Chapter 22 #2
She liked the feeling. A lot.
Inside, she found some butterfly bandages, along with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and nonstick gauze. The whole place smelled
of lemons, which made her feel slightly better about the dust blanketing everything she touched.
Up front, Aubrey dumped her haul onto the wheezy conveyor belt. Behind the counter sat Tansy Burroughs, the same girl who’d
borne witness to Nick’s first kiss. And Aubrey’s second, considering she’d wasted her first on Julian Byrnes in a game of
spin the bottle junior year.
Nick had been her first real kiss, though. The first one that mattered.
Tansy began a listless search for price tags. The two months since graduation hadn’t changed her much—she wore her standard
loose T-shirt, dark jeans, and combat boots, and apparently felt no need to engage her customers in conversation. Then Aubrey
caught sight of the puffy shadows lurking beneath her eyes.
“Hey. Are you okay?”
Tansy glanced up. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. You just look . . . sad.”
Tansy shrugged. “Yeah, well. I got in a shitty fight with my shitty mom. I’m sure it won’t be the last time.”
“Oh. That sucks. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” Tansy returned to her task, then cut a glance through the grubby front window. Nick sat in the car, silhouetted by
afternoon light. “What’s all this for, anyway? Did your boyfriend beat the shit out of someone again?”
Aubrey blinked at Tansy’s frankness. “Um. Maybe.”
“Huh. Did the guy deserve it?”
“Definitely.”
“Oh. Good for him, then.”
Aubrey didn’t answer. She had the distinct impression that this line of questioning had only served as a way to change the
subject.
Tansy turned the hydrogen peroxide over four times, then found the sticker on the cap. “What’s he like, anyway? The new kid?”
Aubrey’s stomach soured. “He’s lived here for six months. I don’t think he still counts as the new kid.”
“This is Henderson. In five years, we’ll still be calling him that.”
Aubrey blew out a frustrated breath. Something about the offhand remark fired a spark in her. “Actually, he’s the most incredible
person I’ve ever met. Like . . . a knight in shining armor, or something. He’s honorable. And selfless. The kind of person
who does the right thing no matter what, even if it hurts him. Which is pretty rare, these days. I didn’t think they made
guys like that, anymore.”
Tansy’s hands stilled on the bandages. She glanced up, a flicker of interest lighting her pale eyes. “That is rare.”
Aubrey shifted her weight, wishing she could retract the dramatic speech. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“I just get . . . defensive. People misjudge him sometimes.”
Tansy held her eyes. Flakes of mascara clung to her cheeks while crimson vessels tangled in the whites of her eyes. She’d
definitely been crying.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yep.” Tansy tapped a fingernail against the total on the register and handed over the bag. “Here you go.”
Aubrey counted out cash, wondering if she should push, then shrugged and took her things. Just before shoving through the
door, she turned. “Hey, I hope you feel better. And that things with your mom improve.”
“Thanks.” Tansy twisted to face the window again. “Hey. You said he’s like a knight? Always doing the right thing?”
Aubrey paused. The moment tilted, off-kilter, as if the dust motes swimming past had suddenly reversed direction, or gravity
had tugged on her from above and taken her stomach with it. “Yeah, he does.”
“Huh. That’s awesome. Have a nice day.”
“You, too.” She fled.
In the car, Nick gave her a questioning look. “What’s wrong? You look . . . strange.”
Aubrey gulped down the bile crawling up her throat. What was wrong? She’d gone hot and cold all over. “Yeah, I don’t know. Tansy Burroughs was in there, but she was acting weird. For
some reason, it gave me the creeps.”
He looked blank. “Who the hell is Tansy Burroughs?”
Aubrey laughed, and the heaviness of the moment cracked and fell away. He truly had no idea. She started the car.
“Never mind. Forget I said anything. She’s no one.”
At home, Aubrey ushered Nick into the kitchen, where he stripped off his torn, bloodied shirt and stuffed it into the trash.
He leaned over the sink and let her fuss over him until the water ran pink.
As she dabbed the garnet crust from his eyebrow, he took the opportunity to snake an arm around her and pull her against him.
Aubrey giggled. Ever since they’d agreed to sleep together, Nick had grown bolder. Bit by bit, he was beginning to trust her.
To trust them. She loved the gentle new possessiveness of his touch, the way his hands said, mine. Especially because her body always agreed, answering with a ripple of heat.
She aligned the butterfly bandage over his gash. He snuck his other arm around her waist, lacing his fingers behind her back.
She bit her lip and tried to concentrate, but all the blood in her veins tumbled off course. The part of him pressed against
her belly felt much firmer than it had a moment ago.
