21. DANCE PARTNERS
After waiting out my mental fog and the endless procession of cars filing down the drive, I was one of the last to leave. I dragged myself to the Porsche and collapsed into the driver’s seat, already knowing where I wanted to go next, and it wasn’t to another night’s restless sleep on the floor of the houseboat.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the lot outside the Bitters’ End and was selfishly pleased to find no other vehicles in sight. That meant I had the bar—and the bartender—all to myself.
Pain chipped away at my brain and made me weave like a drunkard as I wandered into the building. The honey wood tones of the floors and walls put me immediately at ease. I adjusted my suit coat and tousled my hair, trying to look less wrung out than I felt. Exhaustion had me in its clutches, and I wanted little more than to lie down somewhere warm and soft.
Passing through the entry hall, I stopped in the doorway of the bar area and spotted the thing I wanted most of all. Nash stood in the middle of the room, pushing a mop across the floor. His copper hair glowed in the downlights, and his blue plaid shirt fit snugly across his shoulders.
Relieved as I was that he hadn’t been at Holland’s party, I had missed him. That feeling seemed to crop up more and more lately. It was a heartsick sort of sadness that made me drive my near-catatonic ass across town in the middle of the night so I didn’t have to be alone.
I watched him for several seconds, amused by his inattention until I noticed the wireless headphones plugging his ears. Grinning, I crept into the room, careful to stay behind him as I stealthily approached. When I reached him at last, I slid my hands around his waist and into his jeans’ pockets, prompting a bucking jump.
The mop fell away to clatter against the floor as Nash spun around and yanked his earbuds out. His brown eyes went soft when they focused on me.
“Christ, you scared me.” He shook his head.
Laughing made my head pound harder, and I grimaced. Nash bent to retrieve the mop and, after dropping it into the rolling bucket, he looked me over.
“I haven’t heard from you all week, and now you show up dressed like this?” He gestured to my suit, and I said silent thanks for the black shirt hiding a mess of bloodstains. “What’s the occasion?”
The subtle dig did not elude me. The last time I’d been here, I’d left on less-than-ideal terms. I masked my hurt feelings with anger and took out my frustration on us both. He’d texted, but I hadn’t bothered to respond. There weren’t many ways to confess that an eavesdropped conversation had taken me out at the knees, and that I’d been avoiding anything that reminded me of it for days. Better to pretend it never happened or do what I could to make up for it.
“It’s a gift.” I stepped into him again. “For you.”
To my relief, he let me press my body against his. I looped my arms around his middle, needing the support to hold myself upright.
“Is it a gift I get to unwrap?” he asked, prompting another subdued chuckle from me.
“Go for it. Try not to rip the paper, though. It’s a rental.” Though I was less certain of getting my deposit back after all that had happened tonight.
Nash pressed one hand into the small of my back and used the other to sweep the hair away from my brow. “Where were you?” he asked. “Before this?”
I peered at him from under heavy eyelids. “Why do you ask?”
“Because your nose is red either from crying or a hell of a nosebleed, and you look like you’re sleepwalking.” He reached toward my upper lip, rubbed raw from too much dabbing and wiping.
“Shut it, Sherlock.” I swatted him away and staggered back. “I look sexy as hell.”
The distance gave him a chance to survey me with more scrutiny than before. “Are you sure you’re up for… unwrapping?” His bushy brows knit together. “Maybe a nightcap and a tuck into bed instead?”
I crossed my arms. “I didn’t get all dressed up to go to bed.” Tempting as that was .
“And I don’t believe you got all dressed up just to come see me,” he replied. “Did the Capitol have an event? I didn’t hear anything.”
And he wouldn’t hear anything about it from me. I didn’t ask Grimm if he knew in advance about the Everett twins’ attack on the party because the answer was obvious. For whatever reason, he endorsed the destruction. He might have even hoped for a few casualties, which made me more suspicious than ever about his request that I bring Nash. All the more reason to keep my professional and private lives separate.
I nodded toward the cell phone jutting out of Nash’s hip pocket. “What were you listening to?”
The blatant redirection didn’t fool him, but he sighed and produced his phone anyway.
When he showed me the Now Playing screen, I snorted. “Jazz? Seriously?”
“It’s relaxing.” He shrugged. “Sensual.”
A teasing grin pulled at my lips. “Sensual, you say? Like a Kenny G. saxophone solo?”
He huffed. “That’s not—”
“Gimme.” I gestured to the earbuds tucked in his palm.
He tipped his head, reluctant, then passed them to me.
