Chapter 6
NICO
After Jo’s family left the hospital last night, I spent a few hours alone with her, but she refused to talk about them, and I didn’t want to push her on it.
So instead of finding out why she turns in on herself like a turtle, we ate the dinner I brought and played a few rounds of Block Blast on my cell phone.
I also got to speak with her doctors and the nurses who have been taking such good care of her, and I ordered some food to be delivered to them before heading out for the night.
But even cuddling with Gus couldn’t keep my mind off Josephine and the way she became a different person around her family.
Granted, they were a handful and I wasn’t particularly fond of them, but it was as if she became a shell of herself.
I don’t like it.
So much so that I offered to stay the night in her hospital room, but she literally pushed me out of the room, even though I’m pretty positive the doctor said she wasn’t supposed to be doing any exercise for a week.
When I reminded her of that with a pop of my biceps, she rolled her eyes, and I snagged her cell phone to put my number in under Fiancé with the red lips and hockey stick emojis.
I hoped she’d use my number, but I was amazed when she actually messaged me this morning to inform me that she’d be able to leave the hospital.
I saved her number as My Betrothed then texted her back to see if her family was there.
Her response was a voice message, all of them talking at once around her for about a minute.
Point taken. I replied that I’d kick her family out, if need be, then bring her home. In our conversations, I learned that she didn’t own a car and relied on public transportation to travel everywhere, but I wasn’t about to let my fiancée hop on a bus when I could drive her.
After practice, I head right to her, stopping briefly to chat with the nurses. Some of them know who I am, and I sign a bunch of napkins, take a few pictures, noting the flowers I’d bought for Jo two days ago now decorate their station.
I twist my baseball cap backward then strut into her room. “How’s my beloved doing today?”
She turns to me from her position in the chair by the window and blows out a breath. “Ready to go home.”
I nod and scan all the things she’s packed up in plastic bags and a cardboard box. “You gave your flowers to the nurses?”
She stands, and for the first time, I notice how tall she is. Probably about 5’9” with long legs, though no one would know it from how she’s all hunched over, wearing the baggiest clothes known to man. She doesn’t have any makeup on, her skin a little drawn, her big brown eyes exhausted.
“I can’t take them all home,” she says, pointing to the small bouquet on the table. “I’m keeping these, though. They’re my favorite.”
The sunflowers.
I tuck that piece of information away, like I do all of the things she’s told me. Hoarding the bits of her she allows me to have because I’d venture to guess she doesn’t often permit people all that much.
“Before we go, here…” I hold out the package. “Your camera arrived today.”
“My camera?”
When she doesn’t move, I take the sunflowers from her hand to give her the replacement camera I ordered. “I broke your camera, so here is a new one.”
She turns it over in her hands. “Nico…”
I like the way she says my name. All breathy and soft and my new favorite sound.
“You shouldn’t have done this. I didn’t mean—”
“No. No, no, don’t start being all demure and shy. Just take the gift and say Thank you, Nico.”
She rolls her lips over her teeth, refusing. The stubborn girl holds out the box to me, as if I’ll take it back.
“Josephine, I broke your camera, and I’m replacing it. I also already paid the hospital bills and there are no take-backsies, so just accept that you’re in this with me. I’ve got a lot of money to spend, and I’d prefer to spend it on you more than anything else.”
Her jaw slackens, cheeks flushing. “You are…”
I tilt my head, filling in her blank. “Generous? Extraordinary? The hottest hockey player ever to knock you out with a puck? Yeah, you’re right, I am. Now…” I circle my hand in the air, hoping she catches on to her lines. She doesn’t, so I feed them to her. “Thank you, Nico.”
She arches her brows at me. As if she doesn’t want to, out of spite.
“Lemme hear it.” I wink. “I know you want to give it to me.”
Her tongue glides along her lower lip, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“Come on, babe,” I rasp because I really do want to hear her say it. A woman who doesn’t need or want shit from me? Who’d rather take another puck to the head than admit she might possibly like me?
I’m practically on my knees.
Begging for her attention.
Once more, I try, gliding my knuckle along her jaw, a silent command.
Her lips part, teeth momentarily digging into her bottom one before she finally gives it up. “Thank you, Nico.”
And I attempt not to grin like an absolute loon. “You’re welcome, and you ready to get out of here?”
