Chapter 13
Rory
Spam flies off the bed, barking in his high-pitched yip like there’s someone breaking in and sending my pulse skyrocketing.
“What, Spam?” I ask, pushing the covers back with shaking hands.
I’m not really scared that there’s an intruder. You’d have to be a special kind of stupid to attempt to break into a house that’s owned by a cop, especially one who owns a very large dog like Ollie.
My concern is something else entirely.
Nate.
And the fact that I’ll need to apologize in person. It’s not the apology that rattles me. This one is on me. But it’s the confrontation that tightens my chest.
“Hey, buddy,” a familiar deep voice says, and my heart does a somersault, the anxious nausea bubbling up.
It’s Nate, talking to Ollie. My heart melts a little at the sweet way he talks to the German shepherd, almost like he’s a human.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other at the top of the stairs, my heartbeat still racing. I should go down there. I have to go down there, really.
Nate deserves an apology, but I don’t know if I can find the strength to look him in the eyes while I recap my ridiculous behavior.
There’s a part of me that wants to cuddle into his arms and explain everything, all of my thoughts and feelings and the fact that no matter how much I’m trying to be spontaneous and easygoing, I can’t figure out how to turn off the overthinking part of my brain all the way.
That’s all it was, really. I’m trying so hard to go with the flow, to not let my brain spiral, but when he brought up the idea of finding a job in HiLo, all of a sudden my thoughts went from I need a job to whether getting a job here means I’m here for more than a short time.
And if I’m here for longer, am I here for good? Is this what I want? Is it giving up to go back to what I wanted when I was graduating from high school, or is it finally realizing my dreams?
It’s a big jump to go from a simple suggestion to an existential crisis. I get it. But in the moment, I can’t make my brain understand that, just maybe, we’re not in fight-or-flight mode.
He may get it, I realize. But that’s something you share with someone you’re in a relationship with.
And he’s not my boyfriend. Maybe a friend, having spent some time together on a relatively civil basis, but we’re not to the point that I can lean on him for something like this.
All I can do is apologize for acting crazy.
I take a deep breath. It does nothing to calm my racing pulse or the twisting in my gut.
For a second, I wonder if I can just go to bed, avoid Nate for tonight, and pretend everything is fine in the morning.
“Hey, Spam. Your mama still awake?”
Shoot. Spam sleeps in my room, and you don’t have to be a detective to figure out that if Spam is still careening around the living room, then I’m still up.
My stomach stays firmly in my feet, twisting on itself as I give myself a silent pep talk. You can do this, Rory. Be a goddamn adult.
I force myself to make my way down the first few stairs, then I take another deep breath as I round the corner and the edge of the living room comes into view.
“I’m still up,” I say.
I’m about to tell him I’m sorry again since in person is better than text, and I really, really don’t want to fight again, but the words won’t make it past the lump in my throat.
Nate stands at the bottom of the stairwell, one hand on either bannister.
He’s in the jeans and gray High Lonesome Hawks T-shirt he changed into when he got home from work, the cotton stretched across his broad chest. The short sleeves are tight around his biceps, highlighting his muscles.
God, he’s just…built. He was cute in high school, bordering on hot, even.
But nothing compares to the man he’s matured into.
“I’m sorry,” he says, beating me to the punch while I’m still ogling his body.
Dammit. That was my line, Nate.
I should have said it first instead of chickening out.
Also, instead of checking out his pecs, which are nicely outlined under the thin fabric of his shirt.
I wonder what they’d feel like to touch.
“Uh. I’m sorry, too,” is all I can manage.
What is he apologizing for?
Nate shakes his head at my words and leans toward me, his weight on those thick arms. “I never should have pushed with my questions.”
He moves one hand from the bannister as I get close to the bottom of the stairs, settling his palm on my hip.
Goose bumps rise along my sides as his thumb traces a circle over my waist.
