39. Chapter 39
Nick
I’m buried under the hood of an old Chevy Nova when my phone rings. I’m not able to get to it fast enough to catch the first call, but it immediately starts ringing again.
It isn’t a number I recognize, but something tells me to pick it up anyway.
“Hello?” I look around for a rag to start cleaning off my hands. It’s about time to tidy up and run to the store to grab what I need to make dinner for Lydia tonight anyway. I am so damn excited to finally show her my home. To have her in my space.
I wanted to wait until I felt she was truly comfortable with us before asking her to come over. It’s one thing to be alone with a man in your own home where you’re comfortable, but it’s another to go to his house and be in his environment. I want her to be completely at ease.
Asking her this morning just felt right.
“Nick?”
I don’t recognize the voice on the other end, but I respond anyway. “Yes, this is Nick. Who is this?”
“This is Rita Sawyer, Lydia’s neighbor. There’s been an incident at Lydia’s house, and she’s asking for you. Can you get here quickly?”
The air escapes my lungs. “I’ll head there now.”
I hang up, grab my keys, and run out the door without telling my guys goodbye. An incident? What the hell does that even mean? Is Lydia okay? Has she been hurt?
I climb behind the wheel of my truck and consider not driving while I’m this panicked, but shove the thought aside, throw it in gear, and head for my girl.
I drive too fast through town, one hand tight on the wheel, the other braced against the door. My mind runs through every possible scenario of what could be wrong.
I pull up in front of her house and don’t bother killing the engine before I jump out of the truck.
Lydia is sitting at the kitchen table when I come in, pale, too still. Her hands are folded together like she’s holding herself in place.
Relief hits first, hard enough to make my chest ache.
She’s here. She’s breathing. Then I see her eyes.
Fear. Real, bone-deep fear stares back at me. I cross the room without thinking and kneel in front of her to place both hands on her knees.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “I’m here.”
Her breath hitches a little, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.
Rita speaks from behind me. “I saw a man hanging around earlier, and he managed to get inside the house. Lydia recognized the description.”
My jaw locks. “Who?”
Lydia swallows. “Simon.”
The name lands like a punch to my gut. That son of a bitch.
I don’t raise my voice. I don’t move. But something inside me goes cold and sharp.
“Okay,” I say after a beat, turning back to her. “You’re coming with me.”
She starts to shake her head, so I place both hands gently on her cheeks, forcing her to look me in the eyes.
“Please, baby,” I say steadily. “I don’t want you staying here alone. Pack a bag. Please.”
She nods slowly, the movement sluggish, and heads toward her bedroom. I follow her down the hall and watch as she moves through the room like she’s underwater. She opens drawers and closes them again, then pauses in the middle of the floor like she’s forgotten what she’s meant to do next.
“Just grab what you need,” I say gently.
Lydia nods, her eyes blank as she meets my gaze. She turns and pulls a sweater from the dresser, folding it carefully before setting it on the bed. She grabs another sweater, but nothing else.
I wait a second before stepping in behind her.
I open the drawer she hasn’t touched and pull out underwear, socks, and a T-shirt I know she likes to sleep in—things she shouldn’t have to worry about right now.
I grab her toothbrush from the bathroom, her phone charger, the book I know she’s been reading from the nightstand, and my sweatshirt draped over the chair she has claimed as her own.
She glances back at me, her eyes glassy. “I didn’t…”
“I know,” I say quietly. “I’ve got it.”
I stay close as she zips the bag, one hand resting lightly on her waist. Not rushing her. Not letting go.
The room feels wrong. Too exposed. Too easy to picture someone else standing where I am right now.
“Keys,” I murmur, nodding toward the dresser.
She picks them up with shaky fingers.
I gently take the bag from her, slinging it over my shoulder. “That’s enough,” I say. “We’ll get anything else later.”
Lydia hesitates for a passing second, then nods.
I guide her back down the hall, keeping myself between her and the front door as we go.
I thank Rita, who’s moved to the porch swing, and tell her to call me if she sees anyone around the house.
She reaches over and squeezes Lydia’s arm in a heartfelt gesture.
