Chapter 6 Nico #2
So, instead, I say, “My sisters and I were going to dinner on our twenty-fifth birthday. I was driving. Shay was in the back, and G… Georgie was in the front.” I stumble over her name.
Until last year, when I made her a memorial bench and Shay and I finally sat and spoke about our sister for the first time since her funeral, I hadn’t spoken her name in twenty-two years.
“We’d had a lot of bad storms that week.
The barrier along the side of the road got damaged in the storms, so when the rockfall hit, we had nowhere to go but over.
Georgie died instantly. Shay and I were in the ravine for eleven hours.
I was technically unconscious, but I remember her screaming, crying, begging until her voice gave out.
I have nightmares about that a lot.” Este likely already knows about the crash, but she opened up to me and, much like the nightmares we shared, trading our dark shadows makes them feel a little lighter.
The panic is gone from her eyes, but I swear I see my own pain reflected in them.
“I’m so sorry, Nico. Thank you for telling me.”
“You too, angel.” I squeeze her shoulder. “Do you want to try and go back to sleep? Or come downstairs, and I’ll make you tea?”
“Downstairs,” she says, grabbing her Kindle from the nightstand with one hand and Amelia Bearhart with the other.
She seems like herself again, like she just had to get it off her chest, but I understand why she clings so much to the bear, now.
“Maybe I’ll get lucky and fall asleep on the couch again. ”
The boys fuss over her the second she steps off the stairs. I trail behind her, wondering if she owns longer pajama pants.
“Any tea preferences?” I ask, as she crouches down to kiss Earl’s nose.
“I’ve loved everything you’ve given me. I trust you.”
I like how that sounds. Even if it makes me feel like more of an asshole for the way my eyes linger on the spot where her oversized concert tee hits her thigh.
I brew one of my favorites for nights my nightmares are particularly bad: plum, ginger, cardamom. It’s like a hug in a cup. Este is already settled on her side of the couch—because that’s a thing that happens when there’s someone in your house—reading when I bring the tea over.
Watching her breathe in whatever kind of tea I give her is quickly becoming one of my favorite things. Her eyes close, her lips curve, and, for a split second, she looks completely at peace.
“I think this one smells the best yet,” she says, blowing on it and taking a sip I already know will be too hot. But I get it—I can never wait, either. “Holy shit. I would bathe in this if I could.”
I’m in the process of sitting down when she says it, and pause, a crystal-clear visual popping into my head. A problematic fucking visual. Fuck.
We read quietly for an hour or so, though I spend more time than I’d like to admit looking up from my book to check on her. It’s not my fault if she’s more interesting than a mystery where everyone is so rich and insufferable that I don’t give a shit about them.
Reading for fun is new to me this year. It was Shay’s idea—something we could do together but separately.
Every month, she tells me what to read, and once a month, we meet up to discuss the book.
Usually, she comes here or meets me in Jackson—Wintermore is still hard for me since it makes me think of Georgie so much—but it guarantees we see each other at least once a month.
So far, we haven’t liked a single book we’ve read.
She’s been taking recommendations from Noelle’s brother, Felix, so I’m starting to think he’s the problem.
I’ve never been as engrossed in a book as Este is.
When she nods off, her Kindle is still clasped in her hand, precariously close to falling off the couch.
I reach for it and carefully extract it from her hand.
Maybe I should ask her for some recommendations.
I glance at the screen to get an idea of what she’s reading and nearly drop the Kindle.
“You’re going to take my cock, and you’re going to like it, baby. I get to use you however I want, remember?”
“Yes, sir.”
What the fuck?
I click around, trying to figure out what the hell she’s reading. I’m not sure how I end up at the start of the book. His to Take by C.S. Jack. The cover has a woman on all fours with her ankles tied together.
Probably not something I’m going to recommend to my sister, then.
But I find myself reading the first few sentences. Then the first few pages, the first few chapters.
And I find myself picturing everything that’s happening in the book, but not with the main characters.
Does Este picture herself when she reads these kinds of things, too?
I know I should stop—both reading and thinking of her—but I don’t put Este’s Kindle down until I think I’ve reached the spot she was reading when she fell asleep.
And I don’t stop imagining her for a single page.
I turn off the Kindle, picking up my iPad instead and downloading the app so I can buy the book and keep reading. The book is the fourth in a series. They all look equally sexy, featuring shit like BDSM, free use, taboo relationships, and a bunch of kinks I haven’t even heard of.
Is she into this stuff, or does she just like reading about it?
It’s not something I have a right to know, but as I open the book on my iPad and pick up where I left off on her Kindle, it’s all I can think about.