The heat of his hand is like a flame, the light pressure deepened by the casual intimacy of the moment. It’s a strange combination of familiar and strange, of the comfort of a touch I’ve felt so many times and the rush of something new.
I struggle for words. For air, even.
How does his touch have this much effect on me after so long?
“I know you don’t owe me an explanation or anything. I just…” He takes a deep breath. “I want you to know I’m here for you. And I’m happy to listen, if you want.”
He’s so close, his warmth seeping through me to thaw my core. Two steps above him, I’m just slightly taller than him, and I take him in from this perspective. His eyes are dark, intense, the pupils dilated until the blue is barely visible.
This close, he smells like pine and all man, so different but so similar to what he was like in high school. I’m overwhelmed as I’m bombarded by memories, unsure of what to say.
“Come sit with me.” Nate steps back, giving me space to breathe, and it’s enough for me to gather the courage to make it down the last steps.
When I reach the floor, he places a hand lightly on my lower back and steers me towards the couch as my stomach flips again.
At least my feet are functioning, even if my brain is fuzzy from his touch. He sits on the sofa, pulling me with him since his arm is still around my shoulder. Sitting back on the worn corduroy reminds me of all those times we sat together on this same couch, watching movies back in high school.
Sitting on the couch, Nate turns toward me. He angles me so we’re face-to-face, our legs almost touching.
My gaze bounces around the room, looking anywhere but at him.
It’s not that I feel awkward or uncomfortable.
The opposite, in fact. I feel safer with Nate than with anyone I’ve ever met.
But it’s so intimate, looking into one another’s eyes.
It’s something we would have done back when we were a couple, not as friends.
On top of that, my need to explain hangs heavy between us.
Or maybe it’s something else. But the tension swirls, so thick you could cut it with a knife.
“Rory.” Nate’s deep voice makes me finally pull my gaze to meet his.
His deep eyes search my face as I bite my bottom lip. This late in the day, short, blond hairs cover his chin. My fingers itch to touch it, to see how the stubble feels against the skin of my palm. And against other things, too.
“I-I sent you a text,” I say.
I cringe as the words leave my mouth. Dear sweet baby Jesus. I’ll never get out all of the nuances of my crazy thoughts if I can barely finish a sentence without stammering.
His brows furrow. “I didn’t see it come through. What did it say?”
“It…um…”
He pulls back from me, his eyes wide. “Shit. Are you leaving?”
“What?” I say, the word coming out as a high-pitched squeak. My cheeks flush at the noise. It sounds like I’m a cartoon mouse.
Ollie’s ears perk up, and Spam yips in response to the murine note my vocal cords just produced.
I lower my voice to a normal pitch. “No, Nate. Of course not. It just said I’m…” Spit it out, Rory. “It said I’m sorry. I wanted to make sure you were coming home.”
My voice breaks on the last word.
“Rory,” Nate says. His face softens to match his voice as his gaze caresses my face. “I’ll always come home to…” A look crosses his face, and it’s gone so quickly I can’t read it. He clears his throat. “I’ll always come home. You don’t have to worry.”
My eyes widen as I pull in a sharp breath. Was he about to say I’ll always come home to you? And why does that make me feel like this inside—all warm and soft and excited and scared and safe?
Jesus, that’s a lot of feelings. No wonder I can’t put my emotions into words. There are too many of them.
I’m sitting with my leg folded beneath me, turned halfway toward Nate on the couch. He puts a hand on my thigh, just above my knee. I do my best to ignore the electricity that zings up my body when his thumb moves back and forth over my bare skin.
“I just went to the bar to meet Lawton and Travis. Buddies from the force.”
I chew on my lip. I didn’t mean to make him so upset that he needed to go drink.
He shakes his head like he can hear my thoughts. Maybe he can. It wouldn’t surprise me at all. “It wasn’t to go drink because we had a fight. That’s not me. And I don’t drink when I’m on call, anyway. I just wanted to talk to them, make sure I wasn’t messing everything up with you.”
