Chapter Nineteen
Nico
When I wake up Saturday morning, the first thing I feel is him.
His hand on my chest, his warm breath on my neck, his leg resting over mine.
He’s still holding me just like he was when I fell asleep however-many hours ago that was, and there’s a gentleness to it, a tenderness that I just know I’m not imagining this time.
I love it.
I lie still, not wanting to wake him. It was one thing to ask him—god, I practically begged him, didn’t I?
—when it was the middle of the night. When he rolled over into me and then wrapped me up in his arms, cradling my body in his.
It was one thing to ask then, but it’ll be something completely different when he wakes up now, the room bright with the morning’s light, his family showing up early for the weekend-long party.
I can already hear noises from downstairs. Talking and dishes clinking and furniture being moved around. His mom will come up here soon if he’s not awake, reminding him she needs him to help with things. She probably needs my help, too, to set up outside or cook or run to the store.
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until his hand presses lightly into my chest and then slides downward to my stomach.
“Mmm, Nico . . .”
I figure he’s not really awake fully or he would have pulled away, cursing another apology like he did last night.
But that’s not what happens. At all. Instead, he burrows his face into my neck and inhales deeply with another contended hum.
His leg straightens just enough that his foot plays with mine for a second, and then he caresses back up my chest with his hand, still pressing lightly into me.
“Did you sleep okay?” he mumbles against me. “What time is it?”
“Dunno,” I answer, too distracted to say much else.
He chuckles, and it’s even more distracting then, feeling his whole body shake with his quiet laugh.
“You don’t know if you slept okay, or you don’t know what time it is?
” he teases, and then he nuzzles my neck, which sends a jolt of heat through me.
I almost moan when he does it again, pulling me back against him more at the same time.
“I slept really well,” he murmurs, and his voice becomes a little quieter and deeper when he says, “I hope you did, too.”
Holy fuck, what is all of this?
“I did.”
There’s another chuckle, and he squeezes me gently. “Good.” He hums, and then takes a long, slow breath before pushing himself away with a groan.
I turn over to watch him as he scoots to the edge of the bed, sits, and reaches for his phone.
“Shoot. It’s after eight thirty already,” he says, frowning and running a hand through his hair as he stands up. “Mom’s probably panicking right about now. I think I was supposed to be downstairs to help her like an hour ago.”
He pauses as our eyes meet, and his cheeks flush, a smile teasing at his lips.
God, he’s so fucking adorable.
I purse my lips, knowing I’m taking yet another stupid risk that I probably shouldn’t, and I reach my hand out toward him. “Just five more minutes . . . ?”
I need him to say yes. I don’t even know why. I just need it. So when his smile softens and he nods, a shiver of relief courses through me, warm and hopeful and something else that feels . . . good.
His eyes stay on mine as he quietly climbs back into the bed, and then I roll over while he pulls the comforter back up over us, settles down behind me, and wraps one strong arm around my midsection.
I whimper, because I guess I love to embarrass the hell out of myself.
But he just does that thing where he hums and snuggles in closer, sliding his leg over mine and his hand up my chest.
This isn’t what guys who are just friends do. I’m about ninety-eight percent sure of that. But I also don’t care to worry about what that means right now because, fuck, it’s just so good.
“This is what you wanted?” he says against me, his breath warm on my skin.
“Mm-hmm.”
“’Kay.”
And that’s it. He stays there with me, holding me for some time that I’m about ninety-eight percent sure is much longer than five minutes.
The rest of Saturday morning is a blur of activity that I’m actually proud of myself for navigating.
Alex and I get out of bed sometime after nine, and we get dressed and head downstairs.
His mom is already cooking breakfast, and his cousins—the ones who had stayed overnight last night—are up and chatting as they help to rearrange the furniture.
I’m not hungry, but Alex convinces me to eat something, and so, after a quick breakfast of a banana and a glass of milk, I volunteer to be the one to do the grocery run.
Alex’s mom is still cooking a huge breakfast, since some other cousins and family members are supposed to be arriving soon—all the more reason for me to get the fuck out of there.
But she hands me a list of a bunch of last-minute things she forgot to get the day before, along with a wad of cash, and then I head out.
I stop at the grocery store first, glad that it’s not really busy and thankful, as always, that self-checkout exists.
After I finish up there, I head over to Green’s Bakery and pick up her order of custom cakes, croissants, and fresh rolls.
Again, it’s not busy, and I manage through whatever short, awkward conversation happens with the single employee at the register while I wait.
I’m heading back out to my car, awkwardly balancing four large bakery boxes in my arms, when I hear someone call out my name from behind me.
“Hey, Nico!”
I freeze, my whole body going rigid as I try not to panic. It’s not even a voice I immediately recognize, which means it’s not my mom’s or that asshole Patrick’s or any of those jerks from school who always bullied me and teased me and whatever the fuck else. But it is familiar.
I’m still painfully far away from my car—at least twenty or thirty feet—and now I can’t even move.
“You look like you could use some help. Want me to get the door to your car for you?”
The voice is closer now, just to my left, and I force myself to turn and look, even though my brain is screaming at me to run.
Jenna stands a couple of feet away, her hands on her hips and her eyebrows arched. I just stare at her like an idiot for several seconds before I realize she’s waiting for me to answer, and then I swallow tightly and shake my head.
“N-no. No, thanks. I got it.” Which is a stupid answer, because of course it’ll be difficult and awkward for me to try to open the door myself and of course it would be easier if she helped me.
Jenna laughs as though she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Okay, suit yourself,” she says, her tone playful.
