Chapter Eleven #2
“No, no, sweetie.” The soft voice contradicts everything I’ve been hearing in my head, and I suck in a breath through gritted teeth as she continues.
“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Alex told me what happened this morning. And I just wanted to make sure you know you’re welcome here.
” She pauses, and I manage to lift my eyes back up.
She’s still got that gentle smile on her face. “You’re always welcome, Nico. Okay?”
I’m not really sure and not really okay. But I give a small nod anyway, and her smile softens even more.
“I do have a few rules, but nothing much, and it’s just so we’re all happy, you know?
First, no parties”—she gives Alex a glare, and he shrinks back into his seat sheepishly—“and no loud music or anything, please, because I do work from home most of the time. Pick up after yourself. We all respect each other and contribute to the chores, as I think you know already. Oh, and please, please, please, do not—”
“—leave the laundry in the washing machine overnight,” Alex jumps in. “It’s my mom’s worst pet peeve. Or maybe her only pet peeve. Well, that and people who forget to put on their blinker when they’re turning. She gets really mad about that.”
Alex’s mom rolls her eyes but then looks back at me with that soft smile.
“You are welcome here. No strings attached. No anything at all. Okay, sweetie?”
I lower my eyes as I nod slowly, and there’s a moment where I wonder if it’s too good to be true, really. Any time now, she’ll laugh and say she’s kidding. Rent’s due on the first of the month or my ass is kicked to the curb.
But then she just starts talking again, her voice kind and sweet and caring.
“I usually go grocery shopping on Sundays. If you need anything, we keep a list on the fridge. You know Alex is allergic to cinnamon, so please be sure you don’t bring anything in the house that has cinnamon in it.
Oh, and I often need to back my truck up to the garage to load things from my studio, so park your car along the curb, not in the driveway, unless you’re unloading groceries or something . . .”
She keeps going on for a few more minutes, similar things that are just common courtesy and expectations, and I risk a glance at Alex. He’s watching me, his eyes soft and understanding, and he gives me a tiny smile and nod, like he’s saying, “See, everything will be fine.”
When his mom finishes, she looks from me to Alex and then back again, and something flickers in her smile.
“Okay,” she says, setting both hands on the table and then pushing herself up to stand.
“I’ll let you two boys do whatever it is you’re going to do.
I’ll be in the garage finalizing some paperwork and things for the framing company.
Oh, Alex! Actually, can you help me out tomorrow?
They called while you were picking up dinner and said they can get me in tomorrow. Do you already have plans?”
Alex seems to startle a little, as though he wasn’t really listening to her question, and then he fidgets in his chair and shakes his head.
“Uh, Jenna asked me to go to Omaha with her tomorrow, but I hadn’t responded yet. I can help you instead.”
His tone is strange, but I figure it’s probably just because he wasn’t expecting the question.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Okay. Great. We’ll have to package the painting, and then we’ll load it up and leave at nine. Sound good?”
Alex coughs a little and says, “Yeah, sure.”
And there are some other words exchanged between them as I sit there, but my brain dissociates a bit, and it’s not until several minutes later, I suspect, that Alex’s hand sets gently on my arm.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Hmm?” I look up, and he’s standing now, staring down at me with concern. His mom is nowhere to be seen. “Um, yeah. Sorry. I, uh . . . I’m tired, I guess.”
His expression turns soft, and his blue eyes seem to study me as he squeezes my arm.
“You can rest, if you want. I’ve gotta return an email that I forgot about earlier. Then, I dunno. I’m kinda tired too. Mom kept me busy all day cleaning.”
He steps back from me, pulling his hand away, and my stomach drops from the loss of contact. My earlier thoughts start to swirl around in my head as I watch him lift his hand up and run it through his hair with a sigh.
I look away and then push myself up to stand as well.
“Yeah, I should probably shower and change, then I might just crash. Today’s been—”
FUCK.
I grab the table with both hands, and I feel Alex step a little closer to me.
“Nico?”
I shake my head, unable to speak. And as I close my eyes, I see the words again.
Come get your shit, she texted. I’ll leave the box at the end of the driveway.
Had she really cleaned out my room? Gone through my things? Decided what I might want to keep and what was trash?
I try to remember what else was in my room, whether there was anything I actually really need, but I can’t think straight.
Which is probably why I do the fucking stupidest thing possible.
I pull out my phone, unlock it, open up my message app to my mom’s messages from earlier that day, and shove it over toward Alex without a word.
“What’s . . .” He takes the phone from me, and there’s a second or two of silence. Then he breathes a short, rough exhale. “Oh, shit. Nico, this is . . .”
Without finishing the thought, he sets my phone face down on the table and then he’s wrapping me up in this warm hug that’s just everything I need right now.
I collapse into him, slipping my arms around his waist, and he holds me even tighter, murmuring quietly in my ear.
I can’t really hear whatever it is he’s saying, but I feel the intent, like he’s surrounding me with this protective bubble and assuring me I’m safe.
I close my eyes and let myself break down against him, not even trying to pretend that I’m okay anymore.