This is exactly what I did with Allie, I realize. Nate and I always were pretty similar, so it’s not exactly surprising that we respond to fights in the same way. I guess I figured when we grew up, we’d grow apart. Is it possible that instead of growing apart, we’ve grown more similar?
“You didn’t mess anything up, Nate. It’s fine. I overreacted, really.” One in a long line of overreactions, and he knows it. “There’s just a lot going on in my head.”
One side of his lips lifts in a tiny smirk. “You? Overthinking?”
I reach out to smack him, laughing, but my laughter dies when he catches my hand with his, turning me more fully toward him. My breath hitches in my throat as his hand moves higher on my leg. This isn’t the way you touch a friend. It’s way too intimate for that.
“It was my fault, Rory,” he says, his gaze locked on my face. “I shouldn’t push. You do what’s right for you. I’ll never judge you for that. For anything.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Words escape me as electricity crackles between us.
Nate moves his hand, gliding his fingers slowly up my thigh and then moving to my hand and running the pads of his fingers lightly up my arm. Even through the thin cotton of my shirt, a line of heat trails behind his fingers.
“You’re so different from back then,” he says, his voice rough as he lightly brushes one finger over my upper arm, making circles that radiate heat outward. “And so similar. It’s strange. And amazing.”
He’s barely touching me. One hand is on my mid-thigh, one just below my shoulder. They’re not anywhere close to somewhere naughty, and yet my entire body thrums with arousal.
How does he still have the ability to do this? Or is it just that my body never forgot his touch?
I swallow hard as my head swims with emotions.
“You’re different, too,” I breathe.
He shifts on the couch so he’s closer, just slightly, but it’s enough that everything inside me is ready to burst into flames.
“I’m so sorry for everything, Rory. For whatever I did back then that made you believe we weren’t right together. For waiting so long.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and I realize he’s nervous.
It brings me right back to high school, that first time we went all the way. It was the first time I ever saw him look anything other than confident. He’s always in control, always so sure of himself to the point of being almost cocky.
It was one of the first things that drew me to him, but when he showed me that little hint of vulnerability, that was what made me fall hard.
His hand moves from my arm to rest lightly on my jaw. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Rory.”
He leans in, almost imperceptibly, and I think I mirror his actions. My body isn’t my own anymore. It’s under a spell of some sort, some trance that’s come over me since he moved closer. The world has narrowed to just the two of us.
“Do you remember the promise you made me?” he asks.
I can’t remember my name in this moment, let alone anything else, not with him touching me like this. His thumb strokes softly against my skin like I’m fragile.
As he does, a hint of a memory starts to tug forward.
Nate moves his thumb over my jaw again, and I realize he’s still in control despite any nerves. “Ten years ago.”
I know instantly what he’s talking about. The memory has been pushed down deep in my subconscious because it hurt too badly to think about it. But now, it comes flooding back in full color.
Nate and I in the high school gym. Graduation caps. Tears.
The searing pain of my heart ripping into a million pieces.
Promise me, Rory.
Nate is so close his breath tickles my face. A hint of something sweet—maybe a soda that he must have had at the bar, underneath the wintergreen Lifesavers he always carries, and something else. Something that’s just him.
I pull my gaze from his full lips to his eyes, deep blue with a rim of light brown. His pupils are so dilated that they look dark.
“Ten years,” he says. “It’s been ten years. Your birthday is in a few days.”
I’ll be twenty-eight.
“Do you remember?” he asks, his brows rising slightly.
I do, every detail.
I promise. If neither of us is in a relationship or in love ten years from now, we’ll come back to one another. We’ll give it another chance.
I nod, moving my head as much as I can with his hand holding my cheek. “I remember.”
“We promised to try again. That we’d accept that maybe fate made it that way for a reason.”
And suddenly, it does seem like fate, like everything in my life has led up to this moment as he leans in closer, bringing his lips within a whisper of mine.
“Give me another chance, Rory.”