Chapter 10
NIKKI
I wake up feeling warm. Very warm.
I blink into the dark room. For a moment, I’m not sure where I am. The darkness reminds me of the concert hall when the lights went out and people started screaming. My body tenses.
“Hey.” The whispered word behind me both startles and soothes me.
I’m in my bedroom. And the wall of warmth behind me is Marek.
I suck in a breath, mortified to realize that I’ve somehow ended up snuggled up to him, my butt against his groin, one muscled arm over me, his hand on my stomach.
Faint memories of doing that in the night, finding him in the dark, soaking up his heat, absorbing the strong, steady beat of his heart float back to me. “What are you doing here?”
“You seemed restless in the night. I thought maybe I could comfort you.”
“Oh.” She pauses. “Is it morning?”
I hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Yeah. Almost seven.”
“Oh.” I push away from him and flop onto my back.
“You can sleep more, if you want.”
“I’m awake now.”
“Sleep is good for healing.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “How do you know?”
His eyes flicker, but his lips are still lifted into a smile. “I know things.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His eyes are warm. “Like, I know you were exhausted. I know you didn’t want to admit it. And I know… you’re not really okay.”
I stare at him. “Yes, I am.”
His chin lifts. “Nikki. You had a panic attack. You were a mess when I got here.”
My throat aches. “I would have been okay.”
One eyebrow elevates. “You’re going to need to be honest with yourself to get through this.”
I scowl. “Get through what?” I whip back the duvet and scramble out of bed. “I got through the accident. I’m here. I’m fine.”
He’s in my bed. Wearing a T-shirt, from what I can see, but that doesn’t hide his broad shoulders and muscled chest. He shoves a hand into his tousled hair and sits up with a sigh.
I roll my eyes. Clearly he doesn’t believe me. “I need to use the bathroom.” I whirl around and march across the room. I lock myself in and sit on the toilet for a long time, unreasonably agitated at his words.
I’m here. I survived. Others didn’t.
I squeeze my eyes shut, the spear of pain through my midsection almost unbearable. My head drops forward and my fingers twist together tight enough to hurt.
A knock on the door rouses me from my daze. “What?”
“Are you coming out?”
“Yes. Just a minute.”
“You’ve been in there fifteen minutes.”
Oh. Yikes. I press my hands to my eyes. “I’ll be right out.”
I wash my hands and face, brush my teeth perfunctorily, and run a comb through my hair. It looks unkempt after sleeping on it wet. Oh, well.
Marek is dressed when I emerge, sitting on the bed looking at his phone. He glances up and inspects me. Not in a hot, checking me out way. In a concerned, protective way. It makes my heart flutter but also I wish he was eyeing me in an I-want-to-throw-you-on-the-bed-and-fuck-you way.
That would probably help me feel better.
It’s my turn to sigh. “Did you sleep okay?”
“I did, actually.” He stands to his full height. His faded jeans hug his thick thighs, and he’s donned his soft plaid shirt over his tee.
I can’t believe I can actually feel a tingle of lust.
He closes the distance between us. “How about you?”
“I… I did.” I pause. “It felt good.” I don’t want to tell him that it felt good because he was there. He made my bed feel safe and secure. I lift my chin and show my teeth in a smile. “Would you like breakfast before you go?”
“Yeah. I’m hungry.” He pauses. “But I’m not leaving.”
“Oh my God. Are we going to do this again?”
“Yes, apparently we are.”
“Don’t you have things to do? Hockey to play? Practice?”
“Yeah,” he admits. “We have a practice at noon today.”
“Then you have to leave.”
“Let’s go eat.”
I trail behind him to my kitchen. It’s as if he lives here and knows his way around now. “I probably don’t have much that you’ll enjoy.”
“What does that mean?”
“My mom bought me all healthy stuff.”
He shoots me an amused glance. “You think I don’t eat healthy?”
“Oh. Right. But you’re a big guy. And I don’t eat carbs,” I remind him. “So I don’t have any bread or cereal.” I pause. “Not that it matters.”
“Huh.” He opens my fridge. “I saw eggs in here last night. We can do that.”
He’s taken over my kitchen so I sit on a stool and watch as he beats eggs, shreds cheese, and sautés the pre-cut veggies my mom bought—peppers, onions, mushrooms. “Do you like to cook?”
“I don’t mind it. I was going to take a cooking class but it’s hard with my schedule.”
“Well. That’s cool.”
“I needed some hobbies.”
“You don’t have hobbies?”
He shrugs. “Not really. TV. Video games. Working out. Hanging out with the guys.” He doesn’t look at me. “What about you? What do you do in your spare time?”
I snort. “Spare time? What spare time?” Then I pause. I’ll have lots of free time now. Nothing but free time. The idea makes me feel like I’m spinning in a tornado, out of control.
“Oh, right. You’re a workaholic.”
I roll my eyes. “No, I’m not. I’m just dedicated.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, what would you like to do, if you had spare time?”
I study the subtle pattern of the stone countertop. “I love shopping in thrift stores.”
“Okay. What else?”
“I don’t know… when I was a kid I liked to bake.”
“Yeah?” He looks up. “What did you bake?”
“I loved baking cakes and decorating them. I wanted them to look really fancy like the ones on Pinterest, but mine never did.” I smile ruefully. “Also cookies. I also decorated them all fancy.”
“You could do that now. Since you’re not working.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Blake and Harper and Mom and Dad all stressed to me that even though we may have canceled the tour, I have business stuff to do. Songs to write. Working out every day to stay in shape. I didn’t argue with them, but I know there’s no point in all that.
He pours eggs into the pan. “Some time off will be good for you.”
