Chapter 18 Andrew #3
Nicki’s laugh is hollow. “I barely saw them when they were healthy. I did not see them sick. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my father out of a suit or my mom out of a full face of makeup.”
“Your friends on the team?”
“I’ve never had friends on my teams, princess. I’m not a likable guy.”
It’s not a surprise. The little bit he’s gathered from Nicki about his family indicates they’ve never wanted for anything monetarily but emotionally, oh, how Nicki was starved.
It’s no wonder he isn’t good at people or feelings, but Andrew’s seen enough to know that while he might be an introverted asshole in personality, he’s a good man who deserves to be loved.
Who deserves to know he’s worthy of love, not because he’s rich or famous or talented, but because he’s simply Nicki.
“For what it’s worth, I like you.”
“Fuck knows why.” Nicki tightens his hold on Andrew. “It’s fine, but—”
“Tony is your friend,” Andrew adds, because he knows it’s true, even if Nicki doesn’t seem to know it yet. He’d sensed it at the team dinner, even with how much Nicki tried to keep him at bay.
“Fucking loose screw that one.”
“I like Tony, he kind of reminds me of Jason.”
“Great,“ Nicki sighs dramatically. “Now I have two of them in my life.”
The casual mention of Jason being in Nicki’s life does something to his sick, sleep-addled brain. Has him offering something he didn’t think he would.
“I’ll call my brother and ask him to come watch the game with me. So you can play without worrying.”
“Which brother? Please don’t say Charlie.”
“Charlie.”
“Fuck,” Nicki groans, lowering his face to Andrew’s hair and breathing him in. Even with the shower Nicki gave him, Andrew is so sweaty he must smell sour, but Nicki just lets out a contented sigh, so he lets it go.
“You’ll have to make peace with Charlie and Eden one day. They’re kind of a package deal with me.”
“I know and I will. For you. But I don’t fucking like people.”
“You like me though.”
“So fucking much, princess.” Nicki hefts him up until Andrew is seated fully in his lap, their faces so close they could finally have their first kiss if Andrew wasn’t disgustingly full of germs. “Make him call me. If you need me. Please.”
“You’ll be on the ice, you can’t check your phone,” Andrew points out, oddly touched by the please. He’s not sure he’s ever heard Nicki use that word before and certainly not in a way that sounded so close to begging.
“Fuck.”
“I’m fine,” Andrew tells him, the lie slipping out so easily.
“Fuck your ‘fine’,” Nicki says, the harshness in his tone contrasted so sharply by the tender glide of his fingers through Andrew’s hair.
Really, there’s nothing he can say to that. Andrew’s fine is rarely that, but no one challenges it. He suspects Charlie knows it’s a lie, but his brother doesn’t call him on it. Eden seems to suspect too, if the looks he gives Andrew sometimes are to be believed, but neither does he push.
Andrew was sure he liked being left to hide, but now he’s not so sure. There’s a relief at someone finally calling him on his bullshit, on not having to pretend.
“When do you need to leave?” Andrew asks, closing his eyes. He counts the beats of Nicki’s heart. One two three. One two three.
“Not until after Charlie shows up.”
That is not the answer Andrew was looking for, but he’s too exhausted from talking so much that he doesn’t reply. Instead, he lifts his head in search of his phone. Nicki grabs it off the end table, passing it to Andrew who wastes no time in making the call.
“Annie, there you are. You’ve been ignoring me,” Charlie says, voice loud since it’s on speaker phone. “I texted you last night and this morning. Have you been playing house husband with your sexy hockey player? “
Nicki makes a horrified sound.
“Oh, is that the sexy hockey player now? What’s hanging, Nicholas, my man? Are you being good to my brother?”
Andrew would smile at Charlie’s teasing, playful tone—at how easily Charlie is welcoming Nicki into his fold solely because he’s important to Andrew—except he feels too shitty.
A feeling made worse by the guilt currently drowning him at making Nicki worry and having to ruin Charlie’s night.
He must have better things to do than hang out with Andrew, especially when he’s not going to be good company.
“Your brother was passed out on the fucking bathroom floor when I got home.”
The line goes deadly silent.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Andrew tries, not wanting Charlie to panic, too.
“It is as bad as it sounds,” Nicki challenges. “Don’t trust him.”
Andrew is both deeply offended and also oddly touched. It’s confusing to feel both, especially when all he wants to do is go back to sleep so he’s not conscious enough to be so acutely aware of his own misery.
“I have to be at the rink in an hour. You need to come stay with him.”
