waking up to mind-blowing sex followed by Nash making me breakfast, I’m going to start spending the night way more often.
The only catch? Puppy dog eyes are hard to say no to. Scratch that, impossible.
“Can’t I give him a little piece?” I ask Nash, holding up my strip of bacon.
Biscuit whines, his tail thumping against the hardwood floor. He’s sitting on his haunches next to the table, waiting patiently while we eat and trying to guilt me into giving him scraps. Unfortunately, watching us dive into our big homemade breakfast of bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice equates to puppy torture. If Nash weren’t here, I’d probably have given him my whole plate by now.
“You already did,” Nash points out, scooping up his last bite of eggs. “Any more and he’s going to bring the term ‘puppy fat’ to life.”
“He’ll burn it off.” Biscuit is like the dog version of the Energizer Bunny; he never sits still. Surely, that must consume a lot of calories.
Nash gives me a look but says nothing, setting down his fork. “Do you have anything to do after I drive you home?”
“Not really. I have to complete those training plans for Christina I told you about, but it shouldn’t take too long. How come?”
“When was the last time someone drove your car?” He grabs his orange juice, looking at me over the rim. It’s a bit off the cuff, but Nash is the king of random questions. I think it’s because he has a tendency to ruminate inside his head. By the time he speaks up, he’s already been thinking about something for a while. I’m used to it by now.
“Um, a few months ago? I guess it’s been closer to almost a year.” When my dad helped me bring it home from the dealer, specifically. He may or may not think I’ve eased back into driving since then. Grace picks me up and brings me to our parents’ place, and they’re none the wiser. It’s a little white lie that hurts no one.
He sets down his glass, dragging a hand down his face. “Vi, that’s bad for the vehicle. Even if you’re not using it, someone’s got to drive it now and then to keep it running properly. Otherwise, it’ll deteriorate. And rust.”
Oops. This makes sense, but it didn’t occur to me before. My vehicle isn’t something I give much thought to in general. It’s just sort of there. I even considered selling it at one point but realized I’d probably regret it later.
“I . . . did not know that. But I will make a note of it for the future.” I polish off the last bite of my buttered whole wheat toast.
“No, let’s go by your place after we eat so I can check it out.”
“You don’t have to—“
He pushes back his chair, collecting our empty plates. “It’s been sitting since last winter, right? You got it back in February and haven’t driven it since?”
“Right,” I admit.
“Battery’s probably dead. I’ll grab my booster cables. I have a hunch I’m going to need them.”
***
After significant effort on Nash’s part, my car is up and running again, and he informs me that we need to go for a drive to charge the battery. I don’t really understand why, nor do I care as long as I’m not driving, so he takes us on a coffee run.
Instead of making a left-hand turn to head back to my place after we hit the Starbucks drive-through, Nash signals and takes a right, pulling into the deserted parking lot of the local mall. Aside from three parked cars scattered randomly, it’s empty, probably because there are more than two hours until it opens.
Needless to say, I’m confused. It’s a little exposed for public sex, even for his tastes.
“Are we going shopping?” I crane my neck, searching for signs of life in the deserted mall. Maybe there’s a special event or something. Though, Nash has never been much for retail therapy.
“No.” He eases my car to a stop in the middle of a vacant row of stalls and shifts the transmission into park, leaving the ignition idling. Reaching over, he unbuckles his seatbelt, jutting his chin at me. “Switch seats with me.”
Panic shoots through me like a bolt of lightning. “Oh, no. I’m not driv—“
“You don’t have to,” he says gently. “Switch seats with me for a couple of minutes, that’s all. Then we can swap back, and I’ll drive us home.”
I chew my bottom lip, biting it until it nearly bleeds while I debate the merits of his offer. On its face, this sounds like a perfectly reasonable request. Put my butt in the driver’s seat for a couple of minutes, no additional action required. Easy enough, except it isn’t. I haven’t been in the driver’s seat of my car—or any car—since the day of the accident.
Nash waits patiently for me to respond. With an exceptional amount of patience, actually, considering his default setting.
Okay. I can do this. I think.
I unfasten my seatbelt and reach for the door handle, but the instant my fingers land on it, everything comes rushing back to me. That awful feeling in the pit of your stomach as you slide toward an imminent collision you can’t do anything to stop. That even worse feeling when you finally do. Impact. Then, waiting. Stuck. Helpless.
My mouth turns desert dry, and I remain frozen, one hand on the lever. As irrational as it may be, I can’t shake the mental association between me driving and the accident itself. Can’t shake the deeply ingrained belief that if someone else had been driving, all of it could have been avoided. Not just my accident, the entire pileup itself. Logically, I know this is one hundred percent magical thinking, but that doesn’t make it feel less true.
Nash places a broad palm on my knee, regarding me with such tenderness it nearly renders me breathless. “It’s okay, Vi. You don’t have to drive anywhere. Just sit. Keep the car in park. Get used to being in the driver’s seat again.”
“Okay.” Drawing in a breath, I fling open the door and force myself out of the vehicle, one foot in front of the other. Chilly morning air greets me, the hum of traffic in the distance. My pulse climbs with every step until I’m certain it must exceed two hundred beats per minute.
Nash meets me at the driver’s side door, placing a hand along my lower back, and kisses the crown of my head. “You got this.”
One thing neither of us factored in? He’s a giant. When I climb into the driver’s seat, I nearly disappear. I can’t reach the pedals, nor can I see over the steering wheel. I’m also reclined so far back that I might as well be horizontal. It’s comical, and it brings a bit of welcome levity to an otherwise tense situation.
“I feel like I’ve shrunk.”
He gives me a wry smile. “If I adjusted it for you before I got out, I’d never be able to get out. My knees would be around my ears.”
