21. Rosie
Chapter 21
Rosie
T art grapefruit sprinkled with salt wafts on a tropical breeze. I suck in Nash’s soothing scent, practically huffing him. His body is so warm. If I close my eyes, maybe I can let his heat and purr lull me into forgetting that I just made a total ass of myself by sobbing on his lap.
As per usual, the universe is not on the side of saving my dignity. The nurse takes that moment to step inside, along with two other staff members.I sit up and use the gaping sleeve of Nash’s sweatshirt to wipe my face. I’m already this far gone; there’s no recovering.
“We’re going to get her set up in a room upstairs. They’ll confirm with a scan, but expect them to schedule her for surgery in the morning,” the nurse explains.
The other staff members get my grandmother ready for transport, but she doesn’t stir. Beat and embarrassed, not to mention worried and freaked out, I awkwardly pull myself from Nash’s lap to follow.
The nurse pauses, her kind eyes full of sympathy. “Visiting hours are over upstairs. Go home and get some rest, and you can be here at eight when they open again.”
I nod and wipe a new errant tear. I know Grandma Lily’s going to be fine. Surgery at her age is scary, but my grandma is a badass who’s fighting bond sickness. If she can do that, she can do anything. I can’t keep the worry from bubbling up anyway.
Before I can spiral too far into the pit of doom, Nash’s warm palm skirts my back. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
Nash’s scent is crisp with sea salt tonight, but even with the overly acidic notes, it makes me so homesick. It staves off the worst of the panic, keeping me in the moment. It’s like his scent is the essence of comfort, etched into my DNA to mean home.
How fucked is that? I try to push down the realization of that little landmine. Cognitive dissonance is my only survival tool at the moment.
But as he leads me out of the hospital and toward the truck, my mind refuses to check out. I grew up on the omega fairytale of fated mates and packs—like, fully drank the punch.
My mother, aunt, and grandmother all mated their scent matches. I know it’s possible for betas too, but I ripped apart that dream the same way I did my childhood nest.
Does it even matter that his scent might mean what I think it does? I tried on Cinderella’s fit once. That shit was too tight. I don’t belong in that glittery world. I’m much better off making it on my own.
* * *
Nash’s pack did their best to drain the water and clean up the mess. Even with all their help, there is major damage. His pack had already gone home by the time he brought me back from the hospital, thank goodness.
It’s easier to think of them as Nash’s pack and not Dane Daniels and his insanely hot omega. This night has already been rough, and I can’t imagine adding being around those two to the list. Dealing with only Nash is enough, thank you very much.
And watching him work on the house? Ovary explosion.
Nash doesn’t have a toolbelt at the moment, but my mind has no problem helping the fantasy along as he bends down. The fact that Nash grew up to have a job with a need for a tool belt seems excessive.
Time has been overly kind to him. Some things are still the same. His hair curls around his ears, and the baseball cap he always wore is in place. His tattoos are similar too, only now both sleeves are finished.
But he’s bigger than he was at eighteen. He’s absolutely a brick shithouse, with that typical alpha physique of tall and broad. More than a decade later, though, he’s softer. Grown-up Nash looks cuddly. And hot. Really, really hot. He’s thick, tatted, bearded alpha yumminess.
He uses his phone’s flashlight to peer up at the ceiling, then snaps a picture, the movement making his forearm muscles ripple.
I didn’t know forearms could make me wet, so that’s interesting.
“We’ve got to replace the ceiling in here,” he says. He’s so serious that he’s missed the absolutely inappropriate way I’ve been perving on him. “Mind if I go upstairs. That’s where it started, and I need to see what we’re looking at.”
“Be my guest,” I half squeak, the absolute picture of calm and cool.
He’s already inspected the outside and my grandma’s bathroom while I’ve been conducting a very thorough study of my own.His lips twitch in amusement, and I know he’s busted me. Mortification, how I wish I didn’t know you so well.
I follow him, cheeks flaming as we go upstairs. This view does nothing to distract me from his broad back or his ass, and I chide myself for having such a dirty mind. The man is trying to help me, for goodness' sake.
“Which way?” he asks, that same smug amusement in his tone.
“There,” I say, pointing down the hall.
He nods and heads straight for my room as I scramble behind him, trying to remember if I need to hide anything incriminating.
