Chapter 19 Este
ESTE
It’s been a week, and I haven’t told Sloane that Nico and I slept together. I haven’t told her much of anything, not for her lack of trying. She clearly wanted more than I gave her, but the deeper Nico and I fall into this, the more I want to keep it to myself. I’m not entirely sure why.
Therapy is the perfect place to talk it out, but I don’t tell Rebecca, either.
Because I don’t need anyone to tell me how stupid it is to catch feelings for a man who lives on the outskirts of society by choice.
A man who happens to be my dad’s best friend, and doesn’t want to be attracted to me, let alone have feelings for me. I’m well aware.
I know it’s stupid. I know it’s not going to end well. And I really, really don’t give a shit. I was raised to work to get what I want, and what I want is Nico. I’ll figure out the logistics when my mind isn’t spinning about it all so much.
“That’s great, Este! Fresh air can work wonders for sleep. I’m not surprised getting out of the city has helped,” Rebecca says. Of course, I know that’s not why I’m sleeping so well, but she doesn’t need to. “You should keep that in mind when you get home—maybe find a nice park to walk in.”
I don’t bother pointing out that the fresh air in Chicago isn’t the same as the fresh air in the mountains in Wyoming, mostly because I don’t want to talk about going home. I don’t want to think about going home. Being here is like being in a bubble, I know, but it’s a bubble I’m enjoying being in.
“I got an email from your boss,” Rebecca continues, and my stomach flips uncomfortably. Pop goes the bubble. “He was just checking in, wondering if we had any updates on when you might be ready to go back to work.”
This is the downside of continuing with the therapist assigned to me by Skylark Airlines after the crash, but I didn’t feel like starting from scratch with a third party.
“As I’ve told him, and everyone, I’m not going back,” I say, trying to sound steadier than I feel. Just the mention of returning to Skylark is enough to shake me.
“Right. He did mention you’d told him, but he’s concerned that your decision to leave is a trauma response and not something you’ve really thought through.”
I pinch my brow. “Of course it’s a trauma response. I would have no reason to quit if I hadn’t been traumatized. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought it through. I handed in my resignation almost two months ago, and they still refuse to accept it.”
At any other airline, I likely wouldn’t have an issue.
But when the owner’s granddaughter tries to quit, everyone freaks out.
I know my grandpa wants to pass Skylark to me—my dads have never had any interest in running the business, but neither have I.
Nor do I think I’d be any good at it. If he wants to keep it in the family, Sloane is the logical choice.
She’s much more business-minded than me or our dads.
But Grandpa’s old-fashioned and doesn’t understand the way Sloane works.
At the moment, she’s in marketing for Skylark, but she’s constantly tearing her hair out because they refuse to listen to any of her suggestions to modernize things.
Rebecca gives me a sympathetic smile. “I know right now it feels like you could never fly again, but—”
“I’m not saying never. But if I ever do decide to fly again, it’ll be on my terms, and it won’t be a commercial aircraft where I’m responsible for hundreds of people. I’m not going to change my mind on this.”
She hums and writes something down. “Are you still having nightmares?”
“Yeah. Not as many, though.”
“That’s something, at least. And have you thought about what we talked about? Sharing the nightmares with someone—Sloane, or your dads?”
“I’ve told Nico about some of them.”
Rebecca raises her brows. “Nico? The guy you’re staying with?”
“Mhmm. He’s been through something similar and has nightmares, too, so I’ve shared some of mine, he’s shared some of his. It helps.”
She scribbles something down. “Sharing back and forth can certainly take some of the pressure off. When you say similar nightmares—he’s been in a plane crash too?”
“A car crash. When he was twenty-five. He was driving, and his triplet died. It’s why he moved up here—and hasn’t left for the past twenty-odd years. He blames himself.”
“How awful. I can see why the two of you would be able to find common ground. Would you say you feel close to him?”
I know a leading question when I hear one.
I shouldn’t have brought Nico up, but as much as I don’t want to share any of this with Rebecca, I’d rather talk about him than work.
“We’re close, yes. We have a lot in common, and I feel better when I’m with him.
” She doesn’t have to say anything for me to know she’s reading between the lines.
“It’s not… I know he’s older, but I’m an adult.
And you did say I should find something fun to do. ”
She holds up her hands. “I’m not judging, Este. You’re twenty-six, and while this definitely isn’t what I meant by ‘fun,’ if Nico is helping you open up, that’s not a bad thing. But I do think you need to be cautious. You’re in a vulnerable position, and—”
“It’s not like that. Nico isn’t taking advantage—he takes care of me. I initiated things. He’s actually very protective.” Now that I know, I’ve caught him cooling my tea down before bringing it to me. It’s adorable.
“I’m not suggesting he would take advantage of you.
I don’t know him. But I’m conscious that you mentioned he blames himself for his sister dying in a car crash when she was twenty-five, right?
” I nod. “You were in a plane crash when you were twenty-five. And now you’re in front of him, you’re healing, and he can take care of you.
In a way, you’re like a second chance for him. ”
Well, that’s a disturbing thought. My face must show how much I don’t like it, because Rebecca quickly jumps back in.
“I’m not saying he sees you like a sister.
Clearly, that’s not the dynamic you have.
But there’s a strong parallel. This could be a good thing for you both if you use it to process things and work through your feelings together.
But if you don’t, and you just become reliant on using each other as a temporary fix, you’re both going to be in a worse situation when you leave, Este.
You’re not going to be stuck up there forever. ”
I always leave therapy feeling a little worse than I did going in. It’s part of the process. But I’ve never ended a call feeling quite so downtrodden.
