26. Evan
“Evan!”
Looking up from where he’d been fussing with a chipped nail, Evan watched Sydney rush into the lobby with a grin on her face and tear tracks on her cheeks. His heart went out to her as he got to his feet and caught her in a hug.
“Hey, Syd,” he said, kissing her forehead before letting her go. “You all right? Get a prison tattoo or what?”
“Not yet.” She glanced at Nick, who was bringing up the rear, holding her familiar purple backpack. “No charges, right?”
“No charges.” Nick shouldered the bag. “Come on, let’s go. Syd, I called the group home while you were getting your stuff and told them you’re staying with us, and I left a message with Donna.”
“Are they mad?”
“They’re not thrilled, but we’ll figure it out when I take you back tomorrow. Right now, I just want to get to bed. It’s been a long damn night.”
That was an understatement. It hardly seemed possible that an evening that had begun with Evan’s gallery show had ended up in a Podunk police station, but there they were.
“Hear, hear,” Evan said, throwing an arm around Sydney’s shoulders. “You gonna tell me what happened, Syd Vicious?”
Sydney blinked. “Who?”
“A punk musician. He was in the Sex Pistols.”
“What’s that?”
Evan laughed. “I’ll play you something on the way home.”
They got in the car, and it took precisely one track—“Anarchy in the UK”—for Nick to turn off the stereo with a scowl. “No.”
“What?” Evan laughed. “It’s a classic!”
“Yeah! It’s good!” Sydney protested.
“It’s loud, and it’s late,” Nick said with the firmness of a sitcom dad. “Listen to it the next time you’re in the studio together.”
“Oh, we will,” Evan said, turning in his seat to give Sydney a wink. “Right?”
“Yeah.” She yawned, the movement softening her features and reminding him that for all her tough facade, she was only sixteen and had been through a scary night.
Evan was desperate to know more about it, but Sydney wasn’t in the mood to recount her adventure. So he kept his questions at bay, figuring he’d ask Nick when they had a moment alone. By the time they got home, Sydney was asleep. Evan went to open the side door while Nick roused her. She followed them inside, half awake, and Nick got her some water before steering her in the direction of his bedroom.
“You can take my bed,” he said as they started down the hallway. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I can sleep on the—”
“Sydney. Go to bed.” There was that don’t-argue-with-Dad tone again.
Evan bit his lip to hide a smile as Sydney gave a shrug. They disappeared into Nick’s room, where, Evan assumed, Nick would tuck her in and read her a bedtime story. While Nick was gone, Evan put on the kettle, and had two steaming cups of tea ready by the time Nick arrived in the living room.
“You saint,” Nick said, taking the cup and settling on the couch.
“I know.” Evan bumped their knees together. “What on earth happened?”
Nick gave a brief bark of unhappy laughter. “Well, to start, they picked her up for solicitation.”
Evan squawked in protest as Nick explained the circumstances, including Sydney’s mother passing away, which was awful, and the reason she’d been in Covington at all.
“I didn’t know she had a brother,” he said as Nick finished the story.
“She doesn’t talk about him much, which I assumed meant she wasn’t bothered by the separation. Stupid, I know. Only-child syndrome probably.” He rubbed his eyes, which had the effect of making him look like a raccoon. “The truth is, she loves him so deeply that she’s afraid to let anyone know how much.”
“Until she runs away just to see him.”
“Yep. Which was dumb. But she’s still a kid, and kids do dumb stuff when they’re scared.”
Evan smiled—Nick was a long way from Mr. Actions Have Consequences—then reached across to squeeze his knee. “Did she say anything to you about how she’s feeling about her mom’s passing?”
“I think she’s more angry than sad. But that’ll probably change. However, if there’s one thing I’m halfway equipped to deal with, it’s grief. And that’s—I, um, I told her I wanted to foster her. She seemed pretty happy about that.”
Evan’s heart twinged, and he reached for Nick’s hand. “Good. And hey, don’t sleep on the couch. I’ve got a perfectly good bed, and you’re welcome to half of it.”
For a moment, it looked like Nick wanted to argue. But then something softened in his face, and a small, wan smile graced his lips. “Thanks, Evan.”
“Anytime, Nicky.” He bit his lip then leaned forward to press a kiss to Nick’s cheek. “Good job tonight, Dad.”
* * *
The next morning, Evan rose to the noise of something smashing in the kitchen, followed by a swear, followed by Sydney’s unmissable laughter. The other side of the bed was empty—he’d been vaguely aware of Nick leaving before he was properly awake—so he got up, pulling on a paint-spattered T-shirt before shuffling out to the kitchen, where Nick was picking up utensils from the floor with an aggrieved expression.