I slid them in and listened to the song already playing. It had a slow beat and a piano-led melody. Closing my eyes was a risky game with sleep dogging my every move, but the mellow notes put me at ease. After a lingering moment, I peeked out to see Nash watching.
I offered him one of the buds. “Would you like to dance, Mister Nash?”
He swayed back, and color flushed his bear cheeks. “I’m more of a hug and sway kind of guy. Not so light on my feet.”
“Thank fuck.” I sighed and stumbled into him, grabbing the shoulders of his button-down. “I don’t have it in me to do any fancy shit tonight.”
A humming sound reverberated inside his chest. “Still not gonna tell me what you’ve been up to?”
I shook my head. “Not bringing my trouble in here. Or my problems.”
It wasn’t hard to track that comment back to its source.
Nash pushed me back enough that I could look up at him. “I’m sorry Pip said that,” he said. “Sorrier that you heard it—”
“Nash, just hold me.” I blinked wearily. “Dance with me. I wanna be close to you.”
He worked his jaw, biting back argument before putting the earbud in. The volume clicked up a couple notches so we could both hear clearly as the next song on the playlist began.
“Come here.” He drew me in.
He was everything warm and welcome and wonderful, offering comfort I couldn’t get anywhere else. I hung on loosely with my fingers laced across his spine and my head tucked under his chin.
When I spoke again, my words were muffled. “Hey, how long’s it been since someone took you on a date?”
If I’d been thinking clearer, I would have been able to silence that question before it found voice. Instead, it escaped and hung between us, and I hoped like hell he hadn’t heard me.
The sudden jolt in what had been a smooth, side-to-side sway, made it clear I had not gotten away with the slip. Nash shifted his grip to my shoulders and pushed me back a step so he could fix me with a dubious look.
“Dare I presume where you’re going with this?” he asked. “Because I’ll tell you, it’s been a minute. I would blame it on my hectic work schedule, but…” He rolled his eyes in reference to the vacancy around us.
Smiling, he raised his hand to tuck the longest strands of hair behind my ear. When I tipped my head into his palm and let it rest there, his expression softened with affection I couldn’t deny. Or get used to. It twisted my stomach into knots.
“Truth is,” he continued, “I’ve been kinda hung up on this guy, but I didn’t think dating was his thing.”
I cut my gaze away, chagrined. “It’s not.”
“Who said you were the guy?” Nash asked with a wily grin.
Heat rushed my cheeks, and I raised my head, feeling like a bobble doll with the fluid still sloshing inside my skull. “Call it a hunch,” I muttered, and he laughed.
He was still holding me, searching my face and waiting patiently while I muddled through a mess of uncertainty and outright fear. Asking him out had been such a flippant thought when I was talking to Holland on the beach. That was before I considered how easily he could turn me down, and how that rejection would slot him in with all the others who used, then discarded me. I wasn’t prepared for how badly that would hurt .
I was staring at my shoes when I worked up the nerve to speak at last. “So, do you wanna go on a date with me or what?”
Quiet answered me and stretched until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I met Nash’s dark brown eyes and found them pinched beneath a furrowed brow.
“Damn.” He shook his head. “You really said it. That was not on my Bingo card.”
My face twisted into a scowl. “I could un say it.”
He shook his head again, harder this time. “Relax, I’m kidding.”
A breath left me as a sigh that I could not deny was one of relief. I also couldn’t deny that I’d never seen Nash as happy as he looked just then. Merriment made his eyes sparkle, and his lips pulled in an uncontrolled smile until he worked them around to speaking again.
“Mister Farrow, I would gladly go out with you,” he said. “Name the time and place, and I’ll be there.”
I sighed again, relaxing so completely I might have dozed off if Nash hadn’t drawn me in and kissed me, soft and deep. He tucked me to his chest, placing a few more kisses at my temple and on the top of my head.
The music buzzing through our earbuds seemed to swell, and I closed my eyes. Nash started swaying again, leading me along. As my body grew heavier, I rested more and more on him. Peaceful breaths filled and emptied my chest, each one drawing us closer.
The song became a pleasant drone in the back of my mind, gradually fading until the sensation of falling roused me from the brink of sleep. My eyes flashed open to see Nash overhead, having bent me backward in a dip .
He smiled. “You still with me?”
“Never left,” I mumbled.
“Just resting your eyes?”
“Mmhmm.”
He pulled me up snugly against him, and I laid my cheek on his chest. The soft flannel of his shirt brushed my skin, smelling like laundry soap and cologne.
