16. DRINK EM TO DEATH
Upstairs in the living area, the wall shelves were stocked with the contents of Nash’s library. Aged spell books and grimoires passed down through his family line crowded in alongside the bottles and vials present in every room of the house. On the opposite wall, a glass cabinet had been converted into a small greenhouse, brimming with plants and flowers for use in potions, poisons, and perfumes.
Leather furniture filled the center of the space, with a long couch on which I now sat, wrapped in a towel and holding a mug of coffee. Nash was in full mother hen mode, sidling close while tugging a throw blanket across my lap as though I’d survived an internal blizzard instead of a tsunami.
“Sorry I don’t have any wounds for you to bandage, Florence,” I said. “The only thing that’s really hurt is my pride.”
“I don’t know. That eye looks pretty gnarly.” He reached toward my face, and I flinched away.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “You got anything for it?”
He bent to retrieve his own coffee from the low table in front of us. “For blunt force trauma?” He raised the cup to his lips. “No.” Taking a sip and swallowing, he continued, “How’d it happen, anyway?”
“I took a fist to the face.”
Nash rolled his eyes, and I shrugged in response.
“Ask dumb questions, get dumb answers,” I said.
“Fine.” He scooted back into the corner of the sofa and kicked one leg over the other. “Explain the water, then.”
“Aquamancer,” I grunted.
“No friend of yours, I take it?” The curve of Nash’s mouth was half amused. It was nice to see him lightening up, even at my expense.
“I may have been torturing him for information,” I admitted.
“On what?”
“Ripley,” I said with a sigh. “They have him locked up somewhere. Gunning for his Hex mark. Mine, too. And Donnie’s.” My gaze fell to my tattooed hand, the symbol of the beginning of my life’s troubles and likely to bring about the end of it.
“Shit. Rip’s still alive, though?”
“He was. But they may have changed their minds about that now.” I let my head loll onto the back of the couch and stared at the wallpapered ceiling. I’d been tired hours ago after my hungover day at work. Now, it was past midnight, and the near drowning had sapped the last of my energy. My eyelids fluttered, losing a battle against the need for sleep.
“Who’s ‘they?’” Nash asked.
A long breath eased out of me, finding a bit of dampness in the very bottom of my lungs and making me cough. “The waterboy and his rock ‘em sock ‘em friend texted Donnie earlier, pretending to be Rip. Told me to meet them at Lazy Daze. So, I did.”
“What happened to everyone else?” Scrutiny edged into Nash’s voice. I didn’t need to see his face to know his expression was equally suspicious. “ Was there anyone else?”
“I went alone.”
“Why?”
His sudden aggravation bled onto me, and I snapped back. “Because it was obviously a trap.”
Nash grabbed my shoulder and turned me toward him. “And yet, you went?”
I fixed him with a weary gaze. “Someone had to.”
“Not alone!” he exclaimed, loudly enough I almost missed the way the water had earlier clogged my ears. “You should’ve told me.”
I blinked slowly. “Consider this me telling you.”
Nash pitched forward and set his mug on the coffee table so hard that some of the contents sloshed out. “Do you realize how lucky you are? You could’ve died.”
I didn’t get a word out in response before he ticked his finger at me.
“Don’t try to tell me it wasn’t that bad, or that you had it under control,” Nash said. “Nothing about this is under control.” His gesture to my soaked body made his point clear .
Grumbling, I stood and left the damp towel behind as I began to pace across the floor. I wanted to go farther. Leave the room and this conversation entirely. If I had known the alchemist’s getaway potion came with a side of scolding, I might have taken my chances without it.
Nash joined me in standing, looking taller and somewhat imposing as he scowled at me. “When I say you could have died , does it mean anything to you?” he asked. “Do you feel the gravity of that? Dead. Gone. No more. Life over.”
In the ten years I’d known Nash, we’d never once come to blows. He looked almost ready for it now, ready to knock some sense into me if I wouldn’t accept it any other way. I’d already had my ass kicked once tonight, but I had a little fight left in me yet.
“Sounds like any given Tuesday,” I said through gritted teeth.
Nash gave his head a single, sharp shake. “Don’t give me that tough guy act. And don’t even think about pulling something like this again. Or, if you do, take me with you.”
“You’re a bartender, Nash.” I regretted the condescension in my tone as soon as I heard it. “What are you gonna do? Drink ‘em to death?”
