THE SHRILL SOUND of a doorbell startles Kate and me, pulling our attention away from the television and towards the front door. We exchange confused glances, reaching for our phones to check the time. Past 11PM; a little late for surprise guests.
Reluctantly, Kate rises. “You think Luna forgot her key?”
I snort. “As if she’s coming home tonight.” Our missing roommate tore out of the apartment about an hour ago after a brief, apparently flustering phone call like a woman on a mission. Specifically, like a woman on a mission for late-night sex.
Peering quizzically through the peephole, Kate’s face scrunches in confusion. “Did you order food?”
“No, why?”
In answer, Kate opens the door and reveals a delivery guy laden with food. And I mean laden; he’s got like three bags in each hand, each one adorned with the logo of my go-to takeout spot. What the hell?
“Uh,” Kate gapes at the sheer volume of food, “I think you have the wrong address?”
With an entirely unnecessary eye roll, the delivery guy glances at the receipt and recites our address in a bored tone.
“That’s us, but we didn’t order anything.”
“It’s for a…’ He squints at the lengthy piece of paper. “Querida?” Shrugging, he regards us with a blank, unbothered expression. “Everything’s paid for. You want it or not?”
Despite his butchering of my favorite word, my heart melts. Of course, it’s from Nick.
Abandoning my seat on the sofa, I scurry toward Kate and help her accept the food, kicking the door shut before staggering to the kitchen. When takeout containers cover every inch of kitchen space, Kate and I stare, wordlessly wondering how the hell we’re even going to make a dent in everything. “I can’t tell if this is really sweet or super ridiculous.”
My laugh is uneasy, set off balance by the guilt swirling in my stomach. I’ve been neglecting Nick, I know that. The part of me that has been hoping Cass would acknowledge one of my million messages and show up, ready to talk, was nervous that if Nick was here, he’d scare him off. Never mind the fact all I want is for Nick to be here.
And because I’m a massive hypocrite, him not contacting me either has that voice in my head convincing me he’s not simply giving me the space I asked for; he’s finally realized I’m so not worth the headache.
Then, like always, he does something sweet—but definitely ridiculous—like deliver me my body weight in food to affirm that I am, in fact, unhinged.
“How are we gonna-” Kate’s question morphs into a surprised screech that I echo when the front door suddenly bangs open and a whirlwind of fury storms inside.
Luna flails her arms around wildly as she screeches unintelligibly, her rage so all-consuming that she doesn’t notice Kate and I watching her with dropped jaws and eyes wide.
Three sheepish men trail in behind her, cowering under her glower.
“What’s going on?”
Four pairs of eyes snap in my direction, a beloved pair brightening when they land on me. “Meu amor,” Nick bounds over, smacking an obnoxious kiss on my lips, “did you get the food?”
Nodding jerkily, I frown when Nick cups my face and something sticky and wet coats my skin. Swatting his hand away and wiping my cheek, I splutter in disbelief at the sight of my fingertips stained red, gasping when I spot Nick’s bloody knuckles. “What happened?” Gripping his chin gently, I tilt his face from side to side, checking for injuries and finding nothing but a smug smirk.
“These buffoons,” Luna shrieks, “got in a fight.”
My head whips towards her lightning-fast. “A fight? What fight?”
Kissing her teeth, Luna holds up a hand in a gesture that screams, ‘oh, just you wait.’ “They got in a fight,” she repeats, slow with maximum venom. “At Greenies. Where. We. Work.” Each word, she punctuates with a punch to Jackson’s arm. Unbothered, the man simply catches her flailing fist and brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. When she whacks him with the other hand, he does the same thing, and she rips them both away with a scowl.
“Dopey Dan was working and recognized this fool,” she tells me, jerking a thumb at her boyfriend. “He called me to pick them up because not only did they start a fucking brawl, they decided to drink themselves into the gutter after.”
Ah. So that’s what that smell is. Something heady and sweet—like rum—mixed with the distinct metallic scent of blood and subtle undertones of Chinese food.
The Yankee Candle of my dreams.
“My co-worker ringing me to pick up my boyfriend,” Luna mumbles, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Trust me, baby.” Ignoring her resistance, Jackson tugs Luna into his arms, planting a possessive kiss on the curve of her neck. “He deserved it,”
“Who deserved it?”