She doesn’t go away, though, and instead, she follows me as I walk the rest of the way to my car. Her following me certainly doesn’t help my anxiety, and it’s all I can do to not snap at her to please, for fuck’s sake, leave me alone.
“Sure you don’t want some help?” she asks again when I stop at the passenger side door, frowning.
I suddenly feel quite small and nauseous, and I wonder why the hell I can’t just be normal.
Any normal person would just say yes, please and thank you, and go on with their day.
But for me, she’s already too close, even with as perfectly nonthreatening as she is.
My heart races, and I fight a familiar feeling of lightheadedness.
“Um . . .” I intend to try to be nice, to say just that—yes, please and thank you. But I don’t get the chance, because she steps up around me to my car.
“Here, really, let me help. Okay?” Her hand is on the door handle now, and she’s looking at me with kindness in her eyes and a smile on her lips.
God, how fucking awkward am I? I push back all the fear wanting to swallow me up, and I manage a nod. “Yeah, ’kay, thanks.”
She smiles brightly at me and turns to open the car door.
Then, rather than let me continue to be awkward and try to fit all of the boxes through the door at once, she steps up to me and takes off the top box to move it to the car.
She repeats that once more until I’m left holding the bottom two boxes, then she moves out of my way to let me finish loading the boxes into the front seat.
After I close the door, I barely stop myself from backing away or flinching or shrinking into myself. Instead, I just shove my hands into my pockets and mumble another “thank you.” She’s biting her lower lip and studying me intently when I finally manage to look up.
“You’re welcome,” she says quietly. Then she adds, “Are you okay? You look a little pale. Or, you know, paler than normal.”
I laugh. Kind of. It feels almost like a laugh, and she gives me a half smile as she laughs too. “I’m trying to be okay,” I say, which is probably about as honest as I can be.
“I can respect that.” She backs up a step as though maybe she’s sensed that’s what I need, I’m not sure.
But it’s one hundred percent the truth, anyway, and some of the tension immediately leaves my shoulders.
“Is there a party?” she asks, tilting her head toward my car and the boxes from the bakery.
I shake my head but then nod, and she gives me another of those skeptical looks, her eyebrows raised. I groan inwardly. I just want to leave, not have more conversation. “S-sorry, um. It’s at Alex’s. A family thing. I’m just helping.”
“Oh, right.” She nods thoughtfully. “He mentioned something on Thursday about a family reunion thing.”
Thursday? With the hell that’s been this last week, it takes me a second to catch up. Thursday . . . was a fucking mess of a day. But I remember that he went with Jenna into Omaha on Thursday, and then when I got off work . . .
God. Right. Thursday.
Thursday evening. Alex’s flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes when I knocked on his door. The way he was slightly out of breath. The way he stared at my ass as I walked away.
I shouldn’t be thinking about this now, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Heat rushes up into my cheeks, and I quickly drop my gaze, cursing inwardly.
Fucking hell, Alex.
“Uh, y-yeah. So, um, thanks for your help. I should go now,” I stammer, forcing the words out as I take a step backward.
“Okay, yeah. I should head back anyway. My parents are waiting for me. Um, tell Alex I said hi? I hope he’s doing okay.”
There’s concern in her voice, and I can’t help looking up at her. She seems shy suddenly, and she tucks one of her long braids back behind her ear, her expression some combination of soft and kind that almost reminds me of Alex’s mom.
I must look confused, however, because she just sort of shakes her head and then says, “He was feeling a little off on Thursday, maybe? I dunno. I just worry, you know? He’s a good friend.”
“I finally told Jenna that I just want to be friends . . .”
I blink back whatever emotions are jumping around in my chest as I remember Alex’s words from Thursday—words I was too off-balance to have processed when he said them that night. My heart does something weird, its rhythm stumbling around the wrong way.
Just because he’s not interested in a relationship with her doesn’t mean he is interested in something from me.
But my heart sure as hell wants to think it does.
I force a small smile and nod. “Yeah, he’s fine,” I say. Then I clear my throat and try for a little more, overcome by some need to reassure her. “He’s doing well. He’s excited about this weekend. I’ll be sure to tell him you said hi.”
“Good, thank you.” Jenna gives me another of those soft smiles, and her eyes linger on me for a few more seconds, like she’s studying me again.
Then she sort of laughs and drops her eyes.
“I’ll see you around, Nico. Have fun at the party without me.
” She glances back up at me through her long lashes, grinning in a silly way this time.
I manage to actually smile for real, or at least in a way that doesn’t feel quite so forced. “I’ll be hiding in Alex’s room, probably. Too many people,” I say with an exaggerated grimace that quickly morphs back into a smile when she giggles and nods.
“Yeah, fair enough.” She tips her head back the way we came a few minutes ago. “I gotta go.”
“Yeah, me too.”
She turns and leaves, and I take a few long breaths, surprised to find that I’m maybe, actually sort of okay.
My heart is still beating unsteadily, and I have to consciously unclench my jaw.
But that sense of panic, the need to retreat, the simmering anger that always comes along with my anxiety—they all aren’t quite as bad as usual.
I take one more careful breath, and then I jog around to the driver’s side of my car, hop in, and get on my way back to Alex’s house. I have no doubt I will be hiding out in his bedroom for most of the day, especially because I’m suddenly tired on top of everything else.
But something inside me feels almost a little stronger or braver or maybe a little bigger.
Because I survived. Not just this conversation with Jenna, but this whole week.
It’s not much. But for a brief moment, I feel maybe a little less fucked-up and broken than I usually do. And that’s something I haven’t felt in a really long time.