Chapter 23
Deep in the steel mill’s underbelly, Nick stood staring into the vat of molten pig iron. With the visor of his heat-reflective
shield up, the air boiled against his cheeks, a physical force, like a hell-spawned demon roaring in his face.
Which wasn’t far off.
It was funny. He’d stood here so many times, contemplating the open maw of the blast furnace and presuming to understand longing.
He’d waded to the fringes of the fire, trying to cauterize his internal wounds, all the while believing he’d never see Aubrey
again.
That alone had been crippling. But having her back, having to deny her, plunged him into a fresh new hell he never could have imagined.
Days had passed, but the echo of her touch still reduced him to a mess of need-soaked nerve endings. Jesus, the way her hands
had gifted every inch of him with heat. Someone should touch you. By the time she’d gotten to his zipper, his blood had bellowed with the sheer fucking agony of having to refuse her.
It still did.
“Hey, man.” Jackson appeared, his heat shield firmly in place. The reflected glare of thousand-degree metal obscured his expression. “You taking a sample, or trying to decide whether to throw yourself in?”
Nick grunted. Good question. He had no idea.
But it cost him nothing to reassure his friend, so he went through the motions, his mind approximately eight thousand light-years
away.
God, Aubrey hadn’t only smelled like paradise, she’d tasted like it, too, in that all-too-brief moment when he’d had his mouth
on her neck. His senses had ignited with salt and sunshine and something else he’d wanted to plunge into and suffocate in.
Later, he’d put off brushing his teeth until the last possible moment, loath to lose whatever traces of her lingered.
That had been after he’d taken a shower, of course. A very, very long shower. One in which the water had sluiced over him
in icy sheets once he’d finished himself off for the second time.
Now he tipped his ladle, trying to focus on the dribble of red-hot iron. Still, Aubrey persisted, draped across his thoughts
like a fire-haired goddess.
He shuddered. He couldn’t believe he’d turned her down. How. How? Had he lost his mind?
“Hey. Earth to Nick.”
He turned. Jackson again. What were they supposed to be doing? He’d already forgotten.
Jackson gestured. “Put your heat shield down, my man. You’re cooking yourself. Your eyebrows are all curly.”
Nick stared stupidly, then snapped the visor down. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”
“Where are you today?”
He pretended not to hear over the roar of the furnace. He returned to his sample, blinking the sting of sweat from his eyes.
Jesus, he needed to get his shit together. Make a plan.
Right. A plan.
Because when it came down to it, he had two options.
He could let Aubrey stay in Henderson while finishing this statement of hers, but it would only be a matter of time before his control snapped and he went over there begging for a redo.
She’d probably tell him to get lost, but if not, he’d end up buried too deeply in her to ever recover.
Worse, he’d prove, once and for all, that he was no better than his piece-of-shit father.
Not to mention he’d jeopardize her thing with Gallant, which he would never forgive himself for.
Or . . . He could do his best to get Aubrey back to New York. Back to the life she wanted and deserved. Back to the job that
fulfilled her.
Nick stopped mid-task. Really, what was there to consider? If he had a shot at making her happy, he had to take it.
His attention shifted to David Ballard, whose name rolled around in his head like a rotten grape. Last night, Nick had researched
the guy on the internet, in between fielding increasingly demanding messages from MontanaBirder81.
Which posed a whole separate problem. Apparently, John had finally convinced Jane to kiss him, and had sent no less than three
requests for a letter that would ensure she climbed into bed with him, next.
Nick couldn’t even think about that right now. He’d written back last night, citing a bout with the flu and promising a letter
by next week. Then he’d promptly spent the next hour on Google, tracking down David Ballard’s address in Brooklyn.
The idea that had followed was stupid. Totally unhinged. But somehow, Aubrey MacLean shattered all his internal logic, and
had for seventeen years. He would do anything for her, no matter how dumb, no matter how desperate.
That included hopping in his truck and driving to New York, at which point nothing would stand between his fist and this Ballard guy’s face.
Then, once he forced the asshole to confess, Aubrey’s company would reinstate her.
She could return to New York if she wanted.
Ride off into the sunset with Gallant, if she liked.
She’d have choices. She’d have everything she’d ever wanted.