Awake enough to think again, my thoughts wandered back to the birthday party. Past the proposal and ensuing chaos and the frozen fear on the Briggs’s faces moments before the building collapsed. It was what came after that stuck with me the most: Tobin’s awkward thanks followed by Grimm’s scathing commentary.
In the pause before the next song, I whispered, “Nash, do you think I could be a hero?”
He kept swaying, holding me while the room slowly turned around us. “That’s a strange question.”
“Strange?” I echoed, then braced for the less flattering alternative. “Or stupid?”
“I’m just not sure why you’re asking,” he said. “The way I see it, everything you do, keeping your brother away from Grimm, sparing Maximus’s life, giving Maggie somewhere to stay, risking yourself to help Ripley… Not to mention kidnapping half a dozen people in the hopes of keeping them alive. It’s all heroic.”
“None of that shit worked out, though,” I replied with a heavy breath. “Donnie hates me, thinks I’m his prison warden. Maggie’s been living off roadkill for a week. Ripley’s missing, possibly dead, just like all the people I took and stored for nothing. The same’s probably true for Maximus. He’s alive because I didn’t want to hurt Holland, and now I have no idea what to do with him…”
I sighed. “Heroes do good things. All I’m good at is fucking shit up.”
All movement stopped, and Nash stepped back from me. “God, I hate Grimm.” He pulled out his earbud and pocketed it.
I steadied myself, bearing my own weight for the first time in several minutes. “What brought that on?” I asked.
He waved his hand as though shooing something away. “He’s all I hear when you say things like that. It’s like he lives in your damn head.”
“He doesn’t—” The headache spiked, driving pain from one ear through the other. I winced and cupped my hand to my temple.
Nash continued. “He only talks down to you to make you feel like you need him. It’s all he’s ever done. Since you were a kid.”
“Well, when you’ve got a winning strategy,” I mumbled.
He shook his head. “You’re better than him in every way. You don’t—”
“Nash, my brain feels like it’s been through a meat grinder.” My features pinched in pain. “Can we not talk about this? Or anything?”
The aggravation that had overtaken his expression dissipated. I thought I must have been exceptionally convincing until I felt wetness on my upper lip.
Nash’s gaze targeted the lower half of my face. “You’re bleeding,” he said .
I daubed my sleeve cuff against my sore nose, then frowned. “And you’re observant.”
“I’ll get a napkin,” he said.
Thundering footsteps from the back of the bar announced Pippa’s arrival before her shrill scream pierced the air.
“Nicholas Nash!” she shouted.
Instant concern flushed my brain with adrenaline that damn near knocked me out. I staggered, grabbing onto Nash’s arm as he spun toward the sound.
Pippa burst into the room, her ginger hair windblown and freckled cheeks splotched red. Anger contorted her features as she aimed a glare at her brother. “Why is the leader of our government in the goddamned cellar?”
Three weeks earlier
There were no thoughts of discretion, not even the appropriate level of concern for how I must have looked dragging Maximus Lyle out of the passenger seat of my car and through the entry of the Bitters’ End. Apparently, I’d gotten too used to the bar being vacant and was lucky to find no customers lurking on a Friday afternoon. Spending the ride across town with an emotional terrorist ransacking my brain had left me choked with every bad feeling he could push on me, and I was a fucking mess .
“Shut up!” I used my grip on Maximus’s arm to give him a rough shake. With the makeshift gag in his mouth and his hands tied with jumper cables I’d dug out of the front trunk of the Porsche, he hadn’t said a word. He didn’t need to. His magic was inside me like a parasite eating away at my fragile composure.
We came to a stop in the middle of the bar where I was too blinded by wild tears to venture farther. My stomach lurched as though I would be sick. Guilt and shame and sorrow piled up.
I shoved myself in Maximus’s face and found him unyielding. “I can make you hurt, too, you old bastard,” I seethed. “Don’t fucking tempt me.”
Rather than relent, the empath came back at me harder. Either he wanted to die or was determined to crush me with the weight of my own self-loathing. Lord knew there was plenty of that to go around.
I spun away from him and shouted at the ceiling. “Nash!”
Heavy feet hurried down the stairs. My eyes fluttered with relief when Nash rounded the doorway into the bar. When he saw me and Maximus, linked by my white-knuckled hold on the old man’s elbow, Nash lurched back, immediately seeking the exit.
“Oh, fuck,” he stammered. His normally rosy cheeks went ashen. “Fitch, what did you do?”