The boys all freeze at my question, their proud leering suddenly wiped away. Pulling me into his side, Nick peers down at me apprehensively, like he’s afraid whatever he’s about to say will piss me off. Throat bobbing as he swallows, he squeezes my hip and utters a single word. “Dylan.”
A heavy silence settles and lasts all of two seconds before Luna hollers a victory roar. “You should’ve led with that!” Skipping around the room, she doles out high-fives to each of the guys, following up with a slap upside the head and an admonishment for not ensuring she was there to witness the glorious event. “I want details.”
Ben indulges her, brandishing his bruised knuckles like a trophy. Snatching his hand to check the damage, Kate feigns a stern look that barely conceals her Cheshire Cat grin. “About time,” I hear her mutter.
While my friends celebrate, I process silently. Yeah, I’m over the moon Dylan finally got his ass kicked like he rightly deserves. But I also know what he’s like; volatile as fuck.
My cheek aches with the memory of his favourite form of repercussions.
A hand sneaks into my hair, tugging lightly and directing my gaze upwards to meet a knowing gaze. “I’m bleeding on your floor.”
I glance down at the scarlet droplets collecting on the wood under my feet. “Shit.”
Nick holds his bleeding knuckles up, adopting a pathetically adorable helpless expression. “Help me clean up?”
I wonder if my father would be proud of how adept I’ve become at cleaning up battle wounds. It’s second nature at this point; my fingers work quickly, deftly wiping blood and applying ointments and bandaging carefully.
He’d probably be less proud at how the sight of blood makes my stomach roll.
He definitely would not be proud of me sitting on my patient’s lap with his head buried in my neck. “Remember my birthday?” Nick asks out of nowhere, the words muffled as he peppers kisses along my skin.
“Uh-huh.”
“You cleaned me up then too.”
“I did.”
“I wanted to fuck you so bad.”
‘Nick!’ I jerk back, mouth and eyes wide as I slap at his chest.
“What? I did.” He smiles innocently, but the glimmer in his eyes is anything but innocent. “You taking care of me, all doe-eyed, in that fucking dress. And then you in my shirt.” He groans playfully, eyes flitting skyward as he squeezes my thighs. “I knew I was screwed.”
“I knew you were flirting to distract me,” like you’re doing now, I add silently.
“It worked, didn’t it?” That it did. It definitely did. His playful antics and dirty remarks were enough to make me forget the shitshow that night was, even if just for a little while. It’s where the whole distraction thing began.
The mirthful atmosphere fades as Nick skims his uninjured knuckles up my waist. “I missed you.”
That seemingly permanent prickle of guilt itches up my spine again. Cradling one cheek, I kiss the other. “I missed you too. I’m sorry.”
He dismisses my apology with a frown, cutting off my attempt to explain too with a brisk shake of his head. “Tomorrow,” he whispers, tilting his head to capture my lips briefly.
Probably for the best; I think his breath could get me second-hand drunk.
Since he won’t let me explain, I turn the opportunity on him. “How about tonight you explain what happened with Dylan?”
Nick sours instantly. “He started it.”
Manchild. “Elaborate a little, love.”
Lips curling in a snarl, Nick holds me tight as he runs through the night’s unexpected turn of events—losing me at times when he unconsciously slips between Portuguese and English but I get the gist. I cringe when he relays Dylan’s crass words, a tight, nauseating knot forming in my stomach.
Only when fists start being thrown in his tale does Nick’s expression lighten, his stony face lifting into a proud smirk. “I think Jackson broke his nose.”
“Remind me to thank him.”
Calloused fingers dip beneath my pajamas to tickle my sides. “I kicked him in the balls.”
“Snap,” I chuckle softly. “So did I.”
In the blink of an eye, Nick’s face falls solemn again. “I mean it, querida. He follows through on his threat and I swear to God, vou matá-lo.”
“He can’t,” I assure him, feeling a flutter of relief. For once, I can say those words with absolute certainty.
Nick grumbles in dissatisfaction. “If he does, he won’t be lucky enough to walk away this time.”
“No,” I lean back, catching his annoyed gaze, “he literally can’t.” Trailing a finger along his collarbone, I confess, “they granted me a temporary restraining order. I got a court date to appeal for a permanent one. He’ll be served soon.’
“What?” Nick splutters, blinking rapidly in surprise. “When did you find out?”