Rebecca suggested finishing up with a guided meditation, but my head wasn’t in it, and my heart was downstairs—making pasta, if the scent of basil drifting upstairs was anything to go by. Still, I closed my eyes and pretended, and Rebecca didn’t call me out on it, even though I’m sure she knew.
I was relieved to say goodbye and close my laptop, but I’ve been sitting silently, hugging my knees for almost an hour on my bed. Or the bed Nico set up for me, I guess. It’s not like I’ve slept here much.
There are so many thoughts whirring around my brain, and I can’t seem to grasp a single one to focus on. Even if I could, I don’t particularly want to focus on any of them.
My bladder is the thing that finally forces me out of bed. When I finish up, I wash my hands and frown at the reflection looking back at me from the mirror.
I look good. Well-rested. There’s color in my face, something that’s been missing since the crash, and I don’t bother lying to myself by attributing it to the cold.
My hair’s a little frizzy—I quickly raked a brush through it before therapy, but Nico’s fingers made a mess of it this morning before we got out of bed, and it’s going to take more than a brush to erase the tangles entirely.
I tug down the collar of my sweater and sigh at the red marks courtesy of his lips, his teeth, his beard.
I can’t see them, but I know there are matching marks on my inner thighs. I can feel them.
Maybe Rebecca’s right, and all we’re doing is making things harder for ourselves in the long run. But, right now, I feel better than I have in months. And there’s a light to Nico that wasn’t there when I arrived. Is it going to go out when I leave? I can’t think about that.
Traveling so much over the past few years has really made me appreciate having somewhere of my own to call home—somewhere I can just be myself and shut away the rest of the world.
I loved seeing the world, but I loved getting back to Chicago and being welcomed into the familiar sights and smells of my apartment.
I’m sure I can find a candle somewhere to make it smell smoky and woody, but it won’t smell like Nico’s cabin.
It won’t smell like him. It won’t feel like him.
I don’t want to think about leaving, but, hard as I try, I can’t ignore it.
I turn away from my reflection and sigh.
There’s no way Nico isn’t hovering around waiting for me to come down.
He’s probably worried that I’ve been up here for so long.
But he’s given me space, which is nice. After the accident, before I insisted on moving back to my own apartment, my dads used to burst into my room the second therapy was over to fuss over me.
I suspect they were listening at the door.
The floor is cool against my bare feet, but I don’t bother getting my slippers as I drag myself downstairs.
Nico is in the kitchen, and I can smell the pomegranate dish soap he keeps bulk-sized containers of in the cellar.
When I round the corner and catch a glimpse of him, I can see the tension in his spine.
“How was therapy?” he asks, as I pass behind him. He does a good job of sounding casual, but I recognize the worry in his voice.
I reach up into the cabinet for a glass and turn away to fill it at the fridge. “It was fine.”
The soft splashing sounds of Nico washing the dishes cease, and a moment later, his fingers land on my hips. He spins me, then lifts me effortlessly to sit me on the dining table.
“Try again.”
I can’t bring myself to look at him. “I don’t want to break the table.”
“Are you suggesting I can’t build a strong enough table to hold you?” Nico asks.
“What? Shit. No. Of course not. I didn’t mean—”
“Whoa, angel. I was joking.” He clasps my face, swiping his thumb across my cheek and catching a tear I didn’t mean to let fall. “Did you have a rough session?”
I shrug, tears slipping down my cheeks. It’s certainly not the worst session I’ve had. In the beginning, before I was cleared to fly officially, I had to recount the crash over and over. I don’t know why this one is fucking with my head so much.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
His voice is so gentle, soft enough I could just sink into him. I shake my head, a sob wracking my spine,
“What’s going on, baby?” Nico sounds like he’s on the verge of panicking, and it’s my fault.
“Nothing. Nothing. I’m fine,” I hiccup, finally meeting his gaze. His gray eyes are wide with worry, and I feel myself crumbling a little beneath him. “I’m just… so fucking tired.”
Nico wraps his arms around me and presses his lips to the top of my head. “I’ve got you, angel. Let it out.”
I cling to him, letting the tears fall and the pressure build, but my mind is still racing.
“My brain is tired of thinking all the time. About work, my family, the crash…” I trail off, choking on a sob, before I mention how much the thought of leaving is fucking me up. “I just want to switch it all off.”
Nico pulls back, leaving kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, my lips.
“Do you want me to help you switch off?”
This is what Rebecca warned me about. Becoming reliant on each other instead of actually dealing with shit. But I nod anyway. Sensible or not, I need this. “Please.”
“I need you to promise me something first,” Nico says. “Promise me that later, or tomorrow, we’re going to talk about it. You can’t just push your feelings down and ignore them.”
“Like you have?” The words slip out of my mouth before I’ve even fully thought them, and I regret them immediately. “Fuck. I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry, I—”
But Nico grips my face, forcing me to look at him.
“Don’t apologize. You’re right. Exactly like I have.
But you’re not going to turn out like I have.
That’s not an option. You’re not a lost cause yet, and we’re going to keep it that way.
So, I’ll help you switch off, then we’re going to talk about it. Okay?”
I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him sound so determined. I don’t like hearing him refer to himself as a lost cause, but I can’t push him to talk about that without giving him something in return. “Okay. I promise. We’ll talk.”
“Good,” Nico says, taking a step back and rolling his neck. “Now, you’re going to be a good girl and let me do whatever I want to you, aren’t you, angel?”
Almost immediately, his words dull my senses to everything but him, a welcome haze settling into my mind. It’s exactly what I need. Nico is exactly what I need. “Yes, Daddy.”