Chapter 9
MAREK
I’m sitting on her couch reading a text message from Archie when Nikki appears in the long room that’s her living room, dining room, and kitchen.
She’s wearing pink and white striped pajamas—long pants and a buttoned shirt.
Her wet hair hangs in a tangle around her shoulders.
I don’t think she combed it after her shower.
Jesus. This is killing me. She’s so gorgeous, so precious, but I fucking hate that checked-out look in her eyes. She’s so pale, with dark circles under her red eyes and a pink nose.
She walks into her little kitchen and fills her water glass, then guzzles it down.
I rise and move to the small counter between kitchen and dining room. “Are you hungry?”
She considers that. “Maybe?”
“What would you like? I can get something delivered. Or I can make you something if you have food.”
“My mom went shopping for me yesterday, but I’m not sure what she bought.”
Aaaaand I can literally see her skin go even whiter. She moves around the end of the counter and drops onto one of the stools there.
Dammit. She’s still not doing well.
“Put your head down.” I lay my palm on the back of her head and gently push. She bends at the waist and her back expands with a long breath.
I too pull in a slow breath to get control of my emotions. I’m pissed. Worried. Protective. I want to gather her up in my arms and hold her and make everything okay. I want to take her away and hide her from the world. We stand there for a couple of minutes and then she straightens.
“I’m okay.”
I rub in small circles on her back and move around to inspect her face. I might take exception to the word “okay” but she doesn’t look like she’s about to pass out.
So I move to her fridge and open the door.
I’m not even seeing what’s in there for a moment as I battle my feelings.
Then I take stock. Eggs. Cheese. Four kinds of cheese!
Some fresh veg. I move to the pantry and find rice, pasta, canned tomatoes.
“How about my special mac and cheese?” I ask over my shoulder. “Or a sandwich? Egg sandwich?”
“I love mac and cheese. I’m not supposed to have it, but I love it.”
“Not supposed to have it?” I freeze and gape at her.
“Carbs.” She makes a face. “I have to really watch what I eat.”
“Um. Yeah.” As an athlete, I’m conscientious about my diet. I try to fuel my body with the right balance of carbs, protein, and fats. But she’s a tiny little thing and… well, her dance routines are pretty vigorous. Still… “But you need to eat.” I grab a box of macaroni.
“What makes it special?”
“I use a lot of cheese.”
“Luckily Mom bought a lot of cheese, because I love cheese.”
“Somehow I figured that.” It’s not hard to find things in her little kitchen and I get a pan of water boiling. “So your parents were here?”
“Yes. They picked me up at the airport and brought me home and they stayed a couple of days.”
“You got home Friday night?”
“I think so.” She rubs one eyebrow. “It’s kind of a blur.”
I can’t believe they left her alone when she’s still so fragile. “Do they live nearby?”
“Not really. In Connecticut. A little place called Beaver Falls.”
I pause in unwrapping a package of cheese. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” A whisper of a smile passes over her lips. “They wanted to move out of the city, so they bought this… cottage, I guess? It’s pretty big though. Absolutely hideous. But they’re working on renovating it. It’s on the water and it’s got some land that’s pretty.”
“Why aren’t you there with them?”
“I don’t want to be. I want to be here. In my own home.”
I nod. I don’t think she should be alone right now. But I guess her parents know her.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” I start grating cheese.
It takes her a moment to answer. “No.”
“Maybe it’s too soon. But you should talk about it. I’m a safe space.”
“You don’t need to be traumatized by all the details.”
I hide my flinch. It’s entirely possible I could be triggered. But she doesn’t need to know that. I need to be here for her. “I can handle it.”
As I prepare food, she’s so quiet. Unlike the vibrant, bubbly star I was with in Vegas. This scares me even more.
“I saw that you visited people in the hospital.”
“Yeah. Little girls.” She closes her eyes. “I had to do it before I left.”
“That was kind of you. And brave.”
She shrugs.
I also saw her Instagram post about how sorry she was, and her management team’s post saying they mourn the lives lost. And I saw a picture of her arriving at Newark Airport on Friday. That was when I called Anderson, my agent, to try to find her, losing my shit over knowing how close she was.
“We canceled the tour,” she says morosely.
“Yeah. I’m sorry.” I check the macaroni. “I’ve been thinking about you. How this tour was everything you wanted.”
She gives a tiny nod without looking up.
“Congratulations on your success,” I add. “Your album is doing fantastic.”
“It is.” She doesn’t sound particularly happy, but I guess it’s hard to be happy after something like this.
“I messaged you a few times.” I scoop out some of the pasta water for the sauce. “To congratulate you and tell you how proud I was of you.” But you never answered.
“I got the messages. I’m sorry I didn’t answer. Things were crazy.”
That’s bullshit. But I don’t say that right now.
I stir things together and fill bowls with the pasta, then slide one in front of her along with a fork. I join her on the other stool. I’m not exactly hungry; my guts are twisted in knots, like they have been for the past three days. But I fork up some macaroni and eat it.
Nikki does, too, blowing on her forkful, which puckers her lips into an adorable kiss shape. God, I want to kiss her.
I stare at my macaroni and poke it with my fork.
“Thank you for this,” Nikki says. “It’s delicious.”
“Good. Have you been eating? Maybe some food will help you feel better.”
“I’ve been eating. Some. Well, not much.”
“Didn’t your parents make you eat?”
