Chapter 8
NIKKI
I’m home.
I could cry at the relief of it.
I haven’t shed a tear. I’ve been putting on a brave face. Staying strong. Keeping my chin up.
I’m home. I’m safe. And I’m finally alone.
I wander around my Upper West Side apartment in the quiet.
I’ve decorated this place to be my sanctuary.
It’s mostly white, with light-colored hardwood floors, creamy-colored upholstery and natural wood furniture, lots of candles, soft throw blankets and cushions, and a plush wool rug in shades of ivory, taupe, and sand. Just being here soothes me.
I look out the window overlooking 70th Street.
It’s just getting dark. The tree branches are stark black and bare against the overcast sky.
The snowfall yesterday has left the roads wet and slushy, which had me on edge all day, constantly checking out the window.
Overall it’s a gloomy, gray January scene.
I give the cream-colored curtains a yank across the windows to close off that view.
Everyone’s gone now. Blake, my manager, was here.
Harper, my booking agent. My parents just left to go home to Connecticut after staying with me yesterday and most of today.
Tiana offered to come stay with me. Lita called.
My backup band members called. They’re all worried about me but I assured them I’m fine and I just want to be alone to rest and process everything that’s happened.
What they’re really worried about? My ability to produce.
I sit on the couch. I could watch TV, but I’m enjoying the silence. And the last thing I want to see is news about the accident. I get a rolling feeling in my stomach at the thought.
I’m home. I’m safe. And I’m finally alone.
And all the tears I’ve been steadfastly holding back start to well up inside me.
I can’t cry. I blink back tears and try to breathe but it feels like my lungs aren’t working. A wriggle of panic twists inside me. I have to breathe. My hands start to tremble and my eyes sting. A sharp, painful sob escapes me.
Oh, God.
People died. People are hurt. And it’s all because of me.
I can’t bear it. The weight of it presses down on me, constricting my chest, blurring my vision. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to soothe the pain slicing through me. I fight back the tears, swallowing thickly, breathing shallowly.
I can’t cry. I can’t give in to it. I have to stay strong.
Thank God this meltdown didn’t happen when the others were here. If I’m going to fall apart, it’s better to do it now. Except… this is scary. My heart is beating so fast, I feel it in my chest, an erratic rhythm. Maybe I’m having a heart attack? My fear escalates.
Now my head is buzzing and there’s a high-pitched ringing in my ears. When I look around, the room spins. I can’t catch my breath.
If not a heart attack, then I’m going insane.
Maybe I do need someone. I need help. Should I call an ambulance? God, no! I’ll just die here in my apartment, alone. As if that won’t cause pandemonium. But at least I won’t be around to deal with it.
I stretch out on the couch. Maybe lying down will help. I’ll stay very still.
I’m hot and sweaty, shaky and nauseous. I can’t handle this. What is happening?
And then, through the roaring in my ears, I hear knocking. I swallow, my mouth and throat Mojave Desert dry. Now my brain is making knocking sounds! I’m having a stroke. Or a seizure?
The knocking sounds again. Oh, I know. It’s the ambulance I didn’t call. They’re here to help me.
I roll off the couch and stagger to the door. I’m so out of it I don’t even peer through the door viewer, I just open the door and slump against the doorframe. “Help.”
A man steps forward and I fall into his arms. His strong hands feel reassuring. My vision is so dark I can only see pinpoints of light in the center. My legs disintegrate but muscular arms hold me up, then lift me. That does not help the head spins.
He carries me into the living room, pauses, then continues, and seconds later I’m gently laid onto softness. I try to moisten my mouth, making smacking sounds with my tongue, my eyes closed.
“Are you okay?” the voice says, a hand coming to rest on my forehead. “Are you sick?”
That voice… I know that voice. From my dreams. I fumble around and grasp an arm. “I don’t know,” I choke out.
“You’re fucking scaring me,” he mutters.
“I’m sorry.” My heart is still sprinting recklessly. My lungs are spasming. I drag air in with a wheezing noise.
“Don’t apologize. Christ.” He smooths hair off my face, touches my cheek so gently. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Nikki. You’re okay. Just relax.” He rubs my shoulder, takes my hand in his and holds it firmly. “Relax.” His voice is low and steady.