It’s blunt and abrasive, and so very Nicki. Andrew half-expects Charlie to make a remark about Nicki’s manners or a joke about Andrew agreeing to this when he’s spent so long convincing everyone that he likes to be alone when sick that he’s caught by surprise when Charlie does neither.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, Annie.”
* * *
“Where is he?”
From Andrew’s position on the couch where Nicki carried him, and tucked him in, he can’t see Eden at the front door, but the angry pitch of his voice is unmistakable.
The guilt he managed to shove to the side resurges knowing Charlie brought Eden too.
Now they’re both going to be here bored, exposed to germs and worrying.
“He’s on the couch,” Nicki answers.
Seconds later, Eden appears, a deep frown on his face. Then again, he usually frowns, so it’s not much different to his normal expression, though Andrew can’t help but notice for once he’s not wearing makeup. It makes him look so much younger.
“If you die, I’ll kill you.”
“Why does everyone keep thinking I’m dying?” Andrew questions.
“Maybe because you passed out,” Charlie answers, making a beeline for Andrew. He drops to his knees, laying his hand over Andrew’s forehead. He closes his eyes, unsure why Charlie’s gentle touch has him trembling. “He’s burning up. Shit.”
“His temperature was 102 ten minutes ago,” Nicki says. Andrew cracks his eyes open, not about to pass up an opportunity to see him in his game day suit. Compared to his usual stylish attire, it’s subdued, but he still looks handsome. “He took something right before you got here, but he won’t eat.”
“I don’t wanna throw up,” Andrew explains.
“Oh, Annie.”
Andrew fidgets with the blanket in his lap, feeling like a child. He can’t remember the last time so many people fussed over him. Three people looking at him with such intensity has his fight or flight activated. Especially when everything is so raw.
Refusing to cry, Andrew squeezes his eyes shut tightly before burrowing under his blanket to hide. He’s a grown man for gods sake. This is absolutely ridiculous.
“I’m going to make soup,” Eden says before stalking out of the room without another word.
“He was really worried. He’s never seen you sick. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you sick. I know you prefer being alone—”
“No, he doesn’t,” Nicki interrupts.
Andrew glares at him, hoping to convey what a traitor he thinks Nicki is. Unfortunately, Nicki owns every word he says, winking at Andrew, the smug fucker. “Why the fuck would you ever think he wants to be alone when he’s sick?”
“Uh, because he said so,” Charlie frowns, rising to stand in front of Nicki.
“He wants to be taken care of. He wants comfort. You’re going to take care of him while I’m gone, or you’ll be sorry.”
“Fuck off, Nicholas.” Charlie’s jaw is clenched, whether in agitation at Nicki or Andrew is unclear.
Ignoring Charlie, Nicki moves towards Andrew and bends over the side of the couch to kiss his forehead before smoothing his hair back. For a man who is nothing but harsh words and no tact, he’s surprisingly gentle with Andrew in a way that makes his insides wobble.
Who knew handsome, grumpy, antagonistic Nicholas Whitmore could be so tender.
Certainly not Andrew, who never could’ve imagined where all this might lead.
He’d been so sure fake dating only ended up with real romance in his novels, but for the first time, real life is playing out better than one of his books.
“Princesses need their rest,” Nicki whispers quietly enough Charlie won’t overhear the endearment.
“I’ve rested enough,” Andrew protests automatically.
Nicki makes a disgruntled noise, the weight of his hand on Andrew’s head making his eyes close automatically. God, Andrew likes how it feels when Nicki does that. Whether that big, strong hand is at the back of his neck or smoothing through his hair, it settles something in him.
“Make sure he rests,” Nicki demands, the words directed at Charlie.
Andrew doesn’t open his eyes, keeping them shut so he can pretend he’s not being talked about.
“I took care of him before you. Pretty sure I can manage,” Charlie snarks.
There’s anger in his tone, the kind that only appears in his happy-go-lucky twin’s voice when he’s worried.
Andrew hates that he’s made everyone worry.
Suddenly unable to stomach being the focus of so much attention, he buries his face into the back of the couch much like he used to as a kid, as if no one can see him if he can’t see them.
The sound of Charlie and Nicki’s hushed voices drops as they take their conversation to the door. Minutes later, the couch dips behind him as Charlie lays beside him.
“Annie.”
Refusing to cry, Andrew shoves his face deeper into the couch. Everything is changing, with Nicki but with Charlie, too. The more his mask falls around Nicki, the harder it’s becoming to keep it up at all.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew whispers.
“Why are you always apologizing?” Charlie asks.
“I hate making you all worry. I don’t…I don’t want to be trouble.”
“Too fucking bad. Be more trouble.”
“No.”