Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
As soon as the opportunity presented itself, I sprinted to the doctors’ lounge and tried to call Nico.
When he didn’t answer, I called again. When he didn’t answer for the third time, I left him a long, rambling voice mail describing the events of the morning and apologizing for my overreactive outburst. I called him a fourth time and told him I loved him.
My heart plummeted that night when Rose brought Angelica to the evening appointment.
Nico was conspicuously absent. I did take heart from the fact that Rose was still giving me knowing smiles.
When she reminded me, just before leaving, that I had a key to the penthouse, the sick feeling in my stomach dissolved a little.
If Nico were truly angry with me, surely his mother would know. Surely, she would be prying and pushing me to fix whatever I’d broken. But she appeared to be happy—happy as a crazy fox in a hen house.
I also took comfort from Angelica’s happy, albeit sleepy, face when she saw me. We hugged. I indulged myself by sitting next to her the whole time and stroking her hair. When she left, it felt as if she took part of my heart with her.
I counted the hours until my shift was over.
When the clock struck 3:00 am I bolted; left my charting for the next day.
Dan had been replaced sometime in the evening with a tall, imposing guard named Jackson.
Like Dan, he shadowed me throughout my shift, and when we left the hospital and walked to the car, he kept one hand on my upper arm and one hand hovering over his gun.
We arrived back to my building without incident, though Jackson insisted on riding up with me to Nico’s penthouse. I bid him goodnight—although he didn’t look like he was going anywhere—and tiptoed to Nico’s room.
Part of me hoped that he was asleep so that I could strip naked and snuggle against his warmth. Part of me hoped he was awake so that I could apologize, then yell at him some more about putting himself in danger.
He was awake. His laptop was the only illumination in the room. I hovered in the doorway briefly, memorizing his face, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that we were both here safe and unharmed.
He looked up from his laptop when I shifted forward and closed the door behind me. His face darkened, and his eyebrows pulled into a deep V of concentration or irritation or concern—or all three.
“How was your double shift?” He didn’t sound precisely mad; more like distant.
I closed half the distance to where he sat, and then loitered. I was uncertain if I should cross to him. “Busy. Did you get my messages?”
He nodded. His jaw ticked.
I waited for him to say something. When he didn’t, I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. “What happened earlier, with the elevator—you can’t take chances like that.”
“You should have called me right after the police. Why did you stay at work? You should have come home.” Now he sounded mad. In fact, he sounded downright furious.
“I stayed because I have a job to do. My guard was with me the whole time.” I leveled him with a severe glare. “I didn’t strand myself alone in an elevator.”
“Wait—are you mad at me?” When I didn’t answer, his expression went from disbelieving to defiant.
“You separated us from your security team.” I flicked on the light by the dresser; he and the room were better illuminated. I was able to discern, but didn’t quite register, that he had his small satchel half packed on the edge of his bed.
“I did that because I knew something was wrong. It was a chance to speak privately. You’re working all night, I have to leave, and I’m going to miss you!”
“You were reckless.”
He stood and walked to me. “Don’t you understand that I can’t stand the fact that I’ve put you in danger? Don’t you know that I’m going crazy thinking about what you went through? You couldn’t even take a minute to call me? To tell me about it until hours later?”
“I’m not worried about me—”
“Well I’m worried about you!”
“You’re not listening.”
“Fine. Why do you think we’re fighting?”
“Don’t you get it?” I forced myself to lower my voice.
“I wasn’t thinking about me; I was thinking about you!
” Because I couldn’t both control the volume of my words and keep from hitting him, I hit him.
But once I started, I couldn’t stop. I backed him into the wall and gripped his arms as I unloaded my fear.
“What if she did come back? What if she was there when the elevator opened on the fourth floor? All I could think was that this was it—that your Fancy Stalker had a gun or a flamethrower or a bomb strapped to her chest, and that I was going to lose you…that she was going to….”
“Hey, hey.” He grabbed my wrists, stilled my flailing hands, and tugged me against his chest. “Not going to happen. You’re not going to lose me.”
I pulled out of his grip, my hands still shaking, and moved beyond his reach. “You don’t know that! Especially when you insist on acting irresponsibly and taking stupid chances with your safety….”
