37. NICO
37
NICO
I rub my fingertips over my eyelids and sink to the sofa. I don’t even get myself a drink. I’m drained, like Kate came over and sucked the fucking life out of me… and not in a good way.
I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at the wall, my thoughts far away. I've made no effort to clear away the evidence of Kate’s fury. Broken glass carpets the stone floor, and the red ribbon I’d tied around the picture lies amidst the debris, a mockery of what I tried to achieve.
I thought she’d love it.
If I was inclined to self-pity, I’d be dropping into an enormous hole of it right about now. As it is, I’m teetering somewhere near the edge, refusing to take that last step.
I’m falling in love with you. I am in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for years.
I didn’t intend to say those words tonight, but now I’ve spoken them, I know they’re true. The last few weeks have solidified the feelings that I kept locked away for all that time, because you can’t hit on your best friend’s sister. Resistance was easier. But denial… that’s as sweet as it gets.
You can’t feel pain when you’re in denial. So much fucking denial. Not only about my feelings for her, but about what I’d done for her father and the impact that would have on us.
I might not have struck Gerard down with my own hand, but I played a role in events that overwhelmed him. That guilt has always tinged my grief, making it feel like a dirty thing I had to hide away.
At the funeral, I watched Kate toss dirt into the grave, and it was as if her pain subsumed my own. Hers was pure where mine was sordid. She was a broken-hearted girl whose perfect father was dead.
I didn’t want to be the one to destroy her memory of him, but nor could I be around her, continually having to face the lie I’d committed to tell. When my father summoned me to the States to learn the ropes over there, I jumped at the opportunity. Buried myself in work.
And yet, when I saw her standing on that balcony at Jack’s party, I knew I had to have her this time. She wasn’t a teenager undressing in a hot tub, trying to seduce me; I didn’t have to say no anymore. And somehow, I’d convinced myself that finally buying her father’s company made everything right again. Cleaned the slate so I could start over.
Only it didn’t. Not even close.
A battering starts up on my door. I jerk upright in my seat.
“Nico? Open the fucking door. Your security out here is going to kill me if you don’t open up.” Jack’s voice rouses me from my stupor. I check the time. It’s after midnight. My stomach lurches. Why the fuck is Jack here? Does he know about Kate?
“Mr. Hawkston?” The voice of one of my security team comes from outside the apartment.
I get up. “I’m coming.”
I unlock the door to see Jack, red-faced and furious, his arms pinned behind his back by my head of security. Jack’s a big guy, but he looks small, held captive like that.
“You can release Mr. Lansen,” I tell the man.
Jack immediately lurches forward as the huge bodyguard releases him with a slight shove. Jack turns to scowl at him, brushing down the sleeves of his dark overcoat.
“What the fuck?” Jack spits. “Your men are brutes.”
My bodyguard retreats and I close the door behind him. “What do you expect if you’re going to show up in the middle of the night, yelling the place down?” I reply.
Jack huffs and marches past me into my apartment before coming to an abrupt stop and spinning to face me.
“Martin Brooks is going to steal the spa project.” The words spill from Jack’s mouth, and suddenly his foul mood and panicked arrival at my flat make sense. He tips his head to stare at the ceiling. “That bastard is going to steal it from under our noses. He’s going to—”
“Jack, stop. Take a breath.”
But Jack is pacing like a confused greyhound trying to win a race, first one way, then the other. “He told Kate. He fucking told her everything. She called me and let me have it. She hates me. She’s never going to forgive me. This is an almighty fuck up. He told her—”
“I know.”
Jack’s frantic movement slows as he turns his eyes on me. Beneath his foot, something crunches. His attention drops to the floor as he raises his leather-soled shoe, revealing a crushed splinter of glass beneath it. Then, as if he’s seeing the apartment for the first time since he entered, his gaze roves, following the trail of glass to the wrecked picture.
The drawing itself is still in one piece, hanging in one half of the broken frame. Gerard Lansen’s serious side-profile stares into the distance, Kate’s unmistakable signature in the bottom right-hand corner of the impressive charcoal sketch.
“What happened here?”
I say nothing, waiting for him to put the pieces together.
He crunches through the glass towards the picture, stopping a few feet away, toeing the red ribbon with his shoe.
My stomach dips, a knot forming in my chest. I’m too tired for this, but I brace myself for the moment of realisation.
He swings round to face me, nostrils flaring. “How do you already know that Martin Brooks told Kate? Has she been here tonight? Did she come here first? Did she come to you first?”
“Yes.”
He blinks, long and slow, and he pinches the bridge of his nose for a second. “Are you screwing my sister?”
“No.”
Jack’s eyes track me like a missile as he gestures to the mess at his feet. “Then what’s going on here?”
“I’m in love with her.”
Shock warps his face, and for a moment I hope it’s enough to halt his reaction. Love, after all, is a big fucking word. But then his expression condenses into something altogether more wrathful.
“Your shit doesn’t fly with me, Hawkston.” He ducks his head and barrels towards me, cashmere-coated arm pulled back, fist clenched.
He swings an arm in my direction, but I easily block the attack, ducking when he sends the other flying in an uncontrolled arc towards me.
I shove him and he stumbles back, knocking against a side table and toppling a tall glass vase, which shatters when it falls to the floor, adding to the debris.
Jack’s phone rings, but he ignores it, letting it ring out from inside his coat as he prowls around me, both fists raised.
“You could have any woman in the entire world, you bastard,” Jack curses, his brow heavy over dark eyes. “And you fuck Kate?”
He charges at me again just as the front door opens, making him draw up short. My head of security stands in the doorway. A great monolith of a man, all in black.
“Shall I remove him, sir?”
I shake my head, my focus on Jack. “Let him take his shot.”
