Legal Bindings

33. Nick

Nick woke in an empty bed.He sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyes, memories of the previous evening flooding back. The apologies, the sex, the intimacy, and the moment when they’d broken apart to sleep in separate rooms.

They weren’t together, and there was no use wallowing in what could have been. Nick had learned long ago that the only thing that mattered was what came next. Meaning that he needed to suck it up and smile through the time he and Evan had left.

He followed his nose to the kitchen, where the bitter scent of coffee mingled with the sharper bite of bacon, and he found Evan already awake. “You’re up early.” Nick crossed to the coffeepot.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Evan looked up from the sketchbook he had open on his lap. “Is two weeks too long?”

“For what?”

“Like, is Sydney’s stuff going to go through before that, or do I have some time to pack up and go?”

“Oh.” Nick shrugged. “It’s moving fast, but it’s still a bureaucracy. I think you’re fine.”

“Great. I, uh, you can keep the couch if you want. I’m putting most of my stuff in my storage unit, but that’s… that’s yours.”

With that, he went back to his sketch. Nick made breakfast then headed to work despite the fact that it was a Saturday. Apparently, attending the funeral the week before meant he’d be working Saturdays for the foreseeable future.

The office was quiet, and it was easy enough to slip on the mask of competent employee—which he was, despite hating the job. And oh, how he hated the job. He could admit that to himself even while knowing he needed the work. It was a means to an end. He didn’t have to be fulfilled to provide for Sydney, and plenty of people compartmentalized their work and their personal lives.

The crux of the problem was his boss. Olivia had risen into her position through what he could only assume was a combination of backbiting and nepotism, which meant she was less than an ideal manager, forgetting everything he told her almost immediately after hearing it and constantly on his ass about the few times he’d dared acknowledge he had a life outside of that building.

When Nick returned home that night, he couldn’t help but notice that some of Evan’s things were missing from their usual places. He was packing, then. That was fine. Nick could just pretend not to notice.

The weekend bled into the week, which passed without incident, even if Evan was slowly but surely cutting himself out of Nick’s life. Sydney showed up every day she didn’t have community service, desperate to soak up as much of Evan as she could while she still had him.

Nick could relate, and while things between him and Evan were fine, they weren’t sleeping together anymore. They hadn’t so much as kissed since the night Evan had fucked himself on Nick’s cock. Nick was getting the sense that Evan had intended that fuck to be some sort of closure.

That was okay. Nick could live with it. Better to end in pleasure than to draw out some painful, overwrought separation.

On Thursday of the second week, Nick came home after an extremely trying day to a find small truck parked in front of the house. It was marked with the name of a storage company, and two movers were carrying boxes out of the front door.

“Sorry,” Evan said from his perch on the front porch. “They were supposed to be done by now.”

“It’s fine.” Nick cleared his throat. “What time is your flight?”

“Six thirty. I’ll probably leave here just after four.” He paused, his eyes following the movers. “I know you’ll still be at work, but Sydney’s coming over to say goodbye here, so she’ll be around when you get home.”

“I can try to leave early. No promises.”

“No. Obviously.” Evan offered him an enigmatic smile then stood to meet the mover, who was approaching with something for him to sign.

* * *

Nick did try to keep his promise. The next day, he attempted to sneak out early, already knowing he’d be back for a few hours on the weekend. But as he rounded the corner near the elevator, he caught sight of Olivia coming out of a conference room and swore under his breath.

“Uh, hi?” she said when she saw him. There was no hiding the fact that he was leaving—he had his bag in one hand and his coat in the other—but it was practically four o’clock on a Friday. “Did you get through those transcripts?”

“I did, yes.” Though the work was beneath him, he knew he’d done it well.

“And are you aware that the day ends at five?” Her tone was that of a hectoring teacher—condescending with a hint of weariness thrown in on top, as if he were a four-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Yes. But I’m working tomorrow.”

“Is this about your kid?”

Nick opened his mouth then shut it, because he’d tried to explain the foster situation to her, but she hadn’t retained shit. “No. My roommate is moving out. I wanted to say bye.”