Okay, I like this guy, but who the hell does he think he is? He doesn’t even know me! He doesn’t realize that I need constant structure in my life or my erratic impulses will take over. Without my work, I’ll be… a hot mess. “I’m not sure about that.”
He nods and folds an omelet in half. It smells amazing. “Okay.”
He’s babying me again.
“Do you think I’m going to lose my shit if you argue with me?” I demand.
His head jerks up and his mouth thins. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I’m not a child. You’re treating me like I’m a fragile baby. You’re trying to tell me what to do, but this is my life.”
He purses his lips and nudges an acceding shrug. “You’re right.”
My eyes narrow at his quick agreement.
He bites back a smile. “I can’t argue with that, beautiful. Here, your omelet is ready.”
I glare at the plate he sets in front of me. Something burns inside my chest. I grab the fork and knife and violently saw off a piece of omelet, then stuff it into my mouth.
I don’t even taste it. Then I take a second bite and it’s pretty good. After the third bite I want to moan. He’s a good cook. “Why do you have to be so fucking perfect?”
He barks out a laugh as he sits next to me. “I am far from perfect.”
“True. You’re actually kind of bossy.”
He tilts his head, chewing his food. He swallows, then says, “Nobody’s ever accused me of that before.” He calmly cuts another piece of omelet.
I’m being an absolute shit to him and he’s not even getting riled. I sigh. What am I getting all annoyed about? He’s going to leave after we eat, and I won’t have to see him again.
I ignore the pinch in my heart.
Once he’s gone, I’ll be alone. I can do whatever I want. Lie in bed. Stare into space for hours. Maybe check some emails.
I don’t want to check emails.
Everything seems so trivial. What’s the point? People died.
“Whatever,” I mutter. “Thanks for making this. It’s good.” It’s also huge, and I can’t eat it all, but Marek takes my plate and finishes it.
“A piece of toast would have been good with this.”
I open my mouth and then catch the teasing glimmer in his eye. I press my lips together.
He won’t let me help clean up (again) so I sit at the counter and watch him, which is no hardship. Drying his hands on a towel, the kitchen spotless, he looks at me. “Can we talk?”
I rear back. That’s never a good thing to hear. “We’ve been talking.”
His look is steady and astute.
“Fine. Sure.” I slide off the stool then pause. I’m still in my pajamas. “Maybe I should get dressed?”
“Nah, you’re good. The pajamas are cute, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I trudge over to the couch, settle into a corner, and pick up a cushion to hug. “Okay, what’s on your mind, big guy?”
His lips twitch, but the gravity in his eyes makes my stomach clench. He sits at the other end of the couch, leaning back with one arm along the back. “What happened after Vegas?” he asks quietly, eyes fastened on my face. “Why did you stop communicating with me?”
I swallow, then pull my lower lip between my teeth. “I told you. I was busy. I’m sorry.”
He moves his head side to side, lips pursed. “Come on. You couldn’t be that busy. Sending a text takes, like thirty seconds.”
“I was literally that busy!” I set my hand on the back of my head and grip my hair. “My life went crazy.” I pause. “It wasn’t just sending a text. It was the whole…” I gesture in a back-and-forth movement between us. “You know.”
He shakes his head again. “No. I don’t know.”
“Us. I mean, we didn’t have a relationship exactly, but you… us… was taking up a lot of space in my head, and I just couldn’t deal.”
“We had a one-night stand.” His face tightens. “We fucked. That’s what it was for you?”
My throat seizes and knots. Is that not what it was for him? Mr. Have fun, fuck hard, play harder? I search for the right words. Finally, I say in a brittle voice, “It had to be.”
He sets his hand over his mouth and rubs. “Okay.” He meets my eyes. “You could have just told me that.”
Heat travels in a slow wave from my chest up into my face. “You’re right,” I squeak out. “I’m sorry.”
How do I explain why I didn’t just tell him not to contact me anymore?
I don’t even understand it myself. I couldn’t do it…
because I wanted to hear from him. I didn’t want to end things.
But I had to. I had this amazing opportunity.
All my dreams were coming true. Also, the pressure on me was massive.
There were so many people I couldn’t let down.
I couldn’t let myself be distracted by a handsome, charming hockey player, the man I kept thinking about, trying to figure out how to be with, and couldn’t.
I wanted to see him again so much. For the last eleven months, I woke up nearly every day aching to see him, to talk to him.
So many times I had to talk myself out of ditching everything that was expected of me and jump on a plane to Hoboken.
But that would have been irresponsible. Undisciplined. I had to stay with my plan.
Also, I was a coward.
“Okay.” He gives a clipped nod. “I understand.” He stands.
Is he leaving? I clasp the pillow tighter, watching him go pick up his jacket. He pulls out a knit cap and tugs it down, chestnut hair curling around the bottom, then pushes his arms into the sleeves. He looks back at me as he zips up the jacket.
Moisture threatens my eyes and my throat squeezes.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says quietly. “I hope you can get back to work and back to normal soon.”
I lift my chin, then lower it. The fist around my windpipe prevents me from speaking.
Then he surprises me by stepping closer to me, bending, and kissing my forehead.
Goddammit.
I close my stinging eyes.
“Bye, Nikki. Take care, teddy bear.”
I hear the door close and still don’t open my eyes. Tears squeeze out and I choke back a sob.
No. I can’t cry again. I can’t break down again.
He came to make sure I was okay, and I wasn’t even very nice to him. I’m such a bitch.
But nothing has changed. I still don’t have capacity for him in my life. In fact, it’s even worse now, because I’m shattered by the accident. I don’t have the capacity for anything. I just know I need to get my structured life back together or I’ll fall apart like a wet cardboard box.