Chapter 12
Alyssa sat frozen, unsure of what to do. She looked back at the screen. The second page of the article about the two young hockey stars was mostly text, but at the top there was a picture of Nick and the guy who must be Sammy in their kitchen, a bright space with white cabinets. This photo was different from the other more posed one. It was a candid shot—they were looking at each other and laughing, heads thrown back, sun splashed on their faces. They were sharing a secret, and the camera had caught it. She looked a moment longer, memorizing it. They were obviously best friends. Plenty of people never had a friend like that.
“I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have clicked forward.” He must have known that photo was on the next page—but he definitely hadn’t been ready for it.
He stood, his shirt over his head, and shrugged his arms out as he walked to the bathroom. She heard the water running, and a moment later he walked out, bare chested, wiping water off his face with the shirt. He stepped wordlessly into his bedroom and emerged with an eggplant-colored T-shirt. He pulled it on and sat beside her again without making eye contact.
“Hey,” she said. “I am so sorry.”
He shook his head slightly. “Anyway, she didn’t take pictures of our bedrooms.”
“Okay.” She was quiet for a moment, unsure whether she should flip back to the previous screen.
“That’s one of my favorite pictures,” Nick mumbled. He glanced sideways at her, fleetingly, but he had a faint smile. “See the grapes? Because we thought we’d be fancy-ass city boys and put grapes in a bowl.” She nodded. “He’d just bounced one off my eyeball.”
She exhaled in surprise. “That’s terrible!”
“Right? The little bastard.”
“Do you … want a similar space here? Not the color, but the vibe?”
He locked eyes with her and didn’t look away. “I don’t know what I want. Making a decision means choosing to step away, you know? I can’t take that step.” He raked a hand through his hair. “It’s probably better if you just do it.” He stood.
“No.” She stood up too. “You have to go to the museum with me and choose a color.”
“I’m really not going to do that.”
“Then go to the museum and eat something from the snack bar in a surly manner while I choose the color.”
He paused. “I guess I could do that.”
“Are any of the things in your old place available? Because you had some great stuff.”
“Everything’s in storage there. One of the guys—not one of the dead ones …” She winced. “He put things in storage for me after I left. I was in a wheelchair when it was being packed up, and I couldn’t deal with it.” He rubbed his knuckle across his nose. “I don’t have any kitchen stuff. That was Sammy’s. He liked to cook, and I hate cooking.” He stubbed his toes along the floorboards, making a sound like an eraser. “His parents cleaned his stuff out while I was in the hospital. I came back to a place I didn’t recognize.”
“Nick.”
“They got a few things wrong.”
“They took some of your stuff?”
“A couple of things. I don’t care. I mean, we lived together so long, they might as well have been his.” He smiled faintly. “And they left a framed picture of me that he’d hung in the living room to embarrass me.”
“Why would that—”
“Because I was three and standing next to a trophy that was literally taller than I was. I had my head cocked toward it, and man was I grinning. Sammy saw that photo at my parents’ once and conspired with my mom to get a copy made. Then he hung it near our front door, right? So almost anybody who stopped by would see it.”
“It sounds adorable!” Alyssa laughed, her eyes sparkling.
“I was definitely adorable.” He gave her a cheesy grin. “But he thought it would look like I’d done it, and he thought it was weird to hang up a picture of yourself.” He dumped his coffee down the kitchen drain. “This really is crap. You were right about that.”
She tapped her forehead.
“Anyway, every girl he brought home thought I was incredibly cute, and it totally backfired on him.” He laughed, then his expression grew serious. “His parents left it. I guess they thought I’d hung it too.” He sighed, then walked over to pick up his laptop.
“Nick?” Alyssa asked, gently. “Do you want me to get some things out of storage so you have a few familiar items here?”
He looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I mean, we can stick with the duck prints in your bedroom if you want.”
“Don’t you dare.” He grinned. “I really hated the duck prints.”
She laughed. “They were a punishment.”
His mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “I was kind of mad at you.” She bit her lip. “I didn’t understand. I’m sorry.”
“You should be! You gave me effing ugly duck prints. They were seriously a punishment?”
“Oh yeah.” She smiled wickedly.
“That was a fowl thing to do,” he said. Then: “You heard the ‘w,’ right?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“Excellent.” He beamed.
“What time should I pick you up tomorrow? We have a museum to tour.”