Meanwhile, he could return to his quiet life. Work, gym, Paige. Not living out his worst fucking nightmare by turning into his home-wrecker dad.
With that decided, he set his jaw. The remainder of the shift passed in a tumult of heat and sweat. When he finally clocked
out, he hung his protective equipment in his locker and waited for Jackson outside the mill’s gates.
His best friend emerged into the frost-touched parking lot and puffed out a single word. “Gym?”
Nick stuck his hands in his coverall pockets. “Yeah.”
He absolutely needed it, though he didn’t know where he would find the energy required. Fatigue weighed down his limbs while
every step hammered a new ache into his soles. But the alternative involved driving across town, banging down the door of
that old Victorian, and begging on his knees.
“Hey,” Nick said. “Do you think you could do me a favor? A big one?”
Jackson paused. “You never ask for favors.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t like bothering people with stuff I should be dealing with myself. But I have to go to New York this weekend,
and I was wondering if you could come.”
Jackson cocked his head. “Really? What’s in New York?”
“A guy. Who needs a little . . . redirecting.”
Jackson thought about that. “The kind of redirecting that involves fists?”
Nick scuffed a boot on the iced gravel. “Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll see how it goes. But I don’t expect you to help with the redirecting part. I just want you to make sure I go through with it. Keep me from doing something stupid, like turning my truck around and going to Aubrey’s house.”
“Huh. Yeah, all right.”
That was it. No let me think about it, or are you sure this isn’t the kind of thing that’ll get us arrested? Just ready acceptance, and Nick had to restrain himself from hugging his best friend until somebody’s ribs fractured.
“But,” Jackson said, “if I go, I have a favor to ask, too.”
Nick frowned. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve never been to New York, and there’s something I’ve always wanted to do there.” Jackson rolled his hulking shoulders
and cracked his neck. “We have to go see a show. On Broadway.”
“A show? Like . . . with singing and shit?”
“Yeah. With singing. And stuff. And by stuff, I mean I want it to have dancing, too.”
Nick stared. “I tell you I might have to rearrange some guy’s face, and you want to go see fucking Cats afterward?”
“Hey, man. Don’t judge. I’m not. And I’ll splurge for the tickets. That way, you don’t have anything to explain to Tansy,
afterward.”
Nick threw his hands up. Whatever. He’d go see Disney on Ice, if that’s what Jackson wanted. “You know what? Sure.”
Jackson stepped close and clapped him on the back. “Hey, thanks. It’s not every day I get to cross something off my bucket
list. You book tickets, I’ll pay you back. When’re we leaving?”
“Saturday. I gave my shift to Carl. I’ll pick you up at six a.m. We won’t be back ’til Sunday night, so pack a bag.”
“Okay. Sounds good. Meet you at Wilder’s in five?”
“Yeah.”
In his truck, Nick kept his hands at a perfect ten-and-two. Maybe if he forced his body into line, his mind would follow.
But without the distraction of work, his thoughts slipped the reins, his head filling with one wild fantasy after another.
He imagined turning the truck around. Showing up on Aubrey’s doorstep, hoisting her over his shoulder, carrying her to the nearest bed, and showing her exactly how much the intervening years had lessened his love.
Which was not at all. Even though it’d been ages for him, their second time together would prove even more transcendent than the first. He knew he could please her now in ways he hadn’t before.
His fists tightened around the steering wheel. The daydream beckoned to him with the power of a thousand blazing suns, but
he would resist. He had to. After all, he’d done this before. Stared down the barrel of a future without her, knowing he had
to pull the trigger himself.
He just wished it didn’t hurt even worse the second time around.
Aubrey had nothing to occupy herself with, and she hated it.
Yesterday, Gallant had texted to reschedule their Chicago date, saying work had gotten crazy and would keep him tied up all
week.
Are you sure? she’d texted back. I could drive, and you could use that time to work. I’ve been looking forward to this.
I’m so sorry, had come the reply. I haven’t had time to write you another letter yet, and I know that was the deal.
Her chest had clenched, but she’d forced a breezy reply. It’s okay. Though you *could* just tell me those words instead of writing them. She’d hesitated, then added a grinning emoji to soften the suggestion.
A long pause. Then, This one will be worth the wait. Trust me.