11. Lockheart
LOCKHEART
She’s acting strange. She’s avoiding me, chewing on the inside of her cheek, and I know she does that when she’s worried. She did it whenever I’d ask to pick her up from work before, when Lucky got hurt, and when I suggested they move in with me. And she did it just then too.
There’s something she’s not telling me and it’s pissing me off.
I know I’m a hypocrite. I know I close myself off whenever she gets a little too close for comfort.
But I have a justifiable reason. Reporters have screwed me over.
And I don’t mean to do it. It’s a reflex.
I know she didn’t write the shit about me now, but for six years I believed she did.
And that knee-jerk reaction doesn’t just go away overnight.
Sometimes when she asks me a question, a truly personal one, something I wouldn’t want anyone else knowing, I freeze up, not trusting whether she wants to use it to sensationalise her work.
Even though she’s assured me she won’t be writing crap, I can’t help it.
I don’t have an NDA to protect me now that she’s living with me.
It’s hard to know what she’s going to use for her story and what she's not.
And unfortunately trust isn’t a quality I was blessed with.
From an early age I learnt I could depend on two people.
My mum and myself. And now she’s not here anymore, it's just me, myself and I. It doesn’t help that when I tried to trust Nico the last time I got burned, but I also know it wasn’t what I thought.
My fucking brain is doing my head in, and even though I know I should trust her, I’m struggling.
Obviously she is too. It’s why she’s hiding stuff from me. And I bloody hate it. I want her to trust me. I want her to lean on me when she needs something. And I know if I want that, I have to give her the same courtesy. But, fuck, it’s hard.
A notification comes through on her phone and I pick it up absently along with a printout for what seems to be an article.
I glance through the papers and realise it’s the first in the series.
She’s printed it off for me to read. She didn’t have to do that.
I’d already signed and I’m committed to it, regardless of what she writes, but the fact she did makes me happy.
I take a couple of steps toward the stairs to take her phone to her and tell her I appreciate the gesture, but stop when I look down at the screen and see a text flash up on it.
Unknown
Can’t wait. 12:30 pm, your place. Make sure you’re alone now, sweetheart.
What the actual fuck? Who’s this arsehole she’s meeting? I try to get into her phone, but her passcode stops me. With a heaving sigh, I give up before I disable the fucking thing.
Growling, I take two steps at a time as I climb the stairs to confront her, and before I smash into her room, I take a second to calm myself down. But the image of my whiskey girl writhing underneath some other man makes me see red.
I smash my palm onto her door twice and don’t wait for her to tell me to come in. Storming inside I find her sitting crossed legged on the bed counting money. She jumps up and tries to hide it, but it’s too late.
“What’s going on?” I was trying to keep my tone calm and soothing rather than angry and demanding. I failed.
“Nothing that concerns you, Owen.” She notices the article in my hand and blinks her confusion away before a frown to rival my own takes over her features and her eyes swing to my other hand.
“Why do you have my phone?” I look down at the offending item and shrug.
“Not an answer, Owen. Try again. And this time explain why you thought it was okay to barge into my room uninvited as well.”
Lost for words, the only thing going through my mind is the idea of her fucking someone else drove me mad with jealousy, but I won’t say that. I can’t say that. Instead, I throw the phone on the bed and frown back.
“Your boyfriend was texting you, thought you’d want to know.
Didn’t expect to walk in on you counting money like a drug dealer.
What gives, Nico?” I fold my arms over my chest, the paper still in my hand, and widen my legs in an authoritative stance so she knows I’m not going anywhere without an answer.
“I don’t trust banks. So I keep my money with me. I need to pay for some things tomorrow when I run some errands.” She reaches up and fiddles with her hair and starts chewing on her cheek again.
She’s lying again.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well that’s funny, because I didn’t ask you to. If we’re done here, I’d like to put this away and start on dinner for Lucky. Will you be joining us?”
Her voice screams cool, calm, and collected, but the nervous energy she’s putting out tells me differently. She shifts on her feet, chews on her cheek, and plays with the button on her shirt sleeve.
“Won’t your boyfriend mind you having dinner with your baby daddy?” I know I’m being a twat, but I want to know who this dude is that’s texting her. She’s never mentioned a guy in her life who would have standing to call her sweetheart.
“I don’t have a boyfriend, Owen. Don’t you think I would’ve told you before moving in here? What kind of woman do you take me for? Oh, actually, don’t answer. I already know. The kind who’d sleep with a guy to get a story, right?”
She spins on her heel and starts to tidy the money off the bed, but I storm over to her and grab her elbow. I spin her back around so she’s facing me and stare into her eyes. Pain and sadness flit through those amber orbs and I’m momentarily taken aback by it.
