Chapter 15 Nico
NICO
Shay would be so disappointed in me. The whole point of me putting myself out there, trying to live a fuller life again, is to rebuild our relationship. That’s the only reason I even invited Bryan to come visit. And now, first chance I get, I’m fucking it all up.
For someone who possessed enough self-control to withdraw completely from society for twenty years, I sure do lack it when it comes to Este.
All I had to do was say, “Yes, Este. I do want you to stop,” even if I didn’t mean it.
All I had to do was walk away from her bedroom door instead of pressing my forehead to the wood and savoring every sound I know she was making just for me.
But I didn’t do either of those things. Este’s made her feelings and wants perfectly clear—I’m the one muddying the waters here.
It’s not fair to her. I’m telling her we can’t, while making it obvious I want to, and giving in every time just enough to stop her from giving up.
If I were her, I’d be losing my mind. She’s being remarkably patient.
There have been so many times over the past three days that I’ve almost broken.
When she was rinsing out her teacup yesterday morning, and I wanted to grab her and push her up against a wall.
When she was playing fetch with the dogs, and I wanted to grab her and tackle her in the snow.
When we were reading together last night, and I wanted to grab her and pin her down on the couch.
There’s certainly a theme going on with my fantasies, and it’s not just out of character because the object of said fantasies is a woman twenty-one years my junior.
Though I’ve always erred on the dominant side when it comes to sex, it’s never been like this.
“Complete control,” Este said, when talking about what she wanted to surrender.
That’s never something that’s held any appeal for me before.
But now? I want it. I want to give that to her, to be the person who helps her turn her brain off.
I want to kiss her. The fact that I haven’t yet is a miracle and a curse all at once.
I’ve come close so many times, outside of the moments where she’s flirting and teasing, even.
But somehow, I know that’s a line I won’t be able to come back from.
Already, I’m worried about how quiet, how lonely it’s going to be up here when the snow melts, and Este goes back to her life.
I know she can’t stay; I don’t want her to be stuck up here a second longer than she has to be, but I’m going to miss her.
And I just feel it in my bones that it would be harder to say goodbye if I kissed her.
Stars appear behind my eyelids as I press my palms into my eyes.
I drop onto my bed and lie down, resting my head on my hand and staring at the three little mice carved into the side of my nightstand.
For years, I shied away from thinking about my sister, but if I look closely, there are touches of her all over the house.
From the mice carved in many of the furniture pieces I’ve made myself, to the eucalyptus and lavender bubble bath I still use because she gave it to me for Christmas one year.
I know Shay’s feelings on Este and me, but I can’t help but wonder how Georgie would’ve reacted. She was always honest when she liked or disliked someone I was seeing. Usually disliked—of all of us, she always had the highest standards. No one was ever good enough for me or for Shay.
She would have loved Noelle, though. And I think she would have liked Este, even if she would’ve agreed that it was entirely inappropriate. But Georgie liked a little chaos, and I imagine she would’ve encouraged me to see how things turned out, just for the plot.
Este reminds me of her a little. Not in a weird way, considering my feelings for Este.
But she has a brightness in her so similar to how Georgie moved through the world.
An energy that radiates and makes everything around her a little better.
I get the feeling that if I told her that, she wouldn’t believe me.
Maybe if I’d known her before the crash she would have, but now, she’s consumed by her shadows, the same as I am.
When I make it downstairs a couple of hours later, Este is dressed (including pants), curled up on the couch with the boys, and the unmistakable scent of tomato soup is wafting from the kitchen.
“I was going to make garlic bread to dip in the soup, but I wasn’t sure whether you were a cheesy garlic bread person or plain,” she says when she sees me, nothing on her face to indicate anything happened, with a wall between us.
“I can make it. You look cozy.” She is, for all intents and purposes, lying beneath a puddle of dogs. “Cheesy?”
A smile lights her whole face. “Always.”
There’s zero awkwardness while we eat, watching a video about some travel photographer Este likes. If we weren’t stuck up here, I’d introduce her to Noelle’s sister, Rora, who was a travel photographer for years before she had her daughter.
