Chapter 12
NIKKI
Well. This is weird.
I sit on Marek’s couch and look around at his apartment.
It’s a nice place, I guess, but a little bland for me.
He does have an amazing view of Manhattan from all the big windows, though.
I stand and walk over to the window to gaze out.
One window is actually a sliding door out onto a small balcony, which is wet and chilly looking.
It’s another overcast day, with low clouds and weak light. Some of the skyscrapers across the river have their heads in the clouds, and the choppy river is the color of graphite. Is it going to snow again? The idea sends a flash of heat through my middle.
I feel unsettled. I should be at home. My sanctuary.
Except it’s surrounded by media people with cameras.
When I saw those guys out on the street, my stomach lurched.
The attention over the last six months has been both wonderful and terrifying, but usually I’m okay with a smile and a wave. I live my life with careful adherence to rules and structure, so there hasn’t been any shocking gossip about me. Until now.
Now, I’m terrified of them. All I can think about is people crying and screaming and grabbing at me.
Even locking myself in my apartment felt unsafe with them out there.
I turn and wander back through the apartment. My suitcase is still sitting in the foyer, so I roll it down a short hall. I peek into rooms and find a bathroom, Marek’s room, and a spare bedroom that’s neatly furnished. I lug my case in there and lay it flat on the floor.
I’ll unpack.
No. This is ridiculous. “I can’t stay here,” I mutter aloud, pushing a hand through my hair. I sit on the rug on the floor and stare at my suitcase. “I’ll get Marek to take me home later. After his practice. Or I can call an Uber.”
I’ve always talked to myself, so I’m not worried that I’m actually going insane.
I get up and amble back out to the hall. I peek into Marek’s room again. The urge to snoop is strong. From here, I take in the huge bed with a very thick mattress, the headboard and base upholstered in tan leather, with all white bedding. It looks so inviting…
Damn. I’m tired.
The bedside tables are funky square wooden boxes with skinny legs, the long dresser similar. Socks sit on the floor near a hamper, a T-shirt is crumpled on the bed, and a couple of empty glasses sit on the dresser. I like that he’s a little bit messy, but not a complete slob.
I remember the look on his face when I told him what happened between us had to be just a…
fling thing. He tried not to show it, but the pain that tightened his face made me hurt inside.
He walked out. Said goodbye. And since he walked back in my door to “rescue” me, he’s been polite, considerate, and… cool.
Through an open door I see part of another bathroom. I resist the urge to go check it out and head back to the kitchen.
I love this kitchen. It’s narrow, but long, with lots of counter space and storage, and four stools sitting on the other side of the long island. I smooth my hands over the black stone countertop. “Beautiful.”
I don’t know what to do. I’m not hungry. I could go out. Nobody will be looking for me here. But the idea makes my insides churn unpleasantly.
I’m just so tired.
It’s only noon, but it’s been an eventful day so far. Why not lie down? So I trek back to the spare bedroom and stretch out on the bed. First on top of the covers. But I’m cold, so I pull them back and snuggle in under them. The silence of the apartment settles over me like another blanket.
* * *
I’m being smothered. I can’t breathe. I can’t see anything.
But I hear people screaming. High-pitched voices, wailing and crying.
I need to help them, but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed.
I struggle to move, to get whatever is on my face off, but I can’t.
I can’t. I can’t move. I can’t help anyone. And the screams go on.
My heart is trying to hammer its way out of my chest.
“Nikki.”
“Let me go!” I fight against the restraint. “Let me go!”
“Nikki, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
The voice, low and steady, penetrates the screaming and my fog of choking blindness.
The hands holding me aren’t restraining me, they’re keeping me safe.
I rise through the clouds, my heart pounding, struggling to see, and then I can, and it’s Marek.
He’s holding my arm, another hand on my forehead.
“Shhhh.” He strokes my hair. “You’re okay.”
I make some kind of noises, gulping for air, crying. “I’m so scared,” I tell him.
He gathers me up into his arms, holding me securely, pressing my head to his shoulder. I can’t shake the feeling of dread gnawing inside me. I burrow into him, trembling, sucking in shallow breaths.
“It was a dream,” I finally whisper, when I can. “A bad dream.”
“Yeah. Just a dream.” His hand glides up and down my back. “You’re here. You’re safe.”
My breathing gradually slows, my heart-rate decreasing. “I feel a little sick.”
He draws back. “Are you going to throw up?”
I pull in a slow breath. “I don’t know.” I close my eyes. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll get you some water.”
“No. Don’t… don’t go.” I gulp. “Please.”
He pulls me closer again and we sit for a long time without talking, just holding each other. He pets and caresses me, calming me. But I still don’t want to let go.
Eventually, I lift my head and peer up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He gazes down at me, his expression steadfast. He’s not freaking out and that reassures me.
“I bet you’re sorry you brought me here,” I try to joke. “You’re probably sorry you ever heard of me.”
“Now that you mention it, you are kind of a handful.”
I snort laugh. “God. Am I ever.” I swipe a hand over wet eyes. “I was so tired, I wanted to lie down for a while.” I pause. “When did you get home?”
“About an hour ago. I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“Oh. Yikes. I must have slept for a while. Okay, I do need some water.”
He releases me and stands.
“But I can get it,” I assure him.
He shakes his head and sighs, then hikes out of the room, returning with a bottle of water. “This one wasn’t in the fridge.”
Oh. That’s sweet of him. I take the water and gulp half of it down, then swing my legs over the side of the bed. I look at my suitcase. “I didn’t unpack. I was going to ask you to take me home. It’s silly that I’m here.”
“Yeah, so silly.” His tone is bone dry. “It would have been much better if that happened when you were alone.”
