Chapter 24
MAREK
“You’re leaving.”
“Yes.” Nikki smiles at me as if she just told me she won the lottery. “I really have to deal with life. It’s a good thing,” she adds.
I just walked, or I should say limped, in the door after a five-hour flight from Utah, after losing last night and getting hammered into the boards hard enough to knock the wind out of me.
The only thing keeping me going was that Nikki was waiting for me at home.
Now I’m wondering if my brain got scrambled in that hit because I can’t make sense of this.
“Right. Of course it is.” I give my head a shake. “Are you prepared to deal with media if they try to hunt you down?” I’m confused, but all those fierce, protective feelings still surface.
“I think so. I can’t hide away forever.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “That’s true.”
“I need to get back to Los Angeles. I have a lot of business things to deal with. A possible sync deal. Maybe… I don’t know… rescheduling the tour.”
“Yeah. I’m sure there’s a lot.”
“Thank you for letting me stay here. I know I wasn’t easy to deal with.”
“It was… fine.”
“No, it wasn’t.” She rolls her eyes self-deprecatingly. “But thank you. You gave me time to just… be. And you pushed me to get out of my rut.”
What is happening here? She’s leaving. She’s fucking leaving.
I knew this was going to happen. I’ve always known this was going to happen. And I should be glad that she’s feeling better, feeling well enough to go home and deal with media and all the music business stuff she’s been ignoring for the last six weeks.
But I’m not glad. Which makes me a selfish asshole, I guess, but I’ll own that.
“So…” She pauses to rub the base of her throat. “I don’t know what my life is going to be like. I know I have more issues than Vogue magazine, and I have a lot of stuff to work on. And you deserve better than that.”
She’s saying words. I don’t comprehend these words.
“Nikki.” I croak out her name. Then I can’t speak. I swallow through broken glass. This moment has always been inevitable. “When do you want to leave? I’ll take you home. Do you need help packing?”
“You don’t have to sound like you can’t wait to get rid of me!” She says it lightly, but her voice rises in pitch.
“Just trying to help.”
“I’m all packed up and ready to go. But you just got home.” She pauses and bites her lip. “Are you okay? After that hit?” Her hands move like she wants to touch me, then drop to her sides.
“Yeah. Stiff and sore. But I’m okay.”
She nods, her gaze scanning me. “Good. You were gone for a while. I… well, good.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, I can call an Uber.”
I’m so fucking tempted to say, sure, call an Uber. But I don’t. Because I can’t stop. Can’t stop wanting her to be safe. Can’t stop loving her.
I ignore the burn in my chest and help carry her belongings down to my SUV, then drive to the Upper West Side.
“Mabel and I watched the game last night,” she says. “That penalty against Wilson was so bad. They showed the replay and it wasn’t even his stick that hit that other guy. It was one of their own players.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s too bad refs don’t get written up when they make a mistake like that. Or something.”
I nod.
“And then when that bonehead checked you into the boards, it should totally have been a penalty.”
I rub my forehead where an ache has developed behind my eyebrows. “Nah. It was a clean hit.”
“He jumped about a foot into the air to hit you!”
I’m almost amused. “A foot, huh.”
She blows out a breath. “Well, I thought it should have been a penalty.”
She falls silent, watching out the side window, and I’m too busy dying inside to have much to say. What am I supposed to do? Let her walk away? Again?
My pride tells me… yeah. Let her go.
But… my heart tells me I have to try. Even though I know it’s just asking to have that internal organ stomped on.
I have to be honest with her. I have to take the risk.
There are no people with cameras at her place and I score a parking spot on her block when someone pulls out just as we arrive. We unload her things and carry them up to her apartment.
She drops the bag she’s carrying and sets the guitar on the floor with a big sigh. I slant her a glance at that, but she walks into the main room. “Well. I’m home.”
Memories of the night I showed up here and found her a beautiful train wreck flood back. I don’t ever want to see her like that again. I’m glad she’s doing better.
She turns to face me. I haven’t moved from the foyer. I shove my hands into my jacket pockets. “Well.”
She moves closer. “I’m glad you’re okay with this.”
“I’m not okay with this.” The words spill out of my mouth.
Her eyes latch onto mine, her eyebrows sloping down.
My nerves hum and my gut twists. “I don’t want you to go.”
She blinks slowly. “Marek…”
“I can’t do this anymore. I want a real relationship.”
She looks like I just slapped her. And the expression on her face feels like a gut punch for me. I let one side of my mouth curl up. “I didn’t think asking us to be together would be so repulsive after the time we’ve spent together the last month and a half.”
She presses the heel of her hand between her breasts.
“No! It’s not… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have started something with you when I’m such a mess.
I shouldn’t have had sex with you. I thought sex would help.
I thought human connection would make me feel something, instead of numb.
And it did.” Her burnt honey eyes shimmer.
“It did. Maybe… I’ll see how things go… and we could—”
“No.” My stomach churns and a sour taste rises up my throat, as I remember all those months where I kept hoping to hear from her.
Where I kept looking for any sign of her online.
Where I kept fantasizing about her. Aching for her.
I’m not doing that again. “I’m not going to hold you back.
It’s better to just end things. I can’t do this half-assed anymore. ”
She stares at me, her eyes wet and burning into me, her lips parted. Then her eyebrows pull down and her forehead creases, her look changing from want to anguish. She closes her eyes and her shoulders sag. “I’m sorry.”
I struggle for words. Struggle to control my shaking throat.
I love her too much to hold her back from accomplishing her goals.
Finally, I say, “I know. You need to follow your dreams. I know how important it is to you. I know how important your music is to you.” I swallow.
“I don’t want you to go. But I want you to be happy.
Go find yourself. Find that happiness.” I turn toward the door, then look back at her. “Bye bye, butterfly.”
And then I leave.
Because I’m about to lose my shit.