“They’re all dead,” I sobbed. Sorrow gave way to rage, something I didn’t need Maximus’s help to feel fully. “Grimm lied to me.” My face scrunched with spite as I looked at Nash, and sarcasm laced my next words. “I know. You’re shocked. ”
“Who’s dead?” Nash asked.
“The voters,” I snapped. “This dickbag got his wish, but it didn’t matter because he was gonna kill me no matter what. He just wanted to use me like everyone else.” My voice tore up my throat, raw and edged with pain I couldn’t explain. I must have looked like a maniac, ranting with my chest heaving while tears ran down my face.
I squared myself with Maximus again. “Is that it?” I asked him. “If you aren’t gonna treat me like I’m even alive, then what difference does it make if I’m dead?”
From behind me, Nash crept forward with his hand outstretched. “Fitch—”
Maximus met my gaze without blinking, maddeningly composed.
“I never wanted to be a killer,” I told him. “Not for Grimm, not for you. I just wanted…” Words lodged in my throat; a statement I didn’t know how to finish. I swallowed and tried again. “I wanted…”
“Fitch.” Nash’s touch to my shoulder sparked a reaction like a static shock on steroids. He flew backward, hitting the floor on his tailbone and sliding across the polished wood boards.
I gaped at him, wide eyed and breathless as he shook himself, then stood. The anger that flickered across his features brought guilt swinging down on me like a hammer. My stomach lurched, and I gulped back bile. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone…
The emotional pain redoubled, growing until it filled me so completely I thought I might burst apart.
I wheeled around on Maximus and screeched, “Stop it!”
He was doing this. Making everything so much worse. Digging through my brain like it was a goddamned treasure trove and finding nothing but shit.
Releasing the old man, I pressed my palms against my ears, but I knew it would do no good.
“That’s enough.” Nash’s voice was nearby once more, but he wasn’t talking to me. “Surely you can see he doesn’t want to hurt you. You’d be here in pieces if he did. But better not to push, don’t you think?”
I sank to the ground, breathing hard with both arms shielding my head from the mental onslaught. But it had stopped, and all was quiet.
When I dared to peek out, Maximus and Nash faced each other. Maximus stood with his back straight and his chin held high, an odd juxtaposition against his wrists bound behind his back and a dirty rag in his mouth. Nash similarly set his feet. At his side, he held one hand closed in a fist. But I knew he was packing something more powerful than a punch.
Nash glanced my way, betraying shades of fear. Then he swung toward Maximus’s jaw with a wicked uppercut. The older man’s head snapped back as the air filled with a puff of shimmering silver powder. Sleepy dust, Nash jokingly called it. He used it on rowdy drunks and me more than once.
It was hard to tell what took Maximus out, the punch or the magic. The older man dropped, immediately limp, while Nash stood rubbing his knuckles. Several seconds passed with the alchemist staring down at Maximus’s prone form. When Nash finally looked at me, his features softened.
He sighed. “Whatever this is, looks like we’re in it together.”
The nosebleed got me out of the confrontation with Pippa. Nash took that on the chin but not before shooing me off to bed and ensuring I was too drowsy to try listening in again.
I was foggy and sore the next day when Nash bustled through the doorway of his bedroom, toting a white wooden tray laden with dishes.
“Breakfast,” he greeted as he approached the bedside. “Or lunch. You’ve been out for a while.”
Dragging myself from under the covers, I sat against the headboard and used my hand to cover a yawn. The headache lingered like an impression stamped in my mind. Less of an active pain and more the memory of one.
Nash set the tray across my lap, then gestured to the food arranged on the plate beside a glass of orange juice. “We’ve got eggs, biscuits, and raspberry jam.”
And a single flower in a bud vase that pushed the whole thing into Hallmark movie-level cringe. I started to tell him so, but a glance at his face found his ruddy cheeks full and his brown eyes creased with smile lines. He looked so pleased with himself that I couldn’t help but smile in response.
“Very cute,” I said .
He pulled back the covers and slid in beside me, still in his sweats despite it being presumably near noon.
The meal smelled enticing as always, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch. Cooking was a pet passion of both the Nash siblings, another kind of chemistry that appealed to their scientifically inclined minds.
As I loaded the fork with the firm whites of over-easy eggs, I caught Nash watching in my peripheral. Ignoring my growling stomach, I set the utensil down with a clink and faced him.
“Why do you do this shit for me?”
He looked blank for a moment, maybe startled. After a time too long not to be suspicious, he said, “Why do you ask dumb questions?”
Blame it on my fried brain, but I legitimately wanted him to explain. What did I do for him? I dropped in when it suited me, left his messages unread, and took more than I gave in every capacity. I wouldn’t have done half as much for someone like me.