“I can’t. I’m dying.”
“No. You’re not dying.” He strokes my hair. “I won’t let you die.”
I believe him. I don’t know why, but I do. My lungs ease a little and I pull air into them. I blink my eyes open. Things are still blurry, but I see him now, sitting on my bed beside me.
Marek.
I stare. “Am I dreaming?” I whisper.
“Maybe?” One corner of his mouth quirks.
“You’re here. For real?”
“For real.”
My eyes fall closed again. The sweat on my forehead is chilling now and I shiver. In seconds, a soft blanket sinks over me. Big hands tuck it around me, then touch my forehead again.
“Good,” he says softly. “Breathe. Out. In.”
Following his instructions, I drag my eyes open to stare at him.
His face is tight lines and thin lips, his forehead corrugated. The skin at the corners of his eyes tightens even more as he touches my cheekbone. “You’ve been crying.”
“No. I don’t cry. I was… just… scared.”
“What are you scared about?”
“I thought I was dying.”
His face becomes even harsher. “Nikki.”
“Maybe I am,” I choke out. “Maybe I should.”
“Jesus Christ.” His throat works as he swallows. “Nikki, no.”
I roll my head on the pillow and the room spins around me, making my stomach pitch. I have to get control. I have to be okay. This is unacceptable.
I close my eyes again and lie still. I gulp past the stricture in my throat, fighting off the tears. Again. I feel minutely better.
He wipes my damp forehead again, then the bed moves as he gets up. Is he leaving? Or is this really a dream and it’s just ending? I barely have time to ask these questions before he’s back.
“Can you sit up a little?” He slides an arm behind my shoulders to prop me up and holds up a glass of water.
Oh, yes. I want that water. I want it so bad. I grab for the glass, spilling some on the blanket, and bring it to my mouth. I drink in noisy swallows and the icy cold feels so good on my aching throat. But… “I’m not supposed to have cold water,” I whisper.
“Just drink it. It’s okay for now.”
He’s right. It’s okay because I’m never going to sing again.
I finish the glass and he takes it from me and lowers me back to the pillow. “That was so good.”
As the dizziness subsides and the noise in my ears slowly fades, I take deeper breaths. I can breathe. This is good. But I’m exhausted. My arms and legs are so heavy. My eyelids feel like they have ten-pound weights attached to them.
* * *
I wake up in a dark room, a sliver of light gleaming through the slightly ajar door.
I don’t move but shift my eyes around. No dizziness.
No queasiness. I take inventory of my body—stomach still a little tight, eyes gritty, and mouth dry.
There’s a lingering feeling of dread, but I mostly feel normal.
“You’re awake.”
I jump nearly a foot off the bed, my head swiveling to the shadowy figure sitting in the chair in the corner. He’s big, wide-shouldered and messy-haired.
Fuck! I’m dreaming again. I’ve had a lot of dreams about Marek but usually they’re fun and sexy, not me falling apart.
He stands and moves closer. He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders lifting. “How do you feel?”
“Stupid.” I can say whatever I want in a dream.
“What? Why?”
“I’m supposed to be sexy in my dreams about you. Not a mess.”
In the faint light I see his mouth lift at the corners. “You think you’re still dreaming.”
“Yeah. Why else would you be here?”
He sits on the bed and takes my hand. “You’re not dreaming, Nik. I’m really here.”
I gaze at him, still not completely convinced. “Turn on the light.”
He purses his lips but reaches out to the lamp next to the bed and clicks it on.
He looks pretty real. I think back to everything that’s happened since my parents and the others left. I can’t make sense of it. “Well, now I feel even more stupid.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Don’t. I think you were having a panic attack.”
“No.” I roll my head. “I don’t have panic attacks.”
“Hmmm. Okay.”
“It was some kind of cardiac event. Or neurological. I’ll probably go to the doctor.” Probably not.
“Maybe that would be a good idea.” He squeezes my hand. “You’ve been through a lot.”
I stare at him. “I’m okay.”
One eyebrow flies up. “Okay. Good.”
He’s patronizing me. Clearly, I’m a shambles. I push up to sit. “Really. I’m fine.” I study him. “You heard about the concert?”
“Yeah. Fuck.” He drops his head forward and shakes it. “I was flipping balls for the last three days.”