“Oh, God, well if it’s your roommate,” she said, putting a hand on her heart. Sarcasm wasn’t a good look on her. “Seriously?”

“He’s… we’re pretty close.” The reasoning sounded lame, and his cheeks went hot as he shifted from side to side, taking his scolding.

“Uh-huh. Well, maybe you can catch him at the airport or whatever, because I need you in a meeting. Now.”

Nick bet she did. A meeting she was just now inventing or had only just decided he needed to attend. “Ah, well—”

“Lana’s out sick,” she said with a saccharine smile. “I need someone to take notes.”

Nick was caught between feeling infantilized and angry. He was an attorney, not an assistant, and they weren’t paying him to take notes in meetings he shouldn’t even be attending. But Olivia was his boss—the person deciding whether he made it past the probationary period to remain gainfully employed. And gainful employment was something he couldn’t afford to lose, with so much on the line.

So he gritted his teeth and nodded, squeezing the handle of his bag with such force he was surprised it didn’t snap off. “Sure.”

“Great. We should be done by six at the latest.”

“I’m sure,” Nick muttered, though she either didn’t hear him or chose not to pay attention.

As it turned out, his skepticism was warranted. The meeting went until nearly six thirty, and by the time he left, it was so late that rush hour had dissipated. Not that the traffic flow mattered. Evan was already gone, though his car was still in the second bay of their shared garage because Nick—stupid, sentimental Nick—had said that he could leave it until he decided whether he wanted to sell it. Meaning that he was going to have to see it every damn day and remind himself of what might have been.

That darkened his already dreary mood, so when he entered the house and found a scowling Sydney sitting at the kitchen table, things could only get worse.

“Where wereyou?” she snapped when he came through the door.

“I had to work late,” he said, wishing that one damn person in his day wouldn’t snap at him.

“Evan’s gone!” she practically shouted, arms folded across her oversized Art Institute sweatshirt. A paint-spattered gift from Evan, Nick assumed.

“I know. I told him I’d try, but—”

“You suck.”

That hit like a slap. He’d seen her angry before, but that rage had always been directed outward—at her mother, the system, the world—never at him. “Hey, Sydney, come on.”

“You’re supposed to be his friend!” she yelped, stamping her foot like some dramatic 90210-style teenager. “He was trying to make jokes about it, but I could tell he was really sad!”

Nick rubbed his temples. “Look. I’m sorry, okay? I have a job, and sometimes I have to work late. That’s all.”

“Well, it sounds like a shitty job if they won’t let you take time off for important things!”

“Jesus, Syd, he moved out. He’s not… I can text him right now, tell him I’m sorry I missed him.”

“No, you can’t, because he’s on the plane already. God,” she sneered with such vehement disdain that Nick recoiled from the force of it. “He was texting me all the way to the airport.”

“All right, well, I’ll text him in the morning, then.” He fought to keep his tone even, letting her have her tantrum, even if deep down he wanted to kick and scream and shout too.

“You don’t get it,” she said, stomping to the counter, where she grabbed her backpack and rounded on Nick with an award-worthy eye roll. “You have to take me home, by the way. There’s no bus after six.”

Sydney’s sullen mood persisted all the way to the group home, and she didn’t say a word until Nick pulled into the curb, where she muttered, “See ya,” before getting out of the car. Nick’s headache worsened as he headed home. All he wanted to do was lie down in a dark room and forget the day.

However, when he finally reached his bedroom, he was surprised to find a neatly wrapped package sitting on the bed. He could guess who it was from, and he imagined Evan waiting—hoping—to deliver it in person, only to leave disappointed. Because Nick was good at disappointing people.

He peeled back the brown paper to reveal an unframed painting of a young woman—Sydney, though her face wasn’t visible, painted from behind, sitting at an easel, her hair a tangle atop her head. Evan had managed to capture the whole of her Syd-ness, from the slope of her shoulders to the insouciant cock of her hip as she surveyed her work.

A desperate little sob caught in Nick’s throat, and he blinked as he sat on the edge of the bed, holding the painting in his lap.