Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Nash
Sunlight spills through the windows in the gym, slanting across the hardwood floors in warm gold. I should probably nap. Or eat. Or catch up on the charts I know are sitting in my inbox at the hospital, waiting like vultures circling overhead.
Instead, I drill a ballet barre into the wall.
It’s absurd, maybe. Definitely not something I ever imagined in my home gym, nestled between a squat rack and a yoga mat that sat abandoned in the corner until Lucy started coming for therapy.
But from the minute I had the thought, I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Her ankle’s getting stronger every day. She’s going to be chomping at the bit to push harder, do more. This will give her the chance.
And yes, it’s absurd to permanently affix something to my wall for someone who isn’t permanent herself, but no, I don’t care.
I’ve decided to enjoy “the bubble” as she calls it rather than worry about the future.
It goes against every grain I have, but what the hell?
Something special has fallen into my life.
Am I really going to let stubbornness keep me from enjoying it?
I tighten the last screw, step back, and survey the new addition.
Elegant. Purposeful. A little out of place in the best possible way.
Kind of like Lucy.
Though…
The way she’s tumbled into bed with me each night this week doesn’t feel out of place.
Not at all. It’s starting to feel like she’s exactly where she needs to be.
The old Nash would worry about the implication of that thought.
This new Nash is learning to go with the flow.
To figure it out. To enjoy what he has while he has it.
I set the drill down and wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm. There’s sawdust on my hands, satisfaction in my chest, and something that feels dangerously close to hope threading through my ribs.
The front door creaks open.
“Honey! I’m home!”
Lucy’s voice, bright and teasing, echoes through the house like music. I smile before I even see her, that automatic response my body has learned to her presence. Like she’s reprogrammed something fundamental in me.
“In here!” I call.
Uneven footsteps pad down the hallway, the boot striking heavy against the floor. She’s ready to start walking without it, but I keep putting off telling her. It’s unfair of me. Selfish even. Something I should probably address.
I turn just as Lucy appears in the doorway, cheeks flushed from the afternoon heat, sunglasses perched on her head like a crown, still glowing from whatever adventure she managed to find with Stella and Gabby.
Her sundress clings to her in all the right places, and there’s something about the way she moves—loose-limbed and relaxed—that tells me today was good to her.
“Oh,” she says, catching sight of the wall. Her voice drops to barely a whisper. “Oh.”
The word hangs in the air between us, weighted with something I can’t quite name. Wonder, maybe. Or disbelief.
She walks in slowly, eyes wide, like she’s approaching a wild animal.
“You did this?” Her voice is soft, hard to read.
I nod, suddenly uncertain. Did I read this wrong? Is it coming off badly? Presumptive? Possessive?
“Thought maybe you’d like having something here that felt like you.”
Lucy crosses to the barre like she’s in a trance, fingers trailing along the smooth wood like it might vanish if she presses too hard. There’s something careful in the way she touches it, like she’s afraid of wanting it too much.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathes.
“It’s simple,” I say, because I don’t know how else to deflect the intensity of her reaction. The way she’s looking at it—at me—makes me wonder if she’s ever had someone do something nice for her… ever.
“No.” She turns to face me, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “It’s perfect.”
And then she’s crossing the space between us, hands framing my face, and she kisses me.
Once, gentle and reverent, like a prayer.
Then again, more urgent, with a hunger that catches me off guard.
A third time, longer, deeper, with her hands sliding into my hair like she needs something to hold onto, like I’m the only solid thing in her world.
“Thank you,” she says against my mouth, the words warm and breathless.
I cup her waist, feeling the soft curve of her through the thin fabric of her dress. “It’s just a little thing.”
“It’s not a little thing.” Her voice breaks slightly.
“No one’s ever…” She trails off, presses her forehead to my chest like she needs to hide from the weight of whatever she was about to say.
I can feel her heartbeat against me, quick and fluttering.
My hands find her back, tracing slow circles between her shoulder blades.
“Talk to me,” I murmur into her hair.
She laughs lightly, pulling back to meet my gaze. “I always wanted a barre at home. Never got one. Somehow, you knew exactly the perfect gift to give me. That is so on brand for you.” Her smile is like the sunrise, brimming with brilliance.
The words hit me square in the chest. This woman—this incredible, talented, generous woman—was made to believe she had to conform to earn love. The thought makes me want to find her father and have a very long, very unpleasant conversation.
Instead, I kiss her. Not to seduce or distract, but to pour everything I can’t quite say yet into the press of my lips against hers.
She melts into me, all soft curves and warm skin, her fingers drifting along my jaw like she’s memorizing the shape of me. We stand there like that, quiet and close, sunlight stretching across the room behind us, painting everything golden.
“Do you know how much I appreciate you?” she whispers against my mouth.
I kiss her, slipping my fingers into that silky soft hair. “I’m starting to get a picture.”
Lucy pulls back, eyes wide and twinkling, lips parted. “Just starting? Wow. You must be zoned out more than I realize. Or you’re ignoring me. There is always that I guess.”
“You’re impossible to ignore, Lucy. I see you,” I say simply. “All of you.”
“And what do you see?”
“I see someone beautiful on the inside and out, doing her damndest to make it in a world that keeps throwing her curveballs. I see someone brave and resilient and stronger than she realizes.”
Someone I don’t want to let go.
Someone who feels like she’s stitching me back together just by being here.
“Dang, Nash. You really know how to pour on the charm, don’t you?”
“This isn’t charm,” I whisper against her hair. “It’s just the truth.”
I kiss her forehead, slow and deliberate, smiling when she leans into me.
“Now get cleaned up. I want to take you to dinner.”
She pulls back and quirks her head, a question in those sparkling eyes. “Like… a date?”
I meet her gaze head on. “A date,” I confirm, voice low. “I want one with you.”
There are a hundred reasons I shouldn’t let myself fall for this woman.
She’s complicated and wounded and still figuring out who she is outside of who she used to be.
I’m not great at relationships, better with broken bones than broken hearts.
My schedule is insane, my life is chaos, and I have no idea how to be what she needs.
But none of that matters when she looks at me like that.
Like maybe she could fall, too.
Like maybe we could figure out how to catch each other.
Like maybe the bubble never has to pop.
“Oh, and Lucy?”
“Yes?”
“You’re ready to go without the boot.”
Her eyes light up, her smile growing exponentially brighter. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I shove my hands in my pocket and watch as she does an ecstatic little wiggle, then practically bounds from the room.