, why? I don’t understand you, Nash Prescott. Do you even understand yourself?
“It was fierce loyalty that tricked you into thinking you were in love with Reed,” he added.
“Because you know me so well.”
“I do. Let’s cut the shit and stop pretending that we’re strangers. You never belonged with Reed, Little Tiger. He is domesticated. You are wild. To tame you would be a travesty. The sooner you get that, the sooner you can move on.”
He said it so casually, so matter-of-fact, I almost didn’t process the weight of his words.
Almost.
If that was how Nash saw me, why—fucking why—were we always at each other’s throats?
If Reed was the prince of peaceful forests and snowless mountains, Nash was the king of smoke, and ashes, and lies. He was the fire that ravaged those forests and the ashes that rained down on those mountains. I wanted to inhale his smoke, coat my tongue with his ashes, and bury myself in his lies.
But smoke ruined lungs.
Ashes tasted like death.
And lies blinded dreamers.
I was a dreamer.
He was a nightmare.
