Chapter 19
like a bucket of COLD water
Nick
I had stared at my watch more times since we had left that godforsaken party than I had since I’d first laid eyes on it after Candy had given it to me. I wore it for her, but she hadn’t noticed, and if she had, she hadn’t said anything.
I shifted, turning my head to watch Candy staring out the window of the town car, her hands in her lap atop her purse.
A fist curled around my heart as the darkness from the night sky only seemed to illuminate her blonde hair.
She captivated me every time my eyes landed on her.
She was my Candy cane, and the thought of not being with her, not growing old with her, like we vowed we would, was incomprehensible.
But shit changed. Flowers died. Children became estranged from their parents.
Illnesses tore families apart. There was no point in me dwelling over spilled milk.
It was pointless actually, and I was intolerant of pointless things.
Without thinking, I grabbed the back of my head and could no longer put up with the silence that filled the backseat like a heavy blanket. I slashed through it like it was the tire of one of my enemies. “I wouldn’t give too much thought to whatever Irina said to you.”
“Please, Nick. Don’t mistake my looking out the window as pondering anything more than our own party on Christmas Eve.” She turned to me, her eyes landing on me as she gave me an indiscreet once-over. Was my wife checking me out?
These moments where it felt like she was thawing, like she was beginning to give a damn about something besides materialistic crap and making Irina and all of our friends jealous, were becoming inconvenient considering the circumstances. “You’re about as subtle as a police siren.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Her gaze snapped to mine.
A smug grin crossed my face. “I haven’t been eye fucked in a long time.”
Crimson bloomed across her cheeks, and she swallowed thickly.
I wanted to trace my tongue along the column of her neck.
“That’s crude and inaccurate. I was not doing any such thing, and for you to accuse me of—” She let out an exaggerated sigh, catching her breath since she must have caught onto the fact that she was rattling on.
“You are allowed to think whatever you’d like. I have no control over your thoughts.”
She should only know the influence she had over my thoughts.
She fucking invaded them nearly every second I had a moment to think.
For the most part, she was all I thought about, but it was fruitless.
I straightened, my eyes transfixed on her hand as she lifted it and toyed with her diamond necklace.
“Martha’s Vineyard,” I said, my pulse ricocheting.
She cleared her throat, her eyes sparkling with the same vivaciousness she’d had when we’d gotten married.
I hadn’t thought I’d ever want for anything more because life had already given me everything I could have imagined—her.
I’d peaked. Life was unlikely to get much better.
Not this purgatory we were stuck in, but before this. Before things had gotten so screwed up.
“What about it?” she asked, her voice lowering.
Understanding was hidden in the depths of her tone, in the way she shifted in her seat, and went on touching the diamonds dangling from her ears.
It seemed like she was treating the jewelry as a life preserver, to not get sucked in too deep with the trip down memory lane.
Unfortunately, I wished she would fall hundreds of feet down the rabbit hole, and like a bucket of cold water, it would wake her the hell up.
Wishful thinking was for children, though, not grown fucking adults.
“That was where I’d gifted you the necklace you’re wearing.
It was Valentine’s Day, and your first time on the isl—”
She shot a hand back to her necklace, shutting her eyes. When they opened, nothing glistened in them. “It was a beautiful day. As with most things, though, it’s in the past.”
Right. The things that we had done together, the parts of us that had made up the foundation of a relationship I thought would last until the very end of time were painful.
I leaned forward, braced my arms on my knees, and scrubbed a hand over my mouth.
Thankfully we were on 60th Street, so we didn’t have much of a distance left to get home where we could get through our nightly routine.
Separately. Peacefully. And, like always, I would be done before her, get in bed, turn the opposite way, and pretend I was sleeping when she crawled under the covers nearly twenty minutes later.
“What I wouldn’t give for a frozen hot chocolate right now.” Candy’s tone was wistful, almost dreamlike as she peered out the window.
There wasn’t a single thing in this fucking world that she didn’t deserve to have, so if that was what she wanted, that was what she’d get. I extended my hand and waved a finger in the rearview mirror.
“What is the meaning of this?” Candy asked.
I ignored her, acknowledging the driver. “Stop the car. We’re going in for dessert.”
I personally couldn’t see the appeal. Mostly about her treat of choice, but who was I to judge? There wasn’t anything appealing about the experience to me, but Candy wanted it, and that was enough for me. In that way, I was a simple man.
Candy placed a hand on my arm, and a bolt of electricity shot through my body. “We don’t have to. It’s already late. We should probably—”
“We won’t be late getting back to the retirement home. I think we can stay out past our curfew,” I joked, shaking my head as the car came to a stop.
I went to open the door and get out when her low voice stopped me in my tracks. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. The corners of her lips lifted in a demure smile, one that had me by the balls. “For this and, well—”
“Stop. You don’t have to say anything more.” Because I don’t want to hear it.
Fuck. My. Life.
Way to have me by the balls and then twist them.
Pulling on the back of my neck, I got out of the car and walked around to her side, opening the door for her. “I don’t suppose this place offers hot hot chocolate, do they?”
She shrugged. “It’s a crime not to order frozen hot chocolate when you come here.” Laughter was obvious beneath her voice as she gracefully stepped out and started walking a step ahead.
