Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
NICOLE
I obviously hadn’t thought this situation through when I invited Atticus here. There was literally nowhere for him to sleep. I’d somehow thought the living room would be an option. But I’d underestimated how tiny that loveseat was. His long legs wouldn’t fit.
“You can sleep in the bed,” I told him. “I’ll take the loveseat in the living room.”
He laughed. “You might be smaller than me, Nicole, but no adult can comfortably sleep on that thing, not even you.”
“Well, what do you suggest, then?” I put my hands on my hips.
He scratched his chin. “I don’t know yet. I don’t have a solution. I’ll sleep on the floor in the living room for tonight, though.”
Wait. That won’t work. Neither of us could sleep in the living room. “You can’t,” I countered.
“Why not?”
“The living room is right outside Mimi’s bedroom. If she hears one of us out here, don’t you think she’ll wonder why we aren’t sleeping together?”
He grimaced. “I hadn’t thought of that. Shit.”
“But you especially can’t sleep in the living room. You’ll keep her up with your snoring.”
“My snoring is not that bad. I only do it once in a while, mostly when I drink a lot. And I haven’t had more than three drinks in one sitting in…years.”
Interesting . A three-drink maximum certainly hadn’t existed when we were together. “Okay, but when you do snore, it’s bad,” I told him. “Do you not remember the time you woke up the Mackey’s toddler who was sleeping in the apartment next door?”
“She was a light sleeper.” He chuckled.
“She told her parents she thought there was a bear in her room.”
“Dramatic.”
“A grizzly bear…” I laughed.
Atticus laughed, too. I’d forgotten how much I missed the sound of his laughter.
He went to fetch his suitcase and rolled it into the bedroom. “Anyway, I need to take a shower,” he said as he unzipped it. “It’s been a long day. We’ll figure it out.”
We’ll figure it out wasn’t a solution.
Atticus yawned and stretched. His shirt rode up a little, showcasing the ink on his torso, making me all too aware of the gorgeous body I’d craved every day for the years we’d been apart—a body that no longer belonged to me, but to the world.
“Be back,” he said.
I managed a nod. Take all the time you need. So I can breathe.
After Atticus disappeared down the hall into the bathroom, I sat on the bed and let out a long exhale. It was the first moment of peace I’d had since he’d gone for that walk before dinner. But only a few minutes went by before I yearned for his return. I knew this experience would be difficult, but I’d underestimated this painful longing.
Honestly, how did that man keep getting more handsome with age? When we’d divorced, Atticus was thirty-one. At thirty- four now, he was hotter than ever. He looked younger than his age despite the few gray hairs around his ears that probably only I noticed. Even those were damn sexy. Whenever I found myself thinking this way about him, I promptly reminded myself of all of the women he’d been with since our divorce. I’d heard stories from a friend who worked on a Delirious Jones tour, and there was plenty of other evidence as well. That snapped me back to reality real fast—at least for a moment. I had no right to be jealous—we weren’t together when any of it happened—yet it still hurt like a motherfucker.
The second Atticus came out of the bathroom, though, I was once again reminded how futile it was to try to forget my attraction to him. White towel hung over his neck, his sculpted chest glistened as beads of water traveled slowly down his torso to his carved V and into the tempting abyss beneath his shorts. The sad fact was, my ex-husband, Atticus Marchetti, would always be my dream man physically. He would always be the one I compared all others to. No amount of time apart from him had changed that.
Atticus ran the towel through his wet hair. “Did you come up with a magical solution to our sleeping issue?”
I stared up at the ceiling to keep from looking at him. “Yes. I plan to disappear into thin air, so we don’t have to deal with it at all.”
“Wouldn’t that be an interesting superpower? I could’ve used it that night I ran into you and Julian. Except I still would’ve punched him. Just would’ve disappeared right when the cops came.” He winked.
I really wished he hadn’t brought up Julian. But since he did… “It wasn’t necessary for you to go after him like that.”
He glared. “Trust me, it was.”