He’s right. I know it. And I’m glad he was here. “But I can’t have someone with me all the time. You have a demanding job. A busy life.”
“Yeah.” His eyebrows lower. “Do you want to call your parents? Maybe you should go stay with them.”
That idea appeals to me as much as filing my nails with a cheese grater. “I can’t.”
“Do you have someone else you could stay with?”
My manager and my agent went back to L.A. I think dejectedly of my small friends list. The only “friend” I have in New York is my best friend from high school, Joey Kemper. But we had a falling out years ago when she accused me of “ditching” her because I’d gotten “too good for her.”
That wasn’t why our friendship had died off. I certainly didn’t think I was too good for her. I was just super busy and working hard, and it was difficult to find time in the brief periods I was in New York. Apparently this is the story of my life.
I sigh without looking up at Marek. “No, not really.”
“Then you’re staying here. Even if I’m not around all the time.”
“Fine.” I’m too tired to argue. And the truth is, Marek makes me feel safe.
I remember that night at the hotel in Vegas when he placed himself between me and others waiting for the elevator, blocking their view of me.
I remember how he let me leave that first night without being a dick about it, like some guys would have.
And I remember the care he took with me the next night, when I was unsure, and he was willing to just talk.
I wouldn’t have come with him to his place if I didn’t feel safe with him, no matter how frightened I was at my own home.
“There’s space for your clothes in the closet and that dresser.” He points. “You found the bathroom?”
“Yes. Which I need to use.” I stand on legs that feel disturbingly jellied.
“Okay. Sorry I had to bolt right after we got here.”
“Did you make it on time?”
“Yeah.” One corner of his mouth lifts. He follows me out of the bedroom. “Barely.”
“That was my fault. Should I write a note for your coach?”
He barks out a laugh. “You still have a sense of humor.”
“Sometimes my humor is kind of black.” I make a face.
“I’ll be in the living room.”
I use the bathroom. As I wash my hands, I inspect myself in the big mirror. Jesus. I look like Ursula from The Little Mermaid. I try to pat my hair down. I have no makeup on, which doesn’t help, so I splash cold water onto my face and pat it dry.
Whatever.
A tiny little part of me wants to be attractive for Marek. Because… I don’t know. If I want to look good for him, doesn’t that mean I want him to be attracted to me? And I don’t. I told him I’m too busy for an “us.”
But I’m also too tired and sad to summon up enough energy to actually do something about that. So, Ursula it is.
I find Marek in the kitchen eating baby carrots from a bag. He offers some to me, so I take a carrot and crunch it. “I’d rather be eating potato chips.”
He grins. “You and me both, beautiful.”
“I guess you don’t have any?”
“Nope.”
I sigh and eat another carrot.
“Did you eat lunch?” he asks.
I hold up a carrot.
“Shit, Nikki. I’ll make you something.”
“You don’t have to wait on me. I feel weird enough being here.”
He opens the fridge and peers in. “I have leftover tuna salad.” My silence prompts him to look at me. “What? It’s good. And I have lettuce. You can have tuna salad lettuce wraps. Low carb.”
“Hmmm. Okay.”
He sets out the container of salad, which has carrots and cucumber in it, and piles a plate with lettuce leaves. Sitting at the counter, I scoop up salad, roll it up, and take a bite. I nod. “This is good. What’s the dressing? Is it mayo?”
“Nope. Avocado, mustard, and sriracha.”
“Maybe staying here won’t be so bad.”
“I’m sorry it’s such a hardship being here.” His tone is sardonic.
“Somehow I thought your bachelor pad would be full of snacks and beer.”
“I do have some beer.” I make a face and he laughs. “I have to eat healthy, too. The team has a dietician who works with us.”
Surprisingly, I eat several of the wraps. Marek passes me another bottle of water he takes out of a cupboard.
He remembers.
It doesn’t matter anymore. But he remembers.
“What would you normally be doing right now?” I ask him. “I don’t want to disrupt your routine.”
“Well. Levi wanted me to visit a hospital today.”
I blink. “Oh. Um, who’s Levi?”
“Levi Rhodes. Communications guy. He sets up stuff for us to do in the community.”
“Ah. So you’re missing out on a hospital visit.”
“There’ll be other chances. I told him I have a family thing happening.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Family?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t want to tell him I have a famous pop star hiding out at my place.”
“Understandable. If not that, then what?”
“I have laundry to do.”
I huff out a laugh. “That sounds exciting. Don’t let me stop you.”
“I won’t. I’m going to put up my schedule so you know when I have games and practices and stuff.”
“Okay.”
“Tomorrow we have a game. I have a pretty set routine for game day—morning skate and team meeting at ten, lunch at the complex, afternoon nap. I leave for the game around 3:30.”
I nod, filing this information away. I envy him his strict schedule. He’s not drifting in a sea of grief and loss and guilt.
After a moment of silence, he asks, “Have you been having a lot of bad dreams?”
One corner of my mouth hooks up. “No. Probably because I haven’t been sleeping.”
His mouth tightens. “Maybe you should talk about it. Tell me about the dream.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He runs his tongue over his teeth beneath his lips. “Yeah. I get it.”
I appreciate that he doesn’t push it, but the look on his face is conflicted. I’m not sure what that’s about. He’s such an easy-going, fun-loving guy, he really doesn’t want to hear about something as depressing as what happened in Berlin. He probably just said that because he thinks he should.
“Don’t worry,” I say, using a paper napkin to wipe off my fingers. “I won’t subject you to the horrors of the disaster.”
His eyes flicker and narrow.
I slide off the stool. “I’ll go unpack a few things.”
I guess I’m staying. I can’t bring myself to go home by myself and face the media. And I hate that right now about myself.