I caught up to her. “Hmm. Orange and sharing, not two of my favorite things. So, I suppose I won’t be tangoing with the law tonight.”
She gave me a sideways glance. “Are we still talking about the restaurant’s signature drink?”
“What else would we be talking about?”
* * *
I regretted this wholeheartedly.
Frozen hot chocolate. Maybe I should send my hospital bill to the establishment. Frostbite was a very real thing. Between my tongue growing icicles on it and the loss of feeling in my damn fingers from merely holding it, I had no doubt I’d be missing my own bed tonight.
Fussing with the straw, I cursed under my breath.
“Who was the idiot who decided that this would be a good idea? They’re screwing with the seasons, and no one is upset about this?
” Cold shit was for summers, and Lord knew the ones in New York could be scorching hot.
I was a big proponent of the law against public indecency, but wearing anything besides boxers in our August summers especially was a form of torture.
I stared down at the drink like it was a poisonous snake about to bite me. It wasn’t too much of an exaggeration, considering if I didn’t take it slow, it might just land me in an early grave. The only papers Candy would be signing were ones to collect my life insurance and other assets.
Froze to death at the hands of a holiday treat. That was what my tombstone would read, making it the most pathetic way to die besides the story I’d heard of some dude getting crushed by a tree.
Candy hummed her approval of the drink as her lips closed around the straw, her cheeks hollowing as she took in more of the beverage as it started melting.
I couldn’t even call it an iced beverage from hell because that felt like an oxymoron.
Maybe there was a freezer or frozen lake where the worst, most sinful people went to perish in the underworld, like in the ninth circle of hell.
“It’s a classic,” she responded, her tongue darting out in a slow, steady way to lick any sweet remnants of the whipped cream she’d enjoyed from her lips.
There wasn’t anything there that I could see, but she was clearly not willing to leave a hint of it behind, needing to have her fill. It wasn’t that different from how I felt about her. I needed her the way I needed to take my very next breath to survive. “Only because people like you made it one.”
“Can you blame us? It’s iconic.”
“First it’s a classic, and now it’s iconic.”
“Both fit.” She dragged her finger through the condensation on the glass, her gaze following her movement, and her long, fake, red nails had my head spinning. I would wear the scars from those scraping down my back with pride.
My pulse jumped in my wrist and so did my cock.
I shifted in my seat and forced my gaze to swivel across the room, scanning the establishment.
Just because I didn’t come here often didn’t mean I didn’t know how important this restaurant was to the city.
Honestly, the decor wasn’t exactly my style, reminding me of someplace I would have come to when I had been a child.
Which was probably why so many people found it to be a comforting spot, considering the holidays were the time to feel idyllic.
It had an art deco theme, odd, colorful paintings hanging on the walls. Loud, three-dimensional art pieces jumping out at you on other walls. A part of me was actually surprised that Candy wanted to come here. It felt contrary to the demeanor she embodied like a second skin.
“You know, when I was younger, my friends and I would go to this retro diner and place bets on who we thought would pick the worst song to play on the jukebox.”
Candy’s eyes widened, and she nearly choked on the sip she had taken. “I can’t believe that. Why have I never heard this before?”
Because even married couples didn’t know everything about each other. I always thought one day we would, but we wouldn’t be one of the lucky ones, married long enough to swap all the stories. “We haven’t reached the point where we’re repeating stories.”
Her face fell before attempting a forced grin. “I suppose not.”
I pushed my glass and what was left of my drink and unwanted whipped cream away from me. “The diner closed up a while ago, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”
She nodded, pulling her straw up and down a few times before she finally stopped fidgeting and placed her hands on the table, her diamond tennis bracelet hitting it with a clank. “What did Nick, the kid, order from this diner?”
“Peanut butter and banana milkshakes.”
Her face scrunched up, her nose twitching slightly as she obviously held in a laugh.
“What?” I sat back, my heart racing at the sight of her…loosening up. She was happy, and it was written all over her face, once you looked past the scrunch.
Glancing up, she held up a finger. “Hold on. I’m trying to picture you drinking that with change on the table for your next jukebox pick.”
Who knew Candy had a screwed-up sense of humor? “Are you done now?”
She laughed, her eyes settling on me as tears prickled in them. Tears of joy, I hoped. Meanwhile, it felt like someone wouldn’t stop pounding on my chest, seeing how much I could take before I succumbed and finally gave in.
“Yes, I am. Thank you for that,” she said.
I laughed, shaking my head. “Anytime.”
“We should probably get going,” she told me warily.
“Is that what you want?” I wasn’t sure I did, not that she’d asked me.
Her lips pursed. It was a shame that was all I was going to get—pursed lips. I might’ve preferred eyebrows that flew up, creating a dramatic arc. Anything to signal her interest in the evening not ending. Then, she spoke. “This was a lovely outing, Nick, and I appreciate you taking me here, but—”
She was predictable, so I finished the sentence for her. “It’s over,” I supplied, bringing my thumb to my ring finger, toying with my wedding band not for the first time since I’d put it back on.
If nothing else, I had to commend Candy for her excellent ability in knowing when to shut down and pretend as though nothing had transpired.