“Good morning. What happened?” Evan asked.
Sydney grinned and pointed to the stove. “Nick forgot that pans are hot, and he knocked all the spatulas over when he touched it.”
“Huh.” Evan peered at the cast-iron pan, where several pancakes were bubbling away. “Did you burn your hand?”
“Just my pride,” Nick muttered as he started shoving the various implements back in the container that usually sat on the counter.
“Clearly,” Evan said before turning to Sydney. “How are you feeling today?”
“Like I got yelled at by an asshole cop on a power trip.” She reached for a spatula. “But you know. Pretty okay. Considering.”
That was as close as she’d come to mentioning her mother’s death, and while Evan was desperate to ask how she was doing, he knew that the question might make her shut down. He didn’t have a lot of experience with loss—one of his four grandparents and an aunt had died when he was a teenager—but he knew better than to push someone who wasn’t ready to talk.
“I told Bree I’d have you home by one, by the way.” Nick went to grab a couple of plates. “You can shower here if you want.”
Sydney raised a brow then flipped two slightly overcooked pancakes onto a waiting platter. “So I’m just, like, hanging out here until then?”
Nick shook his head. “I thought you might want to finish what you started and go see your brother.”
It was a good thing Sydney had already flipped the flapjacks, because Evan was pretty sure one would have ended up stuck to the ceiling with how fast she threw up her hands and ran to Nick for a hug.
Nick was getting better at the casual-affection thing and caught her with a smile. “Donna called this morning and gave me the number for his foster parents. I let them know we were coming by. He, ah—he already knows about your mom.”
“I… oh.” She hitched in a sharp breath then pulled back with a teary glint in her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Absolutely. Now, come on—these flapjacks aren’t going to, uh… flip themselves onto a plate.”
It was corny, but then, Nick was a little corny. Evan liked that about him. He poured himself a cup of coffee as Nick and Sydney continued piling pancakes onto the platter. Soon enough, they were sitting down with a short stack apiece, and while the pancakes were lumpy and, in a couple of cases, burnt, Evan appreciated the effort and told them as much.
“Nick did all the good ones,” Sydney said around a mouthful.
“Nick almost burned his hand,” Nick replied. “You saved the day.”
“Whatever,” she said, though there was no mistaking the flush of pleasure in her cheeks.
After breakfast, Sydney went to shower, having been forewarned of the terrible water pressure. Evan, meanwhile, washed the dishes, and though Evan told him not to, Nick dried.
They were about halfway through when Nick cleared his throat. “So, um, I got an email this morning from the person handling my foster application. They want to do a home visit next week. That’s good, right?”
Evan nodded, ignoring the tight feeling in his stomach at the realization that they were one step closer to the background check that would probably be fine but could maybe ruin everything. “What does the home visit look at?”
“Just that the house isn’t a safety hazard, I guess.” His tone projected nonchalance, but Evan knew him well enough by then to note the tension in his shoulders. “Which it… isn’t. Technically.”
“It’s got character,” Evan said. “And it’s safe enough. Plus, you have tomorrow to clean, right? And I can help.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He flicked some water at him with a smile. “But maybe I want to.”
Nick flinched then snapped the dish towel at Evan’s forearm. “Quit.”
“You quit. Don’t make me put you over my knee here in the kitchen.”
Nick cast a cautious glance behind him, but the shower was running, and there was no way Sydney could overhear. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Nicky, you have no idea.” He turned off the water and rounded on Nick with a smile.
It took only two short steps to back him up against the wall by the door, where he leaned up to kiss him, hard and possessive, slipping an arm around to grab his ass and squeeze. Nick melted into the kiss, which he’d been doing more and more lately. It wasn’t that he’d lost the fight—he still had plenty in him when he wanted to be a stubborn mule. It was just that he’d learned that good things came to those who played nice.
“Good boy,” Evan murmured, the praise falling instinctively from his lips. As ever, Nick flinched, and Evan could have kicked himself. “Fuck, I—”
“You can say it. Sometimes,” Nick blurted before he could apologize. “If you mean it. You have to mean it.”
“I do mean it.” Emboldened, Evan leaned up and kissed him again. “You are good. You took care of Syd. You came to my show. You were brave too.”
“It’s not brave to—”
“Don’t contradict me.” He gave the meat of Nick’s ass a sharp pinch and was rewarded with a yowl. “It was brave. You were tough. And you’re so, so good.”
At that, he went in for another deep, searching kiss, and it was only when they heard the squeal of the water shutting off that they broke apart.
“I should… ah…” Nick blinked, bright-eyed and squirming. “I should go get dressed.”
“Go.” Evan released him, smiling. “I’ll be here when you get back.”