There’s a lot I’d like to do if we weren’t stuck up here. Usually, I’m content to stay tucked away, but there are some beautiful places around here, and I know Este would love them. Not to mention all of the little stores and cafés she’d like in Jackson.
Of course, if we weren’t stuck up here, her dads would be here, and we wouldn’t be doing anything just the two of us at all.
Hours pass, and Este doesn’t bring it up.
She doesn’t let her fingers linger on mine when she passes me the remote, she doesn’t extend her leg dangerously close to me as she snuggles deeper into the couch, and she doesn’t cast me furtive glances from over her Kindle as she’s reading, even though we both know exactly what kind of thing she’s reading.
Despite this twisted little back and forth we have going on, she looks peaceful. She fits in here so well.
She also looks sleepy, rubbing her eyes and fighting a yawn every few minutes.
I close my iPad and nudge her with my foot. “You look tired. Maybe we should try to sleep.”
“Intentionally?”
It’s a reasonable question, considering we usually just let ourselves drift off when we can’t keep our eyes open anymore.
But thinking about how much I’m going to miss having her here makes me think about how, soon, she won’t have my presence to help her fall asleep.
If I can help her get used to sleeping better, I’m going to.
And selfishly, I want to be closer to her.
“Yeah. And while we’re trying things, maybe sleeping in a bed? A radical idea, I know.”
I expect her to smile or roll her eyes, even laugh. But hurt flashes on Este’s face, and I feel it in my chest.
“Oh. Yeah, no, that’s fine. I can go to bed.” She starts to get up, but I reach for her, closing my fingers around her wrist.
“No, angel. I mean we should both go to bed. My bed. Together.”
Her eyebrows lift, her lips forming a surprised “oh.”
“To sleep,” I tack on.
Now she rolls her eyes.
“You know you won’t be able to keep six feet between us at all times if we’re in bed together, right?”
“I know.” Six feet is the last thing I want between us. I want to hold her. I want to stop depriving myself. Somehow, Este must see how badly I need this in my face, because her expression softens and she nods.
“Come on.”
The boys look confused when we pass Este’s room and continue on to mine.
They like to sleep where I sleep, and that’s rarely upstairs.
But they leap onto the bed and curl up while Este gets ready in the bathroom, and I spray my pillows with the essential oil spray Shay brought me once to help me sleep.
It never worked for me, but Este seemed to like the lavender bubble bath, so maybe it’ll help her.
She’s not wearing pants when she comes back in, and she raises a brow like she’s daring me to comment. I don’t, but I do let my gaze linger on her bare legs as she kneels on the bed and kisses the boys goodnight. She has a scar on her ankle that I’ve never noticed.
“How did you get that?” I ask, gesturing to the long-faded scar before I can stop myself.
She glances down at her leg. “Fell off my scooter when I was eleven. And by that, I mean, Sloane jumped out of a bush to scare me, and I went flying. She got a scar tattooed in the same spot a couple of years ago, so we match.”
She climbs under the covers, and I slide in beside her. As if by some unspoken agreement, we both turn until we’re facing each other.
“You ever think about getting a tattoo?” I ask, and she wrinkles her nose.
“I’ve thought about it, but I hate needles. I’d like to get one for Sloane, though. She has a couple for me—the scar, and a few stars.”
“Why stars?”
“I’ve always been obsessed with the sky.
It was inevitable, I guess, considering most of my family works in aviation, and my name literally means celestial.
When I was a kid, and my friends’ parents were taking their phones and tablets away so they’d sleep, my dads had to take my telescope away, or I’d be awake all night, looking up and making notes about what I could see.
The stars have always grounded me, ironically,” she says with a wry smile.
“They’re hard to see in Chicago, but I still have my telescope. ”
“You should’ve brought it. The stars are magical here.”
“Next time,” she says, knocking the breath from me.
Next time? I suppose it makes sense that Bryan may want to redo the trip someday, since only Este actually made it here. But I hadn’t considered that meant I’d probably see her again. I have no right to feel as relieved as I do.
I want to ask her where her favorite place to see the stars is, what tattoo she’d get for Sloane. I want to keep talking to her, to learn everything there is to know, but she yawns, and I know she needs to sleep. So, I turn onto my back and hold out my arm, inviting her in.