She gives me a look. “They tried.”
I think I’m getting the picture about why everyone left her alone. She lied and faked being okay so they’d leave. I have complicated feelings about this.
On the one hand, I admire her for trying to be strong. On the other hand, I’m pissed at her for trying to be strong. And if I had a third hand I’d be worried. Okay, I am worried. She’s trying to hide her feelings about all this.
Not on my watch.
I know how unhealthy that is. Hiding your feelings doesn’t make them go away. It just makes them build up more and more and come out in potentially harmful ways. Like panic attacks. Or bursting into tears in front of your teammates.
“You don’t have to stay.”
I jerk my head up to look at Nikki.
“You just gave such a big sigh,” she says. “You don’t have to stay. I’m sure you have other things to do and I’m okay now.”
Uh-huh. “It’s Sunday night. I don’t have other things to do.”
“Oh.”
Her bowl is empty. That’s a good sign. “Want some more?”
“No, thanks. It’s really good, though.”
I look down at my half-full bowl. I’m not that hungry, either. I make an effort to eat more, silence surrounding us.
When we were in Vegas, we never stopped talking. Well, maybe there were a few times we stopped. When our mouths were occupied with other things. But it was so easy with her. Now it’s… not uncomfortable exactly, but the atmosphere is close and thick.
Maybe it’s all the unsaid things between us. And not just this recent catastrophe, but everything from the last eleven months.
When we’re finished eating, I start to clean up. She moves to help me, but I set my hands on her shoulders and turn her away. “Go lie down.”
She turns and eyes me over her shoulder, opens her mouth, then closes it and shuffles away. I load the dishwasher, wash the pot, and wipe the counters. I may not always be so fastidious at home, but I know how to do it.
I find her in the living room, on the couch. I make a quick detour to her bathroom and return.
“Sit on the floor,” I order her gently.
She looks up at me with a puzzled expression.
I hold up the hairbrush.
“Oh.” She glances at the damp strands lying on her pajamas. “I’ll do it.”
“I want to.”
After a brief hesitation, she slips to the floor. I sit behind her, my knees on either side of her, and slowly drag the bristles through her hair. I take care with the tangles, working through them until I can glide the brush from her scalp to the ends of her hair.
I sense her relaxing.
“That feels nice,” she murmurs.
So I keep doing it even though the knots are gone, in slow, voluptuous strokes.
Then I set the brush on the cushion beside me and palm her shoulders. “Your muscles are so tight.”
“Mmmm.”
I begin to massage, digging thumbs and fingers into rigid muscles, searching out knots.
“Ohhhh.” Her head drops forward.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. I mean, yes. But it feels good.”
I smile and keep going. I’ve learned a few techniques after all the massages I’ve had from team therapists.
And yes, I do think about sliding my hands down her front to find those perfect, dainty tits. I’m a man. I’m attracted to her. But I do have some self-control, although I have to admit that with her it’s stretched pretty thin.
When my hands are in spasms from overuse, I stop, resting my palms on her shoulders. “How was that?”
“That was amazing.”
“Good. Do you want to go to bed?” I’ve never asked that question in such an innocent way.
She looks at me over her shoulder in a surprisingly flirty way. “Really?”
Jesus. “I’m not hitting on you.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Then she says, “What if I wanted you to?”
My heart jolts. My gut twists. I stare at the back of her head. “That’s not why I’m here, Nikki,” I say in a low tone.
Jesus. I’m turning her down. What. The. Fuck.
She sighs. “I know.” Then she pushes up onto her feet. “Yeah, I’m tired. I could use a good night’s sleep. I haven’t slept a lot. Jet lag, I think.”
I’m sure jet lag doesn’t help. I stand, too.
She looks around, then spies my jacket on the back of a chair where I tossed it earlier. She moves to it and picks it up. “Thank you. I appreciate you coming.”
“I’m not leaving.” I take the jacket from her and drop it on the chair again. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. And I mean just you. But I’m going to stay tonight.”
She turns her face up to mine, her eyes big, the usual sparkle missing from their deep golden depths. “You don’t need to do that.”
“It’s not up for discussion.” I nudge her to the hall and then into her bedroom.
She heads straight to the bed. I pull away the blanket that I covered her with earlier as she climbs beneath the duvet.
Her bedroom has a different feel than the rest of the apartment, which is all creamy and light. In here, the walls are a deep mossy green, with bamboo shades covering the window. It feels moody and private. And seductive, if I’m being honest.
She settles into her bed on her side, knees pulled up. Christ. She looks small and fragile. I move closer to stroke hair off her face. “Do you need anything else?”
“No.” Her eyes droop closed. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep though.”
I don’t say anything, because she’s clearly drained. I drag my hand gently through her damp hair, then stroke it. In moments, her breathing has slowed and she’s asleep. Good.
I straighten and look around. The small pottery lamp on the bedside table illuminates the room and I check out the green velvet headboard, wood and wicker furniture, and framed botanical prints on the walls.
I click off the lamp and head back to the chair I was sitting in earlier, an overstuffed armchair upholstered in a wild mix of green, cream, pink, and gold.
I watch Nikki sleep, attuned to every soft sound she makes. I’m grateful as hell that she’s here, alive, in one piece. But I’m also disturbed by her fragility and her obvious panic attack. The only good thing is that she doesn’t have the stamina to kick me out.