“I don’t think like that about you. I’ve said sorry and I meant it. I just don’t like other men calling you sweetheart, Nico.” My voice comes out more gravelly than I expect, but that's what happens to me when she’s this close. My body gets excited and betrays me, showing her however it can.
“Why not?” she whispers. The sadness in her eyes disappears and the flames are back.
“Because you’re not someone's sweetheart. You’re my Whiskey Girl.” I drag my thumb over her full bottom lip and she gasps at my words and touch. When I rest my hand on her cheek, she nuzzles into it.
“I haven’t been that girl in a long time, Owen.”
More whispers fall from her lips and I barely hear them because my head is screaming at me to kiss her. To taste her lips again. But instead, I let the words careening around my mind spill out. “You never stopped, Nico.”
I lower my head, and just as our lips are about to touch, a loud screech comes up the stairs.
“MUMMY!”
We jump apart and both run toward the scream to find Lucky at the bottom of the stairs, covered in mud and sporting a cut on his knee. He looks up at us and, as his bottom lip wobbles, we spring into action.
Nico is down the stairs in a flash and has Lucky in her arms before I can get to him.
I switch course and dart across the hallway to the kitchen and grab the first aid box I keep in the cupboard under the sink.
Lucky’s sobs wrack through his little body as he clings to Nico.
She brings him into the kitchen and rests his little bum on the counter, but he won’t let go of her.
His face is buried in her neck and his cries are enough to break my heart.
“Baby, I need to clean your cut, so you have to let me go.” Nico reasons with him but he grips her tighter and wails harder.
“Hey Lucky, want me to clean it?” I step closer to them both and touch his little hand, his knuckles holding on so tightly to his mum that they're white.
“No. I want Mumma to do it. She knows da magic spell.”
He brings his face out from her neck, lets go of her, and dives into my arms. He clings to me like a baby chimp, and I’m so shocked for a beat or two, I leave my arms hanging limply at my sides. But when he sniffles again I bring them up and hold him tightly.
His cries subside and he whispers into my neck, “Ya don’t fink Imma baby, do ya?”
I chuckle softly and shake my head, dropping my mouth next to his ear so I can whisper for him to hear. “No Lucky. I don’t. I think you’re the bravest little dude that's ever lived.”
I can feel his smile against my skin and a warmth spreads through my entire being. Taking a deep breath, I inhale his scent and thank God this little boy is mine.
A noise to the side of me brings me to my senses and I open my eyes to see Nico staring at me with tears in hers. She swipes them away quickly and moves behind me with the saline solution and a plaster, or a band-aid as Brady calls it.
“You ready Lucky?” He nods into my neck and I stand dead still so she can clean his cut up.
“Abracadee and abracadoo,
This spell is said to remind you,
That when you’re sad or hurt or blue,
Just say these words that were made for you.”
Whilst she speaks she’s busy cleaning his knee, and I feel Lucky tense a little in my arms. She places the plaster over his cut and he brings his head up and grins at his mum.
“You ready?” Her words are encouraging, but her voice is the magic. It oozes love and strength. Lucky really is the luckiest boy to have her as his mum.
He nods his head and they both start to speak at the same time in perfect unison.
“Mommy loves Lucky
And Lucky loves Mommy.
There’s nothing to fear, not even things that are yucky.
We’ll say these words and your pain will be free,
One, two, three… Whee.”
He raises his arms into the sky on the last word and laughs like nothing was hurting him at all. I place his little feet on the floor and watch him high five his mum and run out of the kitchen shouting about needing the toilet. When I turn my quizzical look to her, she squirms under my gaze.
“It’s something I’ve done with him since he was really little. He learnt how to walk at nine months old and was always bumping himself, so I made up the magic spell to help. I know it’s silly, but it works.”
She looks around her nervously, and I can’t help but go to her. I need to touch her.
I take a step closer to her and her eyes widen in shock.
My hand wraps around the back of her neck and I bring my lips down onto hers.
The shocked little gasp she makes gives me so much satisfaction, and that's doubled when she whimpers under my lips. I swipe my tongue over hers and she sighs in acceptance that this is what we’ve been missing.
It’s exactly how I remember it. Her lips are soft and warm against my own and she fits just right in my arms.
Her silky strands of hair are between my fingers and I tug gently, knowing she likes it. And when she purrs in pleasure, I moan against her.
Footsteps thundering down the stairs makes her break away from me and rush from the kitchen. She greets Lucky in the hallway and I can hear her quickly telling him he needs to jump in the shower.
I listen to her retreating footsteps run up the stairs after him, place my hands on the countertop next to the article, and try to get my dick to calm down, but it’s useless. I’m going to need a bloody shower too. A cold one at that.
And hopefully tomorrow morning I can get to the bottom of the sweetheart texts and bundles of money. I’m done with the secrets now.