She stuck down one side of the bandage. “And just what’re you thinking about right now?”
He made a low, rumbling sound in his throat. “Take a guess.”
“Hmm. War and Peace? Dostoevsky?”
He chuckled. “It’s Tolstoy, you heathen.”
“Oh, right. Well, either way, I had no idea dead Russian writers got you so excited.”
He snickered. “I won’t be excited for much longer if you keep talking like that.”
“Would you rather I talk about something else?”
“Yeah.” He tugged her closer. “Talk about us. Tell me when I’m going to get to make you mine.”
Heat pooled in her belly. “Soon. The first time we get a night alone.”
“Does it have to be a night?” He angled his face to nuzzle her, ruining her aim. The butterfly ended up stuck to itself and
she yanked it off, starting over.
“Stop that,” she said. “I can’t concentrate. And yes, it has to be a night. No one loses their virginity in the daytime. It’s supposed to be sexy and romantic. Preferably in front of the fireplace while it’s pouring rain outside.”
He chuckled, darkly sensual. “You know it’s July, right?”
“Yeah, so? I want rain. And fire. Now hold still.”
He did as she bade. “Rain and fire. Well, whatever my lady demands, my lady—”
The sound of a cleared throat stabbed between them. Aubrey reeled backward and immediately wished she hadn’t. Nick stood beside
the still-running sink, shirtless, his left half covered in blood, the butterfly dangling off his eyebrow like a limp flag
of surrender. A very obvious erection tented the front of his khaki work pants.
Her heart shrank to a hard, pale speck. Her father filled the kitchen doorway, color splashed across his cheeks, a match for
his flaming hair.
“What the hell is this?”
“Umm. Dad. Hi.” Her voice skewed upward. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“I was. Working. And then I finished working, like always, and then I came home, like always, and why is this person standing
in our kitchen, bleeding everywhere and putting his hands all over you?”
Aubrey risked a sideways glance, but Nick’s horrorstruck expression told her he wouldn’t be much help. She snapped off the
water and edged in front, hoping to give him time to regroup, at least. “This is my boyfriend. Nick.”
“Nick.” Her father’s tone was stony. “And he’s bleeding because?”
“Because . . .” She trailed off. Shit.
Behind her, Nick sucked in a breath. “I . . . Um . . . Got in a fight. Sir.”
Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut. This had to be a nightmare. Any moment, she would wake up. Except when she looked again, nothing had changed.
“It’s, um, nice to meet you,” Nick stammered. “Sir.”
Her father said nothing. He stepped into the room, took Aubrey by the arm, and marched her out to the living room. “You did
not tell me he’s the kind of boy who gets in fights.”
She shook off his hand. “Because he’s not. I mean, not without good reason. He only did today because Brent Reinholdt said
something awful to me and Nick made him apologize.”
His jaw worked as he processed that. “He . . . defended you?”
“Yes.” She wanted to grab his lapels and shake. “Which you should appreciate, not judge him for.”
He thought that over, his flush fading. “Okay. But he’s . . . not what I pictured. Why’s he so skinny?”
She pressed her lips together. “Because his dad is a jerk who doesn’t keep any food in the house.”
“You mean he’s not being raised right?”
“Dad, it’s not his fault. At all.”
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean it’s not important.”
That stole the protest right out of her mouth. She had no way to refute that, and yet it watered down the beautiful complexity
of Nick Thacker to a single bullet point. One that mattered, yes, but certainly not the only one. If anything, Nick’s unfortunate
home situation only proved his resilience.
“Look.” Her father rubbed at his brows with a thumb and forefinger. “Just get him cleaned up, get him some clothes, and send
him home. You and I need to have a talk.”
She tensed. “About?”
“The future.”
She hauled in a breath, then released it unused and went to do as he asked. She found Nick by the kitchen sink, still shell-shocked.
“This is bad,” he said. “This is really, really bad, isn’t it?”
“It could definitely be better.” She fitted the butterfly into place. “But my dad’s reasonable. I can make him understand.”
Nick nodded, but looked no less stricken.
By the time Aubrey had gotten him into a clean shirt, he’d recovered somewhat, enough to approach her father on his way out
through the living room.
Nick straightened to his full height and made unflinching eye contact. “I’m sorry. I wish we’d met under different circumstances.
But I want you to know I genuinely love your daughter. With all my heart.”
Aubrey’s chest swelled. This surpassed his earlier defense of her and left it gasping in the dust.
Her dad raised bushy red eyebrows. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“Have a good evening.” Nick made for the door. “Sir.”