Chapter 21 Este
ESTE
“One more, angel. You can handle it.”
I’m not sure I can, but it’s too good to say no.
I open my mouth and groan as Nico slips the fork between my lips.
My ex didn’t cook, and, for a while, I thought a list of all the best takeout spots in Chicago was the hottest thing a guy could have.
I was wrong. At this point, I’m already so far gone over Nico that his ability to whip my favorite pasta dish up out of ingredients in his cellar is just the final nail in the coffin.
Him being able to cook is hot. Him specifically cooking my favorite meal just in case I needed something comforting after therapy is even hotter. Not to mention him feeding me after giving me two orgasms to help me switch off and letting me drool on him in my sleep when we napped.
“You’re fucking up my standards,” I tell him as he swipes a piece of his homemade sourdough through the sauce and holds it out to me. Has bread ever tasted this good? Jesus.
“How so?”
“I woke up with your fingers between my legs, you’ve spent over twenty-four hours baking me a loaf of bread, you made my favorite meal from scratch, and now you’re literally feeding me after giving me multiple orgasms. No one will ever be able to compete.”
A smirk curves Nico’s lips. “Good.”
I sound like I’m joking, I should be joking, but I’m not. It’s just another reminder that, once the road clears, I’ll have no reason to keep invading his personal space, even if I really like invading his personal space.
Nico’s gaze zeroes in on my face, like he can see my mind drifting back to pre-orgasm Este. “You ready to talk about it?”
“Do I have to?” I wrinkle my nose, and he taps the tip.
“I held up my side of the deal, did I not?”
“That you did.” I can’t even pretend he didn’t. My body is still so worn out, I’m not sure I could make it upstairs by myself. “It was just one of those therapy sessions. Did you ever do therapy?” I ask, even though I could probably guess, all things considered.
“Twice. Once after the crash, once at the start of this year, but I’ve never made it past the first appointment.” He casts his gaze at his lap, like he’s embarrassed.
I grab his hand, threading our fingers together and squeezing. “The fact that you even tried again this year after so long is really fucking impressive. It’s a step, Nico.”
He squeezes back. “Maybe. But we’re talking about you.”
In the time I’ve spent with Nico, it’s clear he isn’t used to opening up. But he seems more inclined to do so when I do, and, though I wish I could just forget my session today, on the slim chance it encourages him to talk, it’s worth talking about.
“My therapist—Rebecca—generally lets me lead the sessions. Obviously, I’m still processing everything from the crash, and she said that right now it’s important for me to have a space where I can focus on what I need to.
Crisis management, I guess, and then, when I’m ready, we’ll focus on the bigger picture stuff and building long-term coping strategies or whatever.
It works for now. But technically, the airline hired her so they can check in whenever they want. ”
“They checked in?” Nico guesses, and I nod.
“Yeah. It’s like my dads—they’re in denial, I think. My boss wanted to know when I’m going back, even though I handed my resignation in months ago, and they won’t accept it because it’s just a ‘trauma response.’”
Nico frowns. “Can they do that? Not accept your resignation?”
“They cannot. And they wouldn’t bother trying if I weren’t the owner’s granddaughter.” Or if I weren’t so young or a woman. As hard as I’ve tried to prove myself, I know there will always be an air of “we know better” in an industry dominated by men.
“I don’t think they understand that the longer they drag it out, the harder it is for me.
This job is everything I’ve ever wanted—I’ve spent my whole life training for it.
I’m not walking away from it like it means nothing.
I wish I could just get over it, but I can’t.
I’ve tried.” My voice cracks, and Nico shifts to tug me into his arms. A single tear drizzles down my cheek as I continue.
“I did the airline-ordered therapy, I tried hypnosis, I tried forcing myself to get on a plane, I tried medication. I’ve tried everything, but the reality is that all the hard work I put in is worthless because I can’t do it.
And I’m not going to force myself, because no one who isn’t completely confident and enthusiastic should be sitting in a cockpit with that kind of responsibility. ”
“The fact that you recognize that is the reason you’re exactly the kind of person who should be in the job. But it’s okay if it’s not the job for you anymore, angel. You’re twenty-six. You have more than enough time to pivot.”
“I know that. I’m not the problem for once,” I point out, and Nico smiles, tracing the curve of my mouth with his pinky.
“Of course you’re not. You’re perfect. You could never be the problem.” There’s not an ounce of sarcasm in his tone, and I snort.