“You don’t see me going after…” I tilted my head. “What’s her name…Kylie?” A rush of jealousy shot through me. Of all the women I knew Atticus had been with, she seemed to be a regular in his life—at least from what I could surmise from photos taken whenever he was home in L.A.
“ Riley ,” he corrected. “And I wouldn’t care if you did go after her. In fact, I’d pop some popcorn and watch that shit.”
I rolled my eyes.
He tossed the towel onto a chair in the corner. “But you see…” He walked toward me, causing my skin to prickle. “There are some key differences between the two situations. Riley wasn’t your friend at one time, like Julian was to me. She’s also not even my girlfriend.”
I wasn’t going to touch the subject of Julian being one of Atticus’s former friends, so I focused on the second part of his statement. “Why do you waste her time, then, if she’s not your girlfriend?”
“We have an understanding. She and I hang out when I’m in town, but it’s not monogamous.”
“Oh, that’s right, you’re incapable of that now. If I had a nickel for every text someone sent me about your antics on the road.” My cheeks burned.
His ears turned red. “Really, Nicole? You wanna go there? I don’t know what anything I do as a single man has to do with us . Because I never cheated on you. And you know it.”
I did know it. I also knew Atticus had been a good husband and that at one time, we’d been very much in love. That’s why it was so hard to believe we’d landed in this place—up until today, we’d been virtual strangers for the past few years. Too much damage had been done, though, to ever go back. As much as I still wanted to jump into his arms at times, I couldn’t let my heart go there. I’d been working so hard to try to get over him. But I needed to chill on the guilt pushing. Because the demise of our relationship was just as much my fault as his. We’d burned it down together.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered with a knot in my throat. “Let’s just go to sleep. It’s been a long day.”
His eyes seared into mine for a few seconds before he reached for one of the extra pillows on the bed and dropped it on the floor.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m setting up on the floor.”
The room consisted of one full-sized bed and a small chair in the corner. The bed took up almost the entire room.
“There’s barely enough space for you on the floor.”
Atticus ignored my concern. “I found a blanket in the hall closet. I’ll be good.”
A moment later, I realized that if I allowed him to sleep on the floor, it might give him the impression that I couldn’t trust myself around him. Wouldn’t it be better not to make such a big deal about it? After all, if I could sleep platonically with Atticus, I could do anything . Maybe sharing the bed was exactly what I needed to get over him once and for all. Sort of like exposure therapy.
“I think you should sleep in the bed,” I blurted before I could think any more.
Atticus shook his head. “I told you. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”
“That’s not what I mean.” I paused. “I think we should share the bed.”
His eyes widened. “You smoke something while I was in the shower?”
“No.” I laughed nervously. “I just think we’re two grown adults, and there’s no reason we can’t lie on the same hump of foam.”
“ You said the word hump , not me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Can you be serious?”
His smile faded. “Look, if you’re cool with that, I am, too. I sure as hell wasn’t gonna be the one to suggest it, though.”
“I am fine with it.” I blew a breath up into my hair, wondering if he could sense my nerves.
“Okay, then. Bed sounds good.” Atticus took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
After an awkward moment of silence, I grabbed my stuff and went to the bathroom to take my own shower. And boy, was it needed. I planned to take my sweet time, hoping I’d get lucky and he’d be asleep when I returned.
The hot water helped calm me at first. But then my nerves kicked in again as the reality of the situation began to register. Two weeks of sleeping in the same bed with Atticus every night but not being able to touch him would be absolute torture.
When I returned to the room, Atticus was already in bed and seemed to be out like a light. From the sound of his breathing, I assumed he was asleep. He’d had an early flight, along with the stress of the situation. I knew this was no easier for him than it was for me.
I slid under the covers next to him, immediately registering the warmth of his body. I lay flat on my back, careful not to veer too close to him. But after a couple of minutes of staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t relax. I turned toward him, watching the rise and fall of his breaths as he slept soundly on his stomach. It seemed like just yesterday that this had been my norm, sleeping next to the man I loved. This man. But so much was different now. It was easy to pretend for a second, though, that I was back in that place of safety, the memories all too close for comfort, his familiar scent a taunting pull toward nostalgia.