“Yesterday.” I was too caught up with everything else to properly let the information sink in when I got the call—it was only hours later, when the girls did their routine check-in, that it actually hit me. A single ‘you okay?’ and I burst into tears, my friends not far behind when I wheezed out why I was blubbering once again. We spent the night curled up in a ball of happy, grateful tears and snotty noses.
Trapping me in a bone-crushing hug, Nick flips us so I’m pinned to the mattress, trapped beneath his body as he attacks me with kisses and murmured triumphant expletives. “I am so fucking proud of you, querida.”
I blush at his attention and praise, shrugging it off, but I’m kind of proud of myself too—it’s nice to know I’ve done something right lately.
Nice to know I finally get to close a horrendous chapter of my life soon.
I slip out of bed as stealthily as I’m capable of, not wanting to wake the peacefully snoozing man still curled up on my mattress. I’d much prefer to stay wrapped up in the warm cocoon Nick always creates but I have class. Considering how my studies took a nosedive last semester—chaos and drama drama don’t lend themselves to a great working environment—I can’t afford to skip.
So, like the responsible adult I’m aiming to be, I get my ass out of bed.
Well, I try.
I’m barely upright before I’m yanked back down, cradled against a warm chest again, a husky grumble sending a shiver down my spine. “Don’t even think about it, querida.”
Grunting unattractively, I whine an objection. “I have class.”
In one swift movement, Nick rolls us both so I’m sprawled on top of him. One large hand settles on my ass, the other on the small of my back, both securing me in place. “I don’t give a shit,” he mutters, cracking open an eye. Dimples winking, he dips his head to trail teasing kisses along my jaw. “What did I say about waking up alone?”
“Nick.” His name comes out as a whimper when his tongue lashes the sensitive spot just below my ear. “I have to go.”
“You have two days to make up for.” His grin is roguish when I first sit up, my knees digging into the mattress as I straddle him, but any mirth disappears when our gazes lock. Grip shifting to my waist, he squeezes gently, thumbs tracing my hip bones absently. “You’ve been ignoring me.”
My teeth catch my bottom lip, chewing nervously. “Not on purpose.”
I’ve been so wrapped up in trying to contact Cass, I’ve neglected everything else. Those two absent days have been a constant cycle of dialing his number, leaving a voicemail, and redialing, the gaps in between filled with nervous pacing and obsessing over every little thing I did wrong.
I explain it all to Nick and when I’m done, he brushes his swollen knuckles across my cheek, guiding my gaze back to his. “You said you’d let me help,’ he reminds me quietly.
“There’s not really much you can do. This is my mess.”
“Our mess,” he corrects. “He’s mad at me too. Actually, he’s madder at me,” he grumbles the latter beneath his breath, shifting in a sudden bout of irritation, and at my questioning stare, he relays his conversation with Cass from the other day. I assumed that, same as me, he hadn’t seen Cass since Big Bear, and anger and sadness flood me in equal measure when I hear how Cass spoke to him, so dismissive and plain rude.
The hands on my waist pinch my skin lightly. “You’re being too hard on yourself. I’m at fault here too, and Cass isn’t being fair by not even giving us the chance to explain.”
“I get it though.” I lift a shoulder weakly. “He’s hurt. I wouldn’t want to hear my excuses either. But,” sighing, my fingers coast upward, sprawling on either side of his neck, “I wish he was taking his anger out on me instead of you. I don’t like the way he’s bashing you constantly.’
“I deserve some of it.”
“No, you don’t.” I stoop to kiss him. “Best thing that ever happened to me, remember?”
I don’t get the smile I’m fishing for; I get a thoughtfully creased forehead and a tiny, vulnerable question that makes my heart break. “What if he makes you choose? Between me and him.”
“He wouldn’t.” That, I’m positive about. Cass might not like Nick and I being together but he’d never issue an ultimatum. We weren’t raised like that.
Reactive and stubborn, yes.
Selfish and uncompromising, never.
“But if he did, then that’s not the person I grew up with.” That is a person who’d get his ass kicked by a very disappointed mother. “I wouldn’t want someone like that in my life.”
A playful, weak grin breaks through. “So, you’d pick me?”
“I wouldn’t pick at all.” I poke his chest, rolling my eyes when he pouts. “If he would rather cut me out than see me happy with the man I love, then that’s his choice, not mine. But, like I said, he wouldn’t do that.”
Twining my hair around his fingers, Nick tugs me down until we’re a breath apart. “That was a really good answer.”
I grin. “I’ve had two days to think about it.”