“If you’d told me what had happened—”
“This is one of the reasons why I didn’t want to do this, but you kept pushing me and pressuring me, and now you—”
“We rode together in an elevator, alone, one time, which I wouldn’t have done if you’d called me and told me what was going on.”
“All it takes is one time. I don’t….” I shook my head, growled a little, stalked away from him, and whisper-yelled. “I don’t want to do this!”
A thick silence followed my outburst.
“Do what?” When Nico spoke, it made me jump. I could tell that his temper was reaching critical mass by the sharp edge to his voice.
“I don’t want to worry about you, about losing you, about getting a call from the police one day because you decided to ditch your security team.”
We stared at each other for a long moment. Unlike our previous staring contests, which had usually ended in lustful eye sex, this one ended with me closing my eyes in frustration; an errant tear escaping and fleeing down my cheek.
I stood in his room, exhausted, wondering why I didn’t just strip naked and invite him to bed instead of arguing about something that could have waited until morning. The answer came to me swiftly: because you’re terrified.
It was true. I was terrified. I was terrified that he would be hurt or I’d lose him to some nut. Happiness, love, and relationships were impermanent, fleeting. My mother was gone. Garrett was gone. I felt like I was losing Janie in almost every way that mattered.
Therefore, eventually Nico would be gone too. Likely highfalutin and experiencing a very satisfying happily ever after with the—suddenly omnipresent in my brain—girl C.
Gah! I was a mess! And I needed more sleep.
The sound of nondescript rustling and zippers pulled me out of my depressing manifesto. I glanced at Nico; his back was to me. He was stuffing a book into the bag on the bed.
The half-packed bag on the bed.
My adrenaline spiked.
I stomped to him and stood at his elbow as he put a folder on top of the book. “What are you doing?” I already knew the answer before he responded.
“My flight leaves at six.”
I stared at him in hurt shock. I knew my eyes were about to full-on leak floods of tears any second. “You’re leaving? Now? But I thought you didn’t have to leave until this afternoon!”
“Now seems like a good time. I think I need to stop pushing you and let you make up your mind on your own.”
I glanced between him and the bag. He walked around me, not making eye contact, and retrieved his laptop from where he’d left it on the chair.
“Nico…you’re not pushing—I mean, you did, but that’s not what this is about.”
“Yes. My pushing you is exactly what this is about.”
“I feel like you’re purposefully misunderstanding everything I’m saying.”
“I’m not. I understand you perfectly. You don’t know what you want, and I’m trying to give you the space to figure it out. Maybe we both need a little distance to figure this out.”
“I don’t want distance.”
“Well, you’re getting it. Whether you want it or not, you’re getting it.”
He sounded so resolute, so stubborn, pushing again, but in the opposite direction. Like he’d made up his mind hours ago, and discussion was pointless. I watched his back as he walked from one side of the room to the other.
“Please don’t leave.” My voice sounded so small. I was pleading with him, and I didn’t care.
He paused. “I can’t stay.”
I swiftly moved to his position, forced him to face me, and filled his arms. I kissed his chest, his neck, his face. “Stay, with me; forget I said anything. Just don’t leave.”
“Elizabeth…” He groaned, nuzzled his nose against my neck. “I have to go. I have to let you go at some point.”
I jerked back as if he’d sucker-punched me in the stomach. “What do you mean, let me go? We haven’t…we just….”
“I have to step back. I’ve been crowding you, pressuring you. I have to know that you and I want the same thing and you’re not just…not just giving in.”
I frowned and sad-faced him. I didn’t trust myself to speak without begging or saying something spiteful, so I said nothing. He searched my eyes for a long moment, and then he heaved a giant sigh and pulled completely out of my grasp.
“I’ll be back next week. We can try each other out for a while—see if it works. We’ll take it one day at a time.” He shrugged as he spoke.
Try each other out.
See if it works.
Take it one day at a time.
WHAT THE HELL?
I willed myself not to cry.
My head was spinning. Everything was happening too fast. One minute we were tearing each other’s clothes off in an elevator, then bringing up marriage, then he was leaving me for a week and basically telling me not to contact him.
I kept thinking that he wasn’t being fair. He had pushed me into this relationship, and now he was pushing me out of it. He was leaving, and I had absolutely no say in the matter. I didn’t understand how I’d let this happen. How or when had I given him so much power over me?