As my body stirred, it was hard to remember why I’d ever thought I could handle sleeping next to him.
***
Atticus’s groggy voice startled me as he entered the kitchen the next morning. “You woke me up last night.”
I turned to find his sexy abs staring me in the face. Of course he had to be shirtless, his beautiful hair tousled from sleep. I itched to run my hand through it, to taste his full lips just one more time.
I cleared my throat. “Excuse me?”
“You were talking in your sleep again.”
My stomach dropped. “What was I saying?”
Atticus smirked. “I’d repeat it, but I don’t want to embarrass you.”
I did occasionally talk in my sleep, mostly when I was stressed. The problem was, I had no way of knowing whether he was telling the truth. This was a game Atticus used to play with me. There were times when I actually had talked in my sleep; he’d recorded me to prove it. But he’d also occasionally told me I was saying crazy things when I wasn’t. And later, he’d admit he’d just been messing with me. I didn’t know what to believe now.
“I’m gonna choose to believe you’re lying and go on with my day.”
“You do that, Nicole.” He grinned mischievously. “You do that.”
But while Atticus brewed some coffee, an unsettled feeling came over me. I’d had a lot of inappropriate thoughts swirling through my head while watching him sleep last night. It was conceivable that some of those might’ve come out in my dreams.
Atticus handed me a steaming cup of joe. “Here you go.” He winked. “Be careful. It’s smoking hot.”
Smoking hot. Did I call him that in my sleep? The mindfuck continues… “Thank you.” I took a sip and realized it was exactly the way I liked my coffee. Medium cream with one sugar. Despite everything, he’d remembered. I wished that fact didn’t hurt.
He crossed his arms, his stare incendiary as he watched me drink it. “What’s on the agenda today?” he finally asked.
I set my mug on the counter. “When Mimi wakes up, we need to try to get her out of bed and put her in a chair to sit, even for just a little bit.”
“Why does she hate sitting so much?”
“It hurts her legs and back, but the PT says she has to get out of bed to prevent bedsores and to improve her circulation. So, we pretty much have to force her.”
He nodded. “Whatever it takes, we’ll get her sitting.”
I was so lucky to have Atticus here with me. Lifting Mimi alone would’ve been next to impossible.
When he and I wheeled the chair into Mimi’s room a little while later, a look of fear crossed her face. “You’re not gonna make me sit, are you?”
Atticus leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Afraid so, beautiful. But I promise you don’t have to sit for long. I hope you trust that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
Those words stung. I could’ve sworn Atticus had promised me the same thing once.
Mimi winced as Atticus lifted her off the bed, as if she were light as a feather. I could never have lifted her myself.
I steadied the wheelchair. “Mimi, hold on to Atticus. You’ll be fine. I’m right here to receive you.”
He set her down gently in the chair.
She wailed in pain. “Ow!”
“I know it hurts, but you’re doing the damn thing, Mimi. I’m proud of you.” Atticus grabbed a pillow and placed it behind her back. He turned to me. “Can you grab another pillow from the living room? Just any of the ones on the sofa.”
“Sure.” I ran to find one.
When I returned with it, he placed it between her legs.
After about a minute, she stopped complaining of pain.
He patted her thigh. “Better?”
Despite the lingering look of pain on my grandmother’s face, she nodded.
“How did you know to do that with the pillows?” I asked him.
“I did some googling after you told me we were gonna have her sit. The pillow between her knees helps keep her spine aligned. That eases pressure on the joints. I ordered a foam leg wedge, which should work even better, but it won’t be here until tomorrow.”
I nodded, impressed that he was able to learn all that so fast this morning. But Atticus always stepped into action when you needed him. He was the person people called when they were in a bind. That take-charge quality was one of the many things I loved about him.
“We have to turn her every few hours in bed, too,” he said. “You know that, right?”
“That I did know, yes. Louise explained that before she left.”
He smiled. As tense as things were, I once again felt a wave of gratitude for not having to do this alone.
The feeling of appreciation was short-lived, however, when Mimi looked between us and asked, “So…when are you two gonna make me a great-grandma?”