Chapter 16 Nick
NICK
“Come on, let’s eat. My mom said she made you your favorite apple pie,” I said, my voice low as I leaned in.
“She did?” Faye’s whole face lit up, her excitement making her eyes shine like stars.
“Yup. But we’ve gotta survive real food before we get to dessert,” I said, and tapped her nose with the tip of my finger. She giggled, and for a second, my heart ached—she reminded me so much of my sister at that age. Pure. Untouched by all the shit the world throws at you.
“Okay!” she chirped and skipped off toward the table. When I straightened, I saw Melanie across the room, watching me. Her eyes were unreadable, but her lips were parted ever so slightly, like she’d forgotten to finish a thought.
I moved toward her like I couldn’t stay away.
I slid into the seat beside her, resting my hand on her thigh beneath the table. Her body went rigid under my touch, but her smile stayed perfectly in place, like it had been glued on. I pressed my palm into her just a bit more. Possessive. Anchoring.
Colt’s voice broke through. “Okay, so how did this all happen? Because when you two first met, I swear I thought you were ready to throw punches, not wedding vows.”
Abigail didn’t miss a beat. “I’m not surprised. You could feel it. They were fire from the beginning.”
“Oh, totally,” my sister chimed in with a mouth full of stuffing. “They were always fighting at the restaurant. I’m relieved he married someone with style, because his wardrobe is tragic.”
“I have style,” I said, shooting her a look.
She rolled her eyes. “Jeans and a T-shirt don’t count, caveman.”
Since flipping her off wasn’t exactly kid-friendly, I stuck my tongue out at her. She snorted and stabbed her turkey through the mashed potatoes.
“Real mature,” she muttered, amused.
I turned back to Colt, my hand still anchored on Melanie’s thigh. “It’s called passion,” I said, stabbing my fork into the green beans like they’d personally offended me. “Something you should get familiar with.”
“You knew?” Melanie asked, turning her eyes on Abigail. Her voice had a curious edge to it, but there was something deeper, searching.
Abigail wiped her mouth, then nodded. “I had a feeling. The way you looked when you said he was coming to Vegas… it was different. And let’s be honest—when people act like they hate each other that much, it’s usually because they’re terrified of how much they feel.”
She glanced at Colt, and the air shifted, like there was something old and unfinished lingering between them.
Melanie laughed, nervous and airy. “Yeah… we’ve got that love-hate thing going.”
She laid her hand over mine beneath the table, and I immediately wove our fingers together. Her skin was soft, but the tension between us was anything but. I brought her hand to my lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it—slow, deliberate.
Electricity.
It hit me hard. My breath stalled. Her eyes flew up to mine and locked, and for a moment, the room disappeared. We looked at each other like two people trying to memorize the stars—wide open and a little undone.
Her lips parted like she might say something—or maybe just to breathe. And all I could think about was how good they’d look wrapped around my cock.
“So what, you fell in love over a long weekend in Vegas?” Colt asked, deadpan as he chewed his food, eyes sharp on me.
He wasn’t buying it. Colt had always been able to read me.
He was more brother than friend—we grew up at each other’s houses.
My mom was always working. Nora took me and my sister in like one of her own.
Between her nursing shifts and my mom’s back-to-back gigs at the bar and cleaning houses, it was Colt’s family who gave me any sense of normal.
“Pretty much,” I said with a smirk. “But it started earlier. Back at Roxie’s.”
Melanie gave me a sideways glare and swatted my arm. “You did not save me.”
“Sure I did,” I said, letting my voice drop to that low, teasing register that always made her squirm.
“Just admit it princess—I was your knight in shining armor. You were waiting for someone like me, and when I showed up, you couldn’t resist.” I winked, and something in her body loosened.
Just a fraction, but I felt it. That slight melt. That surrender.
She was playing her part well—flirty, enamored, and convincing. But beneath all the pretending, something real was cracking through. And if I wasn’t careful, I would lose control of this whole game.
I watched my mom closely as I recited the story Melanie and I rehearsed.
Her face was unreadable at first, but something in her softened with every detail.
Her eyes lingered on Melanie a little longer.
Her jaw unclenched. Maybe she was starting to buy it—perhaps she was letting herself picture Melanie as part of the family.
I sure as hell hoped so.
Mom and I never talked about girls. Never spoke about anything soft or sentimental.