“Fair enough.” Reaching down, I adjust the power seat controls, bringing myself up several inches, forward several more, and to a vertical position. Finally, I’m upright, able to see over the steering wheel, and can reach the gas and brake pedals. Not that I intend to drive anywhere, but it seems like it should somewhat replicate what it would be like if I were.
Then it comes rushing back to me again. Crunching metal. Shattering glass. Car horns blaring. I wrap my fingers around the steering wheel to steady myself, resting my forehead against it, and close my eyes, trying to push out the sounds.
“You okay?” Nash’s broad hand lands on my shoulder, stroking back and forth. It helps ground me back into the present.
“It feels weird.”
“That’s normal. It’s been a while.”
Nausea bubbles up in the pit of my belly and I purse my lips, blowing out a breath. My grip on the leather-wrapped steering wheel tightens. “Distract me, please.”
“Biscuit ate Connor’s new Golden Goose shoes the other day.” There’s an unmistakable grin in Nash’s voice.
Despite the situation, I can’t help but laugh. I reopen my eyes, turning to face him. “Again? Did you tell him he was a bad dog?”
“Fuck no, I gave him a belly rub and extra treats.” Nash tips back his coffee, pausing. “Honestly, it’s kind of funny. Connor never puts his shit away, and now he’s learning lessons the hard way. Had I known it would work out like this, I’d have gotten a dog years ago. Biscuit is parenting more than his parents ever did, and Connor resents the shit out of it.”
“How could anyone resent him?” I ask. “Biscuit is the bestest boy.”
I might be a little biased, but he’s impossible not to love. Big puppy eyes, big puppy paws, and an incredibly goofy personality. His attempt to “play dead” is also so dramatic, it’s nearly Oscar-worthy.
“He may be cute, but he also shits on the floor occasionally,” Nash points out.
I giggle again, shaking my head. That one, while funny, also makes me feel bad. Since I don’t live there, I legitimately can’t be around enough to clean up Biscuit’s messes. Though I’m told his house training has improved markedly since Nash first took him home.
“Drew and Vaughn like Biscuit, though, don’t they?” I ask, grabbing my vanilla latte from the center console and taking a sip. It’s cooled to the perfect temperature, not too hot but not too warm.
“Yeah, especially Vaughn. He’s always wanted a dog. Was never able to have one growing up. We call him Biscuit’s dogfather now.”
My cheeks tug into a grin. “Dogfather?” I can’t decide whether this is nerdy or adorable. Maybe both. Once in a while, Nash still surprises me.
He shrugs. “If I’m going to keep him, at least I have some help.”
“If you’re going to—“ My jaw drops, hand flying to my mouth. I shove my coffee back into the holder and grab his arm. “What?! Are you seriously thinking about keeping Biscuit? And you didn’t tell me?”
Joy blooms in my chest, spreading out to my whole body. I’m so happy, I could cry. While it hasn’t been that long, I’ve gotten attached to Biscuit, and the idea of saying goodbye to him was more than a little upsetting.
“I think we can both agree that the adoption candidates have been underwhelming,” he says. “I can’t pawn him off on just anyone, and it doesn’t seem fair to keep him for months and then give him away later.”
While this warms my heart, I know I have to ask the unspoken question that looms overhead. Regardless of whether Chicago sends Nash up to play professionally or puts him in the AHL, things will change a lot by next year.
“What about after graduation? You’ll be traveling even more than you do right now.”
Nash’s expression sobers. “That depends, I guess.”
“On what?”
“Lots of things, like where I’m living, and who I’m living with.”
His last few words linger in the air between us. We haven’t really discussed the future since getting back together, and we probably should because that future is hurtling towards us. This isn’t freshman year when it seemed like we had all the time in the world. In less than six months, we’ll be finished with our degrees and moving on.
But will we be doing that together? I have no idea.
“Worst case,” he adds, “I figured you wouldn’t be living with Claire anymore by then and you could take Biscuit. You’re his favorite, anyway. Though, you’d have to watch his bacon intake.”
“Or . . .”
He takes another sip of coffee, mouth tugging behind the white plastic rim. “Or what, Vi?”
“I don’t know,” I lie, suddenly having lost all courage to bring up the subject.
Nash places his cup back in the holder and angles his body to face me, taking both of my hands in his. His thumb slowly strokes my skin. “I know I’m not in a position to ask you to change your plans or give things up, especially when I’m not entirely sure where I’ll end up myself. If there’s any way we can end up in the same place, I am fully for it. I didn’t know if that was something you would even want.”
“I would,” I tell him honestly. “Under the right circumstances. But if we can’t make that happen, at least not right away, what then?”
In other words, does this have an expiration date?
My question is followed by a pause that does nothing to assuage my worries. Am I risking everything for something fleeting? Another one-way flight to Heartbreak Town?
He squeezes my hands, his green eyes filled with affection and a glimmer of what I almost want to call worry. “Vi, I don’t care if I have to fly out just so I can see you for an hour at a time. It would be fully worth it. Whatever I have to do to make it work, I will. If you will.”
Butterflies cascade through my body. “I will.”
The undercurrent of worry in his expression fades, replaced with a broad grin, the kind so rarely seen on his face it’s like spotting a shooting star in the night sky. He leans closer and brackets my jaw with his fingers as his lips find mine, tongue sliding inside my mouth for a coffee-tinged kiss. It’s brief; gentle; but it says everything he doesn’t.
In this moment, I know. He may not say those three little words, but I know how much he cares about me.
Between us in the console, my phone vibrates with a text from Jules, and I glance down at the time. “Holy cow. We’ve been sitting here for like, fifteen minutes.”
“See?” he kisses the tip of my nose. “I know you could do it. Let’s switch back so I can drive us home.”
