14. Neesha
NEESHA
I last about thirty minutes. That’s how long I manage to stay in my own apartment, pacing back and forth, checking the clock, heating up soup, looking through the window, and rooting through my freezer for more frozen vegetables.
What if his ribs are actually broken? What if he needs something in the middle of the night and can’t get to it? I’ve seen how athletes can push themselves past the point of safety. My mom was the same way—insisting she felt fine, even when she was in terrible pain.
That could be why I’m so worried—I know what it’s like to take care of someone and feel helpless to ease their pain.
As much as I’d like to shut Lucian out, I can’t do that. Not when I’m right next door and can see him through the window. Instead of sleeping in his bedroom, he’s lounging on his couch directly in my view, looking pathetic and miserable.
Henry heads toward the door and sits in front of it, like he’s ready to head back to Lucian’s whenever I am.
I let out a sigh of defeat. “This is ridiculous. I’m just being a good neighbor,” I reason, gathering up a container of chicken soup, two bags of frozen vegetables (not peas, thank goodness), an extra pillow, and a blanket. “He’d do the same for me. It doesn’t mean I have feelings for him.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I show up at Lucian’s door again, determined to camp out in his living room—as far away as possible from his bedroom. No matter how many red flags my heart is waving, this is only about his welfare.
Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
“You brought the frozen vegetables,” he notes when he opens the door. “Thanks for remembering.” Lucian holds out his hand, waiting on me to pass them over, before his eyes graze over the rest of my things. “Are we making a pillow fort tonight?”
“No,” I say, suddenly feeling like an idiot for showing up without at least asking if he wanted me here. “I’ve decided to stay the night…in case you need anything.”
His eyebrows rise. “Here?”
“On your couch,” I clarify quickly, clearing my throat. “While you sleep in your bedroom. But I’m only doing it to make sure you don’t die in your sleep or something equally concerning. I know you hockey players like to think you’re invincible, but you’re not.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he says.
“I know I don’t have to. But…I want to. After Mom’s surgery, I didn’t realize how bad things were until it was too late. I don’t ever want to make that mistake again.”
“I’m sorry, Neesha. That must’ve been?—”
“Yeah, it was. And I realize you’re not her. But I’d rather sit up all night at your house than wonder if I could’ve done more. Mom always said there was something healing about having someone close, about not letting people suffer alone.”
He nods silently, taking this all in before he steps aside. I brush past him, trying not to notice his bruised ribs, since he still hasn’t put a shirt on.
“Did you eat?” I ask, heading straight for the kitchen.
“When you knocked, I was trying to decide if I wanted to make the effort to get off the couch and warm something up. ”
“And you didn’t text me?” I shake my head, handing him some frozen green beans. “Put this on your ribs. I’ll heat up the soup.”
He settles onto a stool, using the beans as an ice pack as I warm up soup in his microwave. I feel his eyes on me, silently watching my every move. It’s unnerving how comfortable this feels, being in his space, taking care of him, like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
“You know,” he says, “this is not how I imagined you back in my house tonight.”
“Oh? And how did you imagine it?” I ask, stirring the soup.
“Less cooking and more of you playing nurse.”
I nearly drop the spoon in my hand. Soup splatters across the counter.
“Sorry.” He smirks, though his expression is anything but apologetic. “Only for practice, of course.”
“Your pain is making you delusional.” I set the bowl in front of him, along with some crackers I found in his pantry. As he eats, I arrange my pillow and blanket on the couch.
“You really don’t have to stay,” he says as he polishes off the soup. “I could text you if I need help.”
I rest my hands on my hips. “And if you drop your phone? Or fall? There are too many variables.”
He shakes his head. “I think you’ve watched too many episodes of ER .”
“Probably.” I shrug. “But I also know that you were considering starving, rather than getting off the couch. So I think it’s clear who needs help.”
“Do I really look like I’m starving?” He points to the muscles that flex slightly every time he moves. “I can survive for a night.”
I glance away, trying to avoid seeing him as anything more than a neighbor. “I know, but I want to make sure you’re okay. As your neighbor…and friend.”
Our eyes catch for a moment and my stomach flips. I can’t help the way my body reacts whenever he holds my gaze—like a little popper shooting confetti inside me.
“You should probably go to bed,” I say, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.
“You’re right.” He heads to his bedroom, where I already know Henry has taken up residence on his duvet.
While he gets ready in the bathroom, I clean up the kitchen and leave two painkillers and a glass of water on his nightstand in case he wakes up in the middle of the night.
When he comes out, he moves to the bed, wincing with each step before he lowers himself down with a sharp intake of breath.
“Can I help? Or get you anything?” I ask, suddenly feeling useless to make him feel better.
“No,” he says, his face softening when he looks up at me from the bed. When I turn to go, he catches my hand. “Thank you, Neesha. For everything.” He looks sleepy and handsome, and it takes all my willpower not to brush away that stray wisp of hair that’s fallen over his forehead.
“That’s what neighbors are for, right?”
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I forget all the reasons I should keep my distance. It’s not just because he’s gorgeous; he’s also generous and kind and doesn’t deserve to be alone when he’s in pain like this.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, studying me in that intense way that makes my stomach flip.
“The pain meds are definitely affecting your head,” I say as I tuck the blankets over his shoulders. My hair is in a messy bun and I’m wearing a Falling for Books t-shirt and flannel pajama pants—definitely not pretty, at least by most people’s standards.
“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.” I head toward the door and turn off his lights.
“Neesha?” he murmurs in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“Everything hurts right now,” he murmurs, his voice ragged. “So I was wondering…if you could stay until I fall asleep? ”
I freeze, my heart in my throat. “Stay?” Being this close to him will certainly not help the attraction I’m already desperately fighting.
“Sit next to me…till I’m asleep,” he pleads. “I need something to distract me.”
I know I shouldn’t do this but I’d rather break my own heart than watch him fall apart. I ease onto the bed, my palm resting lightly on his arm, just to let him know I’m here. But when I start to pull away, his hand closes over mine—as if to say stay, right here, with me .
“I meant what I said,” he whispers. “You really are beautiful.”
I quietly absorb his words. After Nate cheated on me, I felt so unlovable, like there was something wrong with me.
And now here I am with Lucian, who’s making me feel like I’m whole again, like there’s nothing wrong with me after all.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I sit there, listening to the rain tapping against the window, and realize how easy it would be to fall for him.
I’m literally in a bed with the one type of person I swore not to fall for. Emmy would be laughing her head off right now if she knew.
The house is quiet except for the occasional rustle of the wind outside and the soft sound of Lucian’s breathing as he falls asleep.
I stare at the ceiling, wondering how my life got so complicated so quickly.
One minute, I was swearing off all hockey players forever; the next, I’m patching up Lucian, worrying about him like we’re more than neighbors, more than whatever this practice dating thing is supposed to be.
Because this doesn’t feel like pretend anymore—not when he asked me to stay and make him feel better.
The irony isn’t lost on me: The man who prides himself on fixing things is the one who’s broken right now. And despite my best efforts to keep my walls intact, I can’t ignore the desire to fix him in return.
Just for tonight. Until I know he’s okay.
Then we can go back to just neighbors.