Growing up, she was always too busy scraping together enough to keep the lights on.
She never asked what kind of woman I saw myself ending up with—and honestly, I didn’t know how to answer that anyway.
I never had a type. In high school, I dated anyone who’d have me.
In the military, I’d been with women from every corner of the world.
Different shades, different accents, different bodies—but all of them just temporary warmth, a way to forget. No strings. No depth.
So showing up with a blonde bombshell—stacked, blue-eyed, and confident—wasn’t exactly outside the realm of possibility. At least, not on the surface.
But Melanie… she was different. She didn’t just look good on my arm—she challenged me.
Called me on my bullshit. Didn’t melt under the weight of my mood or let me coast on charm.
She stared me down, sharp and stubborn, and God help me, I liked it.
She didn’t give me an inch—and that made me want to give her everything.
If I ever saw myself getting married, it wasn’t to someone who worshipped the ground I walked on. It’d be someone who made me work for every goddamn step toward her. Someone who’d take my scars, my silence, and still reach for my hand.
And speaking of scars…
The ones on my hands and forearms weren’t just stories—they were reminders. Burned into me the night I pulled Mike—our colonel, our team lead—out of that explosion. People in town talk about it like I was some kind of hero. They look at me like I walked through hell and came out clean.
But they don’t talk about Chaos.
My dog. My partner. My best damn friend.
He went in with me and didn’t come back out.
I can still hear his claws on concrete, the low rumble of his growl, the way his ears twitched even in sleep. He was trained for war but still had this goofy loyalty that made the hardest days bearable. That night, I had to choose. Save Mike… or watch them both die.
So I saved the man. And lost the one soul that had never let me down.
People see the hero—the survivor.
They don’t see the man who couldn’t save his dog.
And as I sat there with my hand still on Melanie’s thigh, her fingers laced in mine like it meant something, I couldn’t help but feel like I was standing in that fire all over again—surrounded by people who thought they knew me, while the only thing that ever really did was long gone.
“Are you sure you’re not a Killian boy?” Cliff says as he stuffs his face with turkey and mashed potatoes. "Sounds like something I would do. I did get married in Vegas once.”
“Oh geez, let's not jinx it, Cliff,” Nora says, peering over at him but returning her attention to me and Melanie.
“I’m just so thrilled for you two. And how cute would it be if you guys got pregnant, and then the baby could have a friend growing up just like you boys did.” Nora says
Mel coughed, and I looked over and saw her reach for her glass of water.
“Wrong pipe,” she cleared her throat again, “And I don’t know about that. We haven’t discussed children.” Mel says with a hint of nervousness behind her tone.
“Ya, Nora, it’s a little soon for that. Besides, I want her all to myself for a few years, before we have a baby.” I said.
Mel and I smile at each other, and I notice how her posture slumps over a little, leaning closer to me. Did I have that effect on her, or was that part of the act?
“I may be dead before you give me grandchildren.” My mom says and reluctantly, I avert my gaze to hers. “Mom, stop you act like you are so old.”
“You are already thirty-two, son.”
“That’s the good thing about having a hot young wife,” I say, scooting Mel’s chair closer to me so I can bring her into my chest. “We have lots of time to practice baby making.” I waggle my eyebrows down at her, and she swats at my chest, pushing herself away from me.
“Nick, children,” Abigail says.
She was doing a great job pretending to be flustered. An image of Melanie with a swollen belly, carrying my baby, flashed to mind, and I blinked the thought away.
“I don’t have much time. And now that you are married, you must give your wife children. You do want children, Mel, Ya?” My mom’s lips purse together, and she stares intently at her. “And I hope you don’t believe in birth control.”
Mel starts to speak, but she stumbles over her words. A gleam of sweat appears on her forehead, and she looks like she is about to have a panic attack.
“What’s birth control for? To control the babies? Did you use birth control on me?” Bodie peered up at his dad.
“See, Mom, look what you started,” I said, returning my attention back to my food.
“Mi stai dicendo che hai sposato una donna che non crede in Dio?” Are you telling me you married a woman who doesn't want children and doesn’t believe in God?
“Mom, not right now,” I said, feeling my jaw muscles clench as I held my fork in place.
“Beh, viene dalla California. Come fai a sapere se non è una di quelle liberali radicali?” Well, she is from California. How do you know if she’s not one of those radical liberals?”