Maybe the sex was just that good. And I owed him for last night. Promising a free ride and then not following through was bad manners, and I couldn’t afford to be rude and a cock tease.
Before I could make any overtures toward that end, Nash spoke. “I saw the news about the party. You’re making headlines again.”
From milk carton missing child to pardoned murderer set loose to prowl the streets, infamy was a part of my identity. I couldn’t shake the media sharks if I wanted to. Good thing I had a face made for the camera .
“Can’t help myself, I guess.” I shrugged. “What’d they say?”
“That you saved a bunch of people. Held up a damn house.” Nash’s chest puffed with pride.
“Only part of it.” I dug into the eggs again, spending more effort pushing them around than actually eating.
“No wonder you were spent,” Nash mused. “I haven’t seen you that overdone in a long time.”
Setting the fork down again, I tried the juice instead. A tentative sip found it tangy and loaded with pulp. I would swallow damn near anything, but the chunky texture triggered me. Putting the glass to my lips again, I did my best to discreetly spit the juice out. Thankfully, Nash carried on without noticing.
“I told Pippa,” he said.
I raised a brow. “About Max?”
“About you being a hero.”
There was that word again, bringing a mixture of satisfaction and sorrow. I lifted the tray off my lap and set it on the bedside table, then clasped my hands in my lap. Thirty black lines tattooed on my fingers told a very different story about the kind of person I was. Something much closer to the truth.
Oblivious to my internal strife, Nash carried on. “Maybe she’ll lighten up if she knows you do good things. At least sometimes.” His wink cut into me, and I struggled to form a tight smile.
I imagined what Pippa must have said after I went to bed. Talk about vindication. If she’d needed any proof of the negative impact I was having on her brother’s life and livelihood, finding a political prisoner stored beneath her home was more than enough. And I hardly believed one news report about my exaggerated good deed would change her mind.
“Thanks for handling that last night,” I said. “It’s my shit. You shouldn’t have to deal with it.”
“I don’t mind.” Nash reached toward my face, angling for an errant lock of blond hair.
Rather than let him brush it back, I recoiled and fixed him with an incredulous look. “You don’t mind feeding and caring for an unwilling prisoner in your cellar?” I snorted. “Fuck, Nash, you’re a nice guy, but not a dumb one.” In fact, he was one of the smartest people I knew. How was he not savvy enough to see that I was taking advantage of him?
“I find it hard to say no to you,” he said coyly. Another attempt at levity that didn’t quite land.
“Well, maybe you should try to a little more often before I ruin your life.” My laugh rang hollow. It wasn’t a very good joke. Considering the state of his business, it was more a statement of fact.
We both sobered, and I sighed. “I’ll find another place to put Max,” I said. “Soon.”
“Speaking of soon…” He waggled his brows. “How about that date?”
I rolled my eyes skyward, feigning confusion. “What date?”
Swinging a leg onto the bed, he crawled toward me, then straddled my lap. Poised above me, he was so close I thought he might kiss me again. I would have welcomed it, morning breath and all.
“You will take me out, Trouble.” He stabbed a finger playfully into my sternum. “I’m holding you to it.”
Offering a date and planning one were two different things, and I was no good at either. There were few places I could go without being recognized or drawing negative attention I didn’t want also aimed at Nash. A dark movie theater seemed like the best bet. We could sneak in after the previews and stay till the end of the credits, hoping to leave unnoticed. But Nash deserved better than that.
“You wanna go bowling or something?” I offered.
“With you?” His mouth twisted in a smirk. “Hell, no. You’ll cheat.”
He’d played enough darts with me, and billiards, too, that I couldn’t deny it. Showing off was half the fun, and I always aimed to impress.
Pressing my palm into the middle of his chest, I pushed him to the side. He rolled to lay next to me, propped up on one elbow and targeting me with a maddening grin.
“Lemme think on it a few days, okay?” I said. “I gotta figure out what to do with Maximus. And Maggie. And Jax…” I could have added Grimm, Donovan, Jette, and York to that list, and the length of my list of problems left me bewildered. “I’ll get back to you.”
Nash’s good humor flagged, and he dipped his chin in a nod. “Just don’t ghost me. That shit hurts.”
Pain stabbed in my gut, and it wasn’t from hunger.
His hand rested atop the comforter scant inches away. Reaching over, I slipped my fingers into his.
I should have apologized, but I couldn’t piece the words together, so I settled to assure him, “I won’t.”