Chapter 21
“Of course.” She hung her coat on the hook by the back door and kicked off her boots.
Her feet were still black from that frantic run to the Powells’, but they weren’t numb anymore.
She found the only clean socks in her apartment and pulled them on, hoping to hide them from Nic, but he never missed anything.
He didn’t comment though.
He tapped the door once and stepped into the small apartment kitchen, his attention dragging over the boxes that were still piled everywhere. “Can I make tea?”
“Loose leaf’s in the canister. Bags are top left drawer.”
“Bags are fine.” After flipping on the kettle, he held up the second of the two mugs toward her. “You?”
“Please.”
After pouring the water, he slid a mug onto the table in front of her. She warmed her hands on the outside. He went to the fridge and came back with two carrot cake cupcakes on the old, chipped saucers from the cabinet. She dragged a finger through the icing and tasted it.
It was perfect.
Of course it was.
She didn’t know what she expected when she finally mustered the courage to look up at him. Something she’d never seen there before shone out of his shattered-sea-glass eyes. The only light in the room came from the candle warmer lamp in the corner.
His fingers slid forward, but instead of reaching for her, he curled them into a white-knuckled fist. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“What?” Her mug clacked down onto the Formica tabletop.
“When you woke up. I’m sorry.”
It took several heartbeats to understand what he meant.
It had been the lingering panic from those moments spent in a darker past that had sent her running out into the subfreezing night.
Looking back, there was no reason not to at least put shoes on.
Grabbing her coat would have taken seconds.
It had been like that for months after what happened.
“Just a nightmare.” She pushed hair out of her face. “No big deal.”
“Really?”
“Used to have them all the time. Lots of people have night terrors. No big deal. Sorry if it freaked you out.” Her attempts at nonchalance fell flat.
“I want you to know I’d … I’d never touch you in any way without permission.”
“I know.” Her hand moved an inch toward the fist resting on the table beside his untouched tea. “It wasn’t—that’s not why.”
Again, she met his eyes. His pupils dilated, gaze shifting back and forth as if trying to read something on her face. As if he could see all the way through her. A muscle ticked at his cheek.
Her head tipped down. She picked at the toasted coconut, crushing a piece to dust between her thumb and forefinger.
He shifted his weight.
She kept her eyes down.
Apprehension knotted within her chest.
For a few moments, she’d thought maybe he was coming in for another reason, but nothing about this moment felt heated. The space between them had a heaviness to it she’d never known before with Nic.
It was the heaviness she’d felt those last years in Maryland anytime she had to be around her family.
A mix of confusion, pity, and dread.
The confusion because no one seemed to understand why she wasn’t herself again. It had been weeks, then months and years. The check-ins from friends spaced out. The bruises had faded. It could have been so much worse, after all. She could have needed surgery. She didn’t.
She was lucky.
Why didn’t she feel lucky?
They wanted her to be better. They wanted her to be herself again.
So on top of everything else, she’d felt so guilty for what she was putting them all through.
She’d always thought that if something like this happened, she’d handle it like the strong female protagonist she’d always believed herself to be. She’d grown up fighting invisible dragons using sticks as swords, but when the moment had come, she’d frozen. She’d folded.
In the last few months living in Maryland, Dylan would stop by to see her in the basement without warning.
He had this look in his eye like he could see the pieces of her old self hanging off her like raw, peeling skin weeks after beach time reminds you of a few hours of forgotten sunscreen.
No one looked at her like that in Kansas.
But now Nic was staring at her just like Dylan had on those last visits before she moved.
Was it just the nightmare? What had she said or done in her sleep? Before she could consider all the horrifying possibilities, Nic slipped a torn, wrinkled piece of paper beneath her palm with that same quickness she saw him use on a cutting board.
Felicity’s breath caught in her chest as she saw what it was. She crumpled it back into a ball, and when that wasn’t enough, she shredded it.
“Felicity—”
“That was private.”
“It fell out of your c-coat. I thought it was that spring event list you were working on yesterday, but then I saw—”
She pushed up from the table. Tea sloshed into two splattered gray puddles.
Nic didn’t spare the spill a glance. He stood, leaving respectful inches between them she didn’t want.
She hugged herself, backing up until she hit the back of the couch, and she slid to the ground, lowering her head to rest on her forearm, as stooped over as her busted-up spine allowed.
He sat a few inches away.
When she spoke, it was into the hollow space between her knees and her chest.
Everything she’d thought was empty was actually too full. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say It’s okay. He didn’t ask her why. He didn’t make it something happening to him.
No. When her breathing slowed … when her lungs stopped feeling lined with jagged edges …
Something flashed at the edge of her tunneled vision.
It was a hand.
All he said was—
“I’m here.”