His biceps flexed, straining the folded cuffs of his shirt sleeves. The sight gave me pause, and I wondered if it was premature to offer makeup sex.
“You’re not a fighter,” I said, still staring at his arms. “You have no place in this.”
Nash moved forward. “Don’t count me out so easily. I can help.” His voice had lowered to that soft, honey tone that worked as well as a lullaby tempting me to much-needed sleep.
I fought it off, swiping through the air to create distance between us. I didn’t come here for sympathy, or aid, or to drag Nash into danger.
“I don’t want you to!” The words burst out, fueled by weakening resolve. “I have enough of that. Everyone fights, and kills, and dies.” A sorrowful laugh swelled in me. “You stay here, and serve drinks, and smile… and you’re safe.”
Nash’s eyes locked with mine for a long, unblinking moment. It left me feeling conspicuous with my soggy shirt plastered to my skin and my emotions on display. I wasn’t sure when it had happened, but I couldn’t deny that his wellbeing had become immeasurably important to me. He had wormed his way into the small circle of people I was willing to fight—possibly die—for.
Nash took a step to close the gap between us and threw his arms around me. Pain sparked in my ribs, and my first thought was to throw him back. My second thought—the realization I needed comfort as much as he did—was to let my body go limp.
“You think I don’t want you to be safe, too?” he asked. “Dropping in like that, half-drowned and frantic? You scared me.”
My arms hung loose as I rested the uninjured side of my face against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “For scaring you.”
“Sorry enough not to do it again?”
I raised my shoulder in a half-shrug. “I try not to make promises I can’t keep.”
Warm air ruffled my hair as he exhaled across the top of my head, then chased it with a kiss. “Sweet, stubborn man.”
The words made my skin prickle, and I pulled away from him. Retrieving the towel from where it lay on the couch, I threw it over my shoulders once more. “Don’t call me sweet, Nash,” I muttered. “It’s hell on my ego.”
“Icepack incoming.” Pippa blew into the room carrying a Ziploc bag of ice. “Should take some of the swell out of that shiner.” She tossed the bag for me to catch, and I raised it to my swollen eye.
The sting of the cold and sharp edges of ice cubes brought more pain than relief, but I held it in place anyway. “Some alchemist your brother is,” I told her with mocking disdain. “Said he’s got nothing for it.”
Nash snuffled into his coffee as he walked over to the wall shelves to straighten a few slanted books.
Pippa propped a fist on her hip. She’d ditched her waitressing apron to expose an argyle sweater and leggings. “I don’t think magic can fix what’s wrong with you, Fitch,” she said. “That would take a miracle.”
I flashed a tart smile. “You’re always so honest, Pippa. It’s refreshing.”
She turned toward Nash. “I locked up downstairs, Nick. Since those customers are definitely not coming back.” She cast a final look of blame my way before crossing the room to come alongside her brother. Taking hold of his elbow, she whispered something I couldn’t hear.
Nash turned toward her, perplexed in profile. He gave no response other than to tell me, “Hang tight, Fitch. I’ll be right back.”
The siblings left the room, heading down the hallway and out of earshot. Suspicious.
Left to my own devices, I stood, holding the towel around my neck with one hand and pressing the ice bag to my cheek with the other. The towel was as soaked as I was, and the icepack gave me a chill, so it seemed dry clothes were in order. I wandered down the same hall Nash and Pippa had used, aiming for Nash’s bedroom and, ultimately, his closet.
Pippa’s room came first, though, with the door slightly ajar and a conversation in progress beyond it.
“What are you getting at?” Nash’s voice, gruff and slightly raised, stopped me in my tracks. “I know you want to say something,” he continued, “so say it.”
I leaned against the wall beside the doorframe, eavesdropping for the second time in as many hours.
Pippa sighed loudly. “This may not be the best time to ask, but if the Hex isn’t allowed here anymore, why is Fitch still coming around?”
“Fitch is the reason the Hex isn’t allowed here anymore,” Nash replied.
“I remember,” Pippa said. “I was there. And any reason would have been good enough for me. They’re a bunch of assholes. But they’re a bunch of assholes he’s part of. Still representing, at least.”
The Hex mark continued to be a sticking point. I was about ready to chop my damn hand off myself and deliver it to Jax in a wrapped box. Whatever I was getting from the gang these days wasn’t worth the hassle .
“You’re right, Pip,” Nash replied. “This isn’t the best time.”
Footsteps approached from inside, and I lurched away from the door, ready to make quick progress to Nash’s room.