“I’ve been more of a problem for you than anyone else.”
“And do you see me complaining? It’s a privilege, baby.”
I thought I was past the butterflies, but wings flutter in my stomach at the conviction in his words. “You know, you really are far too sweet to be hiding up here,” I say, and he rolls his eyes.
“I’ll take that under consideration. So, do you have any idea what you might want to do next?”
I stare at the ceiling, counting the knots in the wood, and sigh. “Probably still something in aviation,” I say. “I don’t like the idea of going back to school if I don’t have to. Maybe something administrative. I don’t know.”
Nico hums, and my gaze snaps to him.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “I just can’t picture you in admin, that’s all. You don’t really seem like a sit in an office all day kind of person.”
I’m not. It sounds like my idea of hell, actually, but there are limited options with my aviation degree.
“Well, like you said, I have plenty of time to figure it out.”
“True.” Nico hesitates, and I raise a questioning brow.
“I hope you fly again. I know you don’t want to fly for a commercial airline anymore.
I get that, but I hope that one day you fly again.
I can see how much you loved it whenever you talk about it, and even if it’s a tiny plane and it’s just you in the sky, I hope you do it. ”
“I miss it,” I say softly. “It terrifies me, don’t get me wrong, but I miss it.
I was driving up here on the highway, looking up at the mountains.
They’re beautiful, but all I could think about is how incredible they must look from above.
I’m glad to have my feet on the ground, but it’s different out there, you know? ”
“One day, angel.”
“Yeah. Maybe,” I say, forcing some of the tension out of my body. Was it really only two hours ago that Nico drew every ounce of stress from me with orgasm after orgasm? I miss that.
“Alright,” I say, rolling onto my side so I can look at him properly. “Your turn.”
“My turn?”
“I just bared my soul to you. It’s your turn.”
Nico looks wary. “What do you want to know?”
Everything. But I don’t say that. “You said you tried to go back to therapy this year. Why now?”
“Last fall, Shay’s girlfriend’s bakery caught fire when they were asleep in the apartment upstairs.
They’re both fine, obviously, but it really put things in perspective for me.
Before that, Shay and I texted a couple of times a week, and only ever saw each other when she drove up here to see me,” he says, and I hear how guilty he feels.
Is there anything in his life he doesn’t bear the weight of guilt over?
“I want to have a better relationship with her and get to know Noelle properly. I want to have a better relationship with the world in general. That’s why I invited your dad here.
But it was easier to be brave when everything was fresh.
By the time I made it to that therapy appointment, I didn’t have it in me anymore.
I thought about canceling with your dad, but every time I tried, there was a little voice in the back of my head that told me not to. ”
“I’m glad you didn’t cancel,” I say, and his gray eyes soften.
“Me too.”
“Do you think you might try again with therapy?” Therapy isn’t for everyone, and I imagine, after all these years, it would be beyond difficult for Nico to walk back through everything. But things always get more difficult before they get easier.
“I don’t know. I want to think that there’s a chance that I could get better.
I could be better. But honestly, I don’t believe there is.
I think… I think I’m too far gone.” I hate how small he sounds.
I know he thinks he gave up decades ago, but he tried earlier this year, even if he didn’t follow through with it. He tried.
“Don’t say that. You may not be twenty-six, but you still have plenty of time to figure it out, and you don’t have to do it on your own.”
Nico shrugs—a weak, halfhearted movement that makes my heart ache. “Being on my own is easier, though. Not having to worry about other people.”
“You’re worrying anyway, Nico,” I say, sitting up and poking him in the chest. He catches my finger in his and holds it. “Can you honestly tell me you worried less about Shay when you weren’t talking to her as often?”
The clock on the mantel ticks several times before he answers. “No comment.”
“Exactly. You have people. You have Shay. You have Noelle. You have my dad. You have me.”
“For now.” He sounds as sad as I feel about leaving.
“You think you’re never going to hear from me again when I leave?”
“I don’t know. But you have your life to get back to, and we haven’t exactly talked about it.”
“I guess we haven’t.” I don’t say the words I want to.
I shouldn’t. This is already going to be hard enough; me telling him that I don’t want to leave, that I fall asleep every night hoping the universe will grant us a little more snow, that I want to keep him, won’t help.
“I don’t know exactly what this looks like when the road clears, but I do know you’re not getting rid of me that easy. ”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I promise.
“Good,” he says with a tentative smile that does nothing to help the longing I have to make things between us more permanent.