“It was only three days ago?” I say wonderingly. “Wow.”
“Only. Jesus.” He rubs his face. “When I first heard the news, I didn’t know if you were one of the people who’d been killed.” He looks so distressed.
“Oh. No.”
“Or hurt. Christ. I was ready to get on plane to Germany to come find you.”
My eyes widen.
“Didn’t find out till the next day you were okay.” He rubs my hand. “Thank fuck. I was still ready to come get you, but my teammates reminded me that I’d be benched or suspended or something if I missed a game for no good reason. Felt like a good reason to me, though.”
“I’m okay,” I say again, fascinated by his anxiety. Over me.
“You’re here. That’s good.”
I squint at him. “How did you know where I live?”
“Oh. Uh…” His gaze shifts away. “I used some connections.”
I don’t know what that means.
He senses my questions. “I called my agent and asked him to find out. However he could.” Marek makes a face. “I know it’s kind of stalkerish, but it seemed important.”
I don’t even know what to make of that. I’m almost… numb. Like, I should feel annoyed. Or flattered. I know that, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything. “How did you get into the building?”
He presses his lips together. “I tried to follow someone in. At first she didn’t want to let me in. I said I was in a hurry to see someone who’s sick and needs help. She probably could see I was really scared shitless. So she let me in and we walked right past the doorman together.”
“Wow.”
“I may have done some slightly illegal things,” he admits. “Or broken rules, at the least. But I had to get to you.” His voice deepens with urgency.
“Is this really happening?” I touch my forehead. “I can’t deal with this right now.”
His face falls. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to cause you more problems. I want to help.”
I tip my head back. “I don’t need…” My voice trails off. It’s obviously a lie. I was… am a disaster. I meet his eyes. “I know I look bad. I’m not sure what happened. I wasn’t feeling well. But really, I’m fine.”
He holds my gaze and his smoky-quartz eyes soften. His mouth curves into a half-smile. “You don’t look bad. You look like someone who’s been through hell. But you’re still beautiful.”
Oh, he’s a charmer all right. I remember that from Vegas. How he pulled me out of my strict schedule and rules into his web of charisma and fun. “What time is it?”
His head tilts at the off-topic question. “Nearly ten.”
“Wow. I must have slept for a while.”
“A couple of hours, a bit more.”
“I can’t believe you stayed.”
“You know why I stayed, Nikki.” He doesn’t look away.
I swallow. I’m starting to have that feeling of danger again. I press a hand to my chest, over my heart. “I feel like I need a shower.”
“Then you should have one. I snooped around and found your bathroom.” He draws the blanket off me and reaches to help me up. I want to protest but the truth is, I’m exhausted, even after a couple of hours’ sleep.
He follows me to the bathroom door. “Do you… need help?”
I turn and give him a look.
He holds up his hands. “For real. I don’t want you to pass out and fall in the shower.”
Neither do I. “I think I’ll be okay.”
“Well.” He hesitates. “Call if you need anything. And be careful.” He gives me a stern, and frankly sexy, look, then kisses my forehead.
Damn him. Where does he get off being so sweet and protective? And a forehead kiss? That is not playing fair!
I shut the bathroom door behind me. I go to lock it but stop myself. After what happened earlier, I should leave it unlocked in case I go cuckoo again.
The shower feels soooo good. I turn my face up and let super-hot water pelt me everywhere. Washing and conditioning my hair is an effort, but I do it, then soap up with my favorite scented body wash from a little place in Venice Beach.
I don’t want to put my clothes back on. I was gross and sweaty. So I wrap a big towel around me and step out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam.
Marek appears in my bedroom door.
His gaze drops to the towel, lower to my bare legs and feet, then back up.
“I’ll just get some clean clothes on,” I say quickly, my voice squeaky.
“Put on your pajamas. It’s bedtime.”
“I just woke up!”
“Don’t even try to tell me you’re not dead on your feet, Nikki.”
I blink at him as a little spike pierces my heart.
He closes his eyes. “Bad choice of words. Fuck. I’m sorry.”
Feeling the pressure behind my eyes of more tears, I reply, “No, it’s fine.”
He closes the bedroom door behind him, and with my head a tangle of thoughts, I find a pair of pajamas and change into them.