Lighter feet chased after Nash’s heavy thuds. Both of them now stood on the other side of the cracked door.
“Think about it, Nick,” Pippa said. “As it stands, you’ve got all the risk and none of the reward. Especially if he’s gonna be dropping in with God knows who on his tail, bringing trouble from all over town.”
My face twisted into a deeper scowl, prompting pain. Not just the physical kind.
“He’s a public menace,” Pippa continued. “Don’t make him our private one.”
I drew a breath, ready to defend myself in a conversation that had intentionally excluded me. Instead, protest went stale inside my brain.
Nash gave me the escape potion. He wanted me to come here, and I would never jeopardize him by bringing my enemies in tow. If Pippa had heard what I’d just told Nash—that I wanted him to stay here because it was safe—she would understand. I wouldn’t risk him like that.
“It’s my bar,” Nash replied after a pause. “I decide who’s allowed in it.”
“You sure do.” The edge of warning in Pippa’s voice should have prepared me for what she said next, but I found myself wholly stunned. “But I live here, too,” she said. “And I don’t want a fuckboy with a pretty face to cloud your judgment. At this rate, he’ll be the death of your business. Maybe the death of you.”
New moisture lined my eyes as I recalled words spoken that were more cutting than Pippa’s had been, but they carried the same sentiment.
“Don’t let yourself get too invested in that one,” Grimm had told Nash, not too long ago. “He’ll let anyone fuck him.”
I had been, since fourteen, somewhat of a community property. Marionette was Grimm’s pet project, an experiment he was still conducting over a decade later. The gang leader’s efforts had opened the door for others to try their hand at molding me into what I was now. Isha, for one, had relished the opportunity to teach a young man how to be an exceptional lover. Sexual prowess came with practice, so I got plenty.
Be it with whores at the Blooming Orchid or barflies at the Bitters’ End, I rarely turned anyone down. The few times I’d tried, I learned very quickly it wasn’t my place to say no.
But it was different with Nash. He was kind and took his time, rather than simply taking me for all I was worth before making a quick getaway. He stayed, and it struck me suddenly that few things frightened me more than the thought of him leaving.
I ran half-blind into the adjacent bedroom and pushed the door closed behind me. Hopefully, that would slow Nash down in finding me and give me time to pull myself together.
The need for clothes made the dresser my first stop. I flung the wet towel and icepack onto the bed as I opened the topmost dresser drawer. Shivering while digging through folded shirts and pajama pants, I heard the door creak. I didn’t turn, pretending to be engrossed in Nash’s selection of sweats.
“Didn’t expect to find you in here,” he said, walking up behind me as I unbuttoned my shirt and let it drop on the floor.
I tugged a blue hoodie from the drawer, then pulled it over my head. I was stuffing my arms into the sleeves when Nash’s warm hands slipped around my torso.
“It’s a nice surprise, though.” He tried to pull me in, but I broke away, smoothing the front of the shirt and giving the hem band a final yank.
I kept my head down and busied myself with the search for pants. After a few moments of unsuccessful rifling, Nash touched my shoulder.
“Fitch?”
I whirled around to face him, and my brows pinched as much as they could with one side of my face swollen and stiff. “Why did you give me the getaway potion?” I demanded.
His look of confusion stabbed pain in my gut. “In case you were in danger,” he said slowly. “So you could get… away…” He trailed off, going quiet until realization dawned. “You were listening.”
I nodded.
Nash nodded, too. “Then you heard what I said. It’s my bar, and I say who’s welcome here.” He gripped my arms, holding me steady as he met my reluctant gaze. “ You are welcome here.”
He meant it, which made it that much harder for me to ignore the reassurance he offered and ask, “Can you drive me home? ”
“Home?” His expression strained.
Forgoing the pants, I scooped my damp shirt from the floor and draped it over my arm. “The houseboat,” I replied. “The docks. I’d go myself, but my car’s at the motel.”
“It’s late,” Nash said, backpedaling. “Why don’t you stay here tonight, and I’ll take you in the morning?”
God, I wanted that. Everything in me begged for it. But Pippa’s concerns had worried me, too. I wasn’t even mad at her because everything she had said rang with bitter truth.
I shook my head. “I need to get back. Donnie’s probably worried.”
“You could call him—”
“I could call a cab.” That came out sharper than I intended.
Judging from his wince, Nash felt the sting. His shoulders slumped through a long sigh. “Let me get my keys.”