At her nod, I load up my arms with her belongings.
“I’ll carry this if you take that and the bear…
?” She clutches the life-sized stuffed bear in her arms, as well as her camera and sunflowers, before turning to me.
It’s a bitch to get all the bags situated, but once I do, I just my chin toward the door. “Let’s get you home.”
On our way out, we say goodbye to the staff, then silently ride the elevator down to the parking garage level. At my Cadillac, I stop and poke out my hip. “Grab my keys for me.”
She digs in my pocket for the fob and unlocks the doors so I can unload everything into my trunk. I shove the bear into the back seat then make sure Josephine’s all buckled in before I trot around to the driver’s side.
When I turn the engine over, I glance her way. “You comfy?”
“Yes.”
“You sure? Too hot or cold? You have enough room?”
“I’m fine.”
That’s always her answer. She’s constantly fine. As if she’s afraid to say otherwise. Tell the truth and ask for what she wants.
I doubt she wants me to hop on a soapbox about speaking up for herself, so I ask her to put her address into my directions app and then promptly save it. Once we’re outside of the parking garage and stopped at a red light, I steal another moment to study her.
My fiancée.
She chews on her bottom lip, and that little mole next to her mouth is like a target. A taunt.
In profile, her nose is long and her cheeks round. Her complexion is clear, though she has some marks, old acne scars. She rubs at her forehead, toying with her hair, making sure it’s covering up as much of her face as possible, and it’s clear my bride-to-be has a confidence issue.
To make her more comfortable, I toss out some softball questions.
Her birthday is October 15th, when she’ll turn 25, while I’m already there because of my June birthday.
Her favorite color is black; mine is red.
She has no pets, and I tell her all about Gus.
It’s when I ask her what she’s most afraid of that she stumbles.
She opens her mouth then closes it, her skin blushing a bright pink before she inhales a breath deep enough to raise her shoulders then answers, “Thunderstorms.”
I don’t believe her, but I let it go.
“What are you afraid of?” she asks, and I give her the genuine truth.
“Being alone.”
I feel her staring at the side of my face as silence settles between us, only Sabrina Carpenter quietly singing through my speakers.
Eventually, Jo clears her throat and asks, “Is that why you are the way you are? Because you’re afraid of being alone?”
“Why I am the way I am? I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You know…all of the sex…and stuff.”
I huff a laugh. “Maybe. But mostly, I just like sex. It feels too good not to enjoy it as much as we can, right?” I glance her way, but she’s sawing away on that lip, eyes not straying from where she’s white-knuckling the vase of sunflowers.
I tug on her chin so she stops destroying her lip, because honestly, it’s a real shame, then settle both of my hands on the steering wheel to drive.
“My parents divorced when I was five, and I spent a lot of time on my own. My dad worked twenty-four seven, and my mom was off doing whatever she wanted. I always had nannies or babysitters or camp counselors or whoever, but I never felt like I was ever really wanted. Like anyone ever really wanted to spend time with me. They were all being paid, and by the time someone did show interest in me…”
“What?”
I blink back into awareness, not realizing my mind had drifted so far back into the past, into the memories that I’d rather forget, and I glance over at her. “Hm?”
“It seemed like you had more to say.”
I tug the bill of my hat, facing it forward again, like I can hide myself. If she can do it, I can too.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me,” she says, so repentantly, it makes me want to tell her all the more. I’ve basically flayed myself open for her, but maybe if I’m honest with her, she’ll be honest with me.
“I moved to Canada and lived with Alex Sheffield’s family. Being with them, that was the first time I ever felt like I wasn’t alone. They wanted me, accepted me, and…I think I’ve been chasing that feeling.”
I turn to Jo at the next red light, finding her eyes on me. “I didn’t mean to assume anything about…”
“It’s fine.” I shrug. “But also, you might be on to something. Maybe I do have a lot of sex because I don’t like feeling lonely. I don’t know. Never been to therapy, but if you’re willing…”
She burrows farther down in her seat. “I’m more messed up than you are, so I don’t think you want me being your therapist.”
“Look at us.” I elbow her side until she smiles my way, and I adore the tiny space between her front teeth. So cute. “Just two fucked-up kids getting married.”
She moans. “Don’t remind me.”
“What? I’d make a great husband.”