Lydia smiles weakly at her as I guide her down the steps to my truck.
I help her into the passenger seat, buckle her seatbelt, and shut the door gently. I jog around to the driver’s side, not wanting to leave her alone for even a second. Once I’m buckled in, I steer us out of town and toward my house.
We aren’t on the road for even a few minutes before I hear her seatbelt unbuckling.
Before I can react, she scoots over and wraps her arms around me, burying her face into my neck and resting her legs on my seat.
The fact she’s not wearing her seatbelt makes me nervous, but there’s no way in hell I’m asking her to move right now.
I drape my right arm over her lap, partly for security, partly because I have a selfish need to keep her as close as possible. My grip tightens on the steering wheel, instinct flaring sharp and fast. The breath I didn’t realize I was holding finally leaves my chest.
She’s shaking and scared. This is what she needs right now.
One hand stays steady on the wheel while the other braces her side, my fingers gripping her knee.
She fits there so easily, like she trusts me not to let anything happen to her.
Swallowing hard, I feel her breath against my skin.
While I know she crawled over here to find comfort for herself, having her so close and wrapped around me is comforting for me as well.
I’ll get us home. I’ll make sure every door is locked, every light is on, and she’s completely comfortable. I’ll make sure she knows I’ll do anything and everything in my power to keep her safe. And later, I’ll deal with the anger.
We pull into my driveway a short while later. I gather Lydia into my arms, helping her down from the truck. I reach back inside to grab her bag before turning back toward her. She has her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and she looks small and guarded.
I gently rest my hand at the base of her neck and guide her toward the front door. She pauses at the bottom step of the porch and looks up, taking in the sight in front of her.
“Your house is beautiful, Nick,” she says, almost in awe.
“Thanks,” I say, pausing beside her, never taking my hand from her back. “I only finished it a year or so ago, so I’ve yet to make it a home. But I like it.”
We walk up to the door, and I unlock it, stepping aside to gesture for her to go in first. I follow right behind her and lock the deadbolt without even thinking about it. When I turn back to her, there’s a little more life in her eyes as she takes in her surroundings.
I let her wander, watching as she trails her hand across the butcher-block island in the kitchen, then stops to stare out the large picture window in the dining room.
I drop her bag by the door and walk up behind her, placing my hands gently on her shoulders.
I lean in, lowering my voice to barely above a whisper, not wanting to make her any more anxious.
“How about a long, hot shower? Then I can make us dinner.”
She turns to look up at me, her eyes softer and more present than they were a few moments ago. “That sounds really nice.”
I take her hand and lead her into the en-suite bathroom just off my bedroom. The space is bigger than one person really needs, with a deep copper soaking tub and a wide walk-in shower with multiple shower heads. I splurged on this room, hoping one day I’d share it with someone.
The bathroom light washes over us, just a little too bright. I press the dimmer switch, making it softer and giving the room a cozier feel. I turn on the shower, adjust the temperature, and watch as steam begins to rise.
When I glance back at Lydia, she’s standing with her arms wrapped around herself again, eyes drifting somewhere far away. I hesitate only a second before making a decision.
“I don’t really want you by yourself right now,” I say quietly, meeting her gaze. “Would it be okay if I stay with you? I’ll just stand beside you and help you warm up.”
She searches my face, then nods.
I move slowly, giving her time to track every step before I help take off her clothes, then remove mine. I angle myself behind her as we step under the spray, close but not crowding, and place a hand on each of her shoulders.
The water hits her first. She flinches, then sags a little, her head tipping forward as the heat starts to sink in.
I adjust the temperature, shielding her from the spray until it feels right. We stay there, with me quietly behind her, one of my palms moving between her shoulder blades.
She leans back into me, not an invitation or a need for anything more. Just trust and comfort.
I close my eyes for a moment, breathing her in, anchoring us both.
I’m not thinking about anything except this. She’s here. She’s safe. That’s all that matters right now.
We’ve showered together before, but this is different. There’s no heat behind it. No tension pulling at us. Just us standing here, me holding her steady, wanting nothing except to make sure she feels protected.
Somehow, that feels more intimate than anything else we’ve shared.