Please let my vibrator be tucked into the nightstand.
Nash doesn’t pay much attention, heading straight to my bathroom. Except I already know what he’s about to find. The rug under my bed is soaked, that’s how much water seeped out of the bathroom.
Fuckity, fuck, fuck. I don’t want to think about how much this is going to cost.
“The pipe is busted, and it’s copper. That means bringing it up to code.” Nash keeps talking, but I can barely hear him as I survey the damage. The first time I saw it, I was in crisis and trying to figure out how to shut off the water. My bedroom isn’t awful, though I need to cart everything out and get things dry. It’s the closet on the other side of the bathroom, however, that’s the total disaster.
Nash pops his head inside the closet and winces. “Yeah, this closet wall shares the backside of the shower. I’ll get some industrial dryers in here tomorrow, and after a round in the laundry, most of your stuff will be okay.”
The sheer amount of work that’s needed to fix this is overwhelming. How will I coordinate this, take care of Grandma at the hospital, and work? I don’t know the first thing about fixing houses. Not to mention the cost of all this is about to suck. Insurance will cover some of it, and Grandma has some funds tucked away from her pack, but this is extensive damage.
Nash’s homey scent hits me, then I’m wrapped into a hug. He smells like comfort, and I lean into his strength.
“We’ve got this. I promise,” he says, his purr sparking from his chest.
The deep, resonant sound turns my limbs boneless, so my protest comes out without teeth. “You just moved here. Your pack has their own shit to handle.”
I cherry-top my half-assed protest by rubbing my cheek into his chest. I can’t help it. I want to bathe in the ocean of his scent, and float on his lulling purr. He’s like my own brand of muscle relaxer, draining the strain from my body.
After behaving like a too-frisky cat, I pull back. “Thank you, but?—”
The look on his face cuts me off. He’s staring at me with the same look from all those years ago. It’s hot and sharp, so sharp it cuts through all the bullshit and flays me wide open.
The air is dense between us, charged with things that feel dark and wild but necessary. My neck tilts in invitation. His big palm cups me there, a brand on my skin that feels supercharged.
“We were cheated out of what should have been our first kiss. Maybe that means you’ll let me have a shot at a redo?” he asks, his voice husky.
“Woah, Casanova.” I freeze, pulling back. This is too real. Too much. How can we ever have a redo? “Slow down. I need you to fix my pipes. Not?—”
“Football girl, I have no problem laying pipe,” he says smugly, the innuendo so thick that my clit thinks it’s an invitation.
“I walked into that,” I admit, trying to take another step from his hold. It brings my back against the soggy wall.
He chuckles. “Yeah, you have a tendency to do that. If you let it, it could be one of my favorite things.”
“You’re a shameless flirt,” I scold.
“With you? Always.” He gives me a full body once-over that makes my nipples pebble and my belly warm. “You look good. I’m glad to see it. I never meant for that night to end like it did?—"
“No. That night wasn’t on you. I should be thanking you for making sure I got to the hospital and for sticking around. I couldn’t—" I choke on my words and start again, looking away from the intensity of his gaze while I errantly scratch my chest through his sweatshirt. I need to get this out, then maybe we won’t have to do this again. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to forget that night. I’ve moved on.”
I sidestep him, but he gently clasps my arm until I look back at his searing gaze. “Yeah, all right, Rosie-girl. We can move on.”
Nodding, I try to convince myself I can do this. “Good. Now that that’s settled, maybe you could tell me how to fix the whole flood situation I’ve got going on?”
He gives me that same rueful smile I recognize from the roof so long ago, only now it’s framed by a beard.
That’s when I realize what I just said. Swallow me whole. “Don’t say it!”
His hand slips around my waist, and he steps closer. The heat in his warm brown eyes is so intense that I’m afraid I’ll catch fire. “But I’d love to tell you about what I plan to do to help out with your wetness situation.”
I close my eyes, my cheeks flaming. “I told you not to say it.”
“Yeah, well, I have a feeling I’m gonna have a hard time resisting anything when it comes to you,” he says gruffly.
I’ve been looking for Nash in every person I’ve ever gone home with, desperate to find that spark without all the burning and heartache of that awful night. It’s never led anywhere good, and I don’t imagine trying the original will do much good either.
But damn, I don’t know if I have the willpower to resist him.