“How fucking gracious of you,” Jack spits.
His phone rings again.
“Someone needs you,” I say. “It’s late to call.”
Jack glances at his wristwatch. It must be nearly 1 am. He purses his lips, then looks back at me, before lunging.
I could duck, I could block, but this won’t be over until he hits me. He’s huge and powerful and it goes against every instinct in my body to slow my reactions just enough to let him strike.
His fist meets my jaw, my head whips back, and pain blasts through me like a lightning bolt. My mouth fills with the metallic tang of blood.
Jack cradles his hand, hopping on the spot. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans through a grimace.
His phone rings again, and this time he fishes it out with his other hand.
I dab my mouth on the back of my hand. There’s a trickle of blood, but most of it I swallow down.
I haven’t been hit in the face since I was at school. I forgot how much it hurts. I make my way to the nearest chair and drop into it. I’m not going to look good tomorrow. Letting him hit me is rapidly feeling like a terrible decision.
“I think we’re done here,” I tell my head of security, who is still standing by the door, awaiting instruction. He nods and steps outside.
“Mum?” Jack says, still shaking his hand and flexing his fingers, wincing as he does. Then his gaze shifts from his hand to mid-distance, his head snapping up. “What? When? Calm down. All right. I’m coming. Stay put. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
He hangs up, staring at the phone.
“What?” I ask.
“That bastard… Curtis. Mum’s boyfriend. He took everything.”
“What do you mean, he took everything? Everything what?”
“The paintings. Mum’s jewellery. Everything.”
My aching jaw slows my brain, and I take a moment to fumble for the right train of thought. “The paintings he was putting into storage? The Stephen Condar?”
“Yeah. Dad’s art. It never went into storage. Curtis fucking took it. Nicked the lot. I knew he was a fucking dodgy arsehole. I knew it. And now he’s disappeared.” Jack lets out a frustrated groan as his hand scrapes his face. He collects himself and announces, “I’m going down there. Mum’s in a state. She’s just back from Aunt Venetia’s, and the house is empty.”
“Empty?”
“Cleared out. Nothing of any value left.”
“And the art?”
“She was letting him deal with it. She never even knew where he was storing it.” Jack curses. “She’s so desperate to be taken care of she let him waltz into her life and steal the whole lot.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Jack eyes me. “You look rough. You should probably put some ice on your face.”
I raise an eyebrow, or I try to, but pain shoots down my face so I abort the attempt. “Can you drive with that hand?”
Jack looks at it, turns it over, and flexes his fingers again. I can see the pain on his face before he wipes it away. “It’s late. Roads will be quiet.”
“Not a good idea.”
Jack mutters a curse under his breath. “Fine. Okay. I’ll call a cab.” He winces. “But before I go anywhere, I need some ice for my hand. What the hell is your jaw made of? Titanium?”
The urge to laugh bubbles up inside me, but even as the sound escapes an aching pain shoots through the side of my face. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
“Good,” Jack replies. “Next time, keep your dick in your trousers.”
“I meant what I said. I’m in love—”
“Please.” He holds a hand up and looks at the ceiling. “Save yourself. If I know Kate, she’s not forgiving either of us anytime soon. And you aren’t going to win her over with a big declaration, either.” He glances over at the picture. “Especially if that’s anything to go by. That frame looks expensive.”
I shrug. “The best.”
Jack snorts and rolls his eyes. “Of course.”
I push off the sofa and lead the way towards the kitchen, grab a bowl and fill it with ice from the dispenser. Jack takes it and shoves his fist in it, perching on a stool at the island.
He lets out a long sigh as his hand rests on the ice. “Can I take this in the cab?” He gestures to the bowl.
“Sure. We should get going.”
Jack frowns, his focus turning inward. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come. Kate might be there.”
My stomach does an unpleasant twist at the sound of her name.
“Mum probably called her too,” Jack continues. “She won’t want to see either of us, but I have more reason to be there. This is family business.”
My heart sinks as the irrational hope of seeing Kate vanishes. “Fine.”
Jack stands, cradling the bowl of ice under his arm. “I need to go before Mum loses her mind. She’s flipping out down there.”
Jack dials for a cab and I try to keep my mind off the fact that, had the evening gone differently, I’d probably have my dick buried deep inside his sister right now.
It would’ve been a hell of a lot more pleasurable than getting hit in the mouth and fighting with my best friend.
I try to stay focused. “Did she call the police?”
“Not yet.”
“Have her hold off.”
Jack’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Just do it. And keep in touch.”
A few minutes later and we’re standing at my front door, on the verge of parting.
“Fuck, what a mess,” Jack says, agitatedly shifting from foot to foot for a moment before stopping, staring at me. “Were you serious? About Kate? That you’re in love with her?”
“Absolutely.”
His jaw tightens, and I await his next words like a man on the scaffold.
“I want her to be happy,” he declares. “Fuck it. I’d like you both to be happy. And if there is anything real between the two of you… I don’t want you to mess it all up because Dad and I had you swearing to keep secrets that weren’t yours to keep. Neither of you deserves that. So as much as it pains me, if you want me to, I can put in a good word when I see her.”
Jack makes it all sound so simple, and maybe it could have been… but then my anger went and got the better of me and I snapped. Told her I couldn’t be with someone who quits, because that would be an insurmountable difference between us I couldn’t tolerate. Is it a hill I’m willing to die on?
“I appreciate the gesture,” I tell him. “But I doubt she’ll listen to anything either of us has to say for a while.”
“Hmm. Okay. Maybe that’s for the best. Let her work out how she feels first. She’s got a lot to come to terms with.”
And with that, he bids me farewell, and I send up a silent prayer that I haven’t pushed her too far. Kate might have given up on us, but I’m not ready to quit yet.