Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
SOFIA
On the bingo card of things I could have imagined for this year, waking up to find Nico sleeping on the floor beside my bed wasn’t even close to an option.
But there he is, stretched out on the floor not five feet away from me.
One arm is thrown carelessly to the side, the other rests on his flat stomach.
His shirt is pulled up slightly, and his shorts rest low on his hips, exposing an inch or so of bronzed skin.
A line of light brown hair trails beneath his waistband, directing my attention to things I’d tried to forget.
Like my first time with Nico. My first time ever, actually.
I don’t think I could ever forget that.
We were sixteen, and had been together for over a year by then. It had been long enough to declare our love for each other, long enough to start making plans for our future, and long enough for me to be sure Nico was the one I wanted to share my first time with.
I was nervous, of course. Having sex for the first time is a big deal, after all.
And no matter how confident you are, I think everyone finds things to be insecure about—would I look okay naked, would he be disappointed, what if I did it wrong, would it hurt as much as some of the girls at school said it did?
But it was Nico’s first time, too, so that made it less scary. Like everything else, it was the two of us supporting each other.
I still remember how careful he was with me.
How worried he was about hurting me. I remember just how his bedroom looked, with the flower petals he’d scattered across the bed and the scented candles he’d set up all around the room.
And I remember how nervous he looked, though he was trying to hide it.
And though it did hurt a little at first, I remember how Nico made sure I felt good. How he told me over and over how beautiful I was, how much he loved me, and how lucky he was to have me.
He admitted, after, that he’d found a copy of the Kama Sutra to study. Pink cheeked, he confessed, “I’m not sure how some of those poses would work. But I thought it might have some tips for how to make it good for you.”
Oh, how I loved him back then.
In the years since, I’ve wondered if the love we shared was all in my head. If it was all one-sided. If Nico had been using me, and once it was time to go away to college, he’d decided it was time to move on.
I turn onto my side so I can get a better look at Nico. In sleep, his features are softer. With his hair all tousled, he looks younger. More carefree. As I’m looking at him, a sliver of light peeks through a crack between the curtains and hits his face, casting a golden glow across it.
My heart tugs, as it’s been doing more and more often.
The hurt I’ve held onto for the last eighteen years pulls a little further away.
Though that nagging voice of logic keeps popping up to urge caution when it comes to Nico, I’m listening to it less with each passing day.
My seventeen, eighteen, nineteen-year-old self thought Nico never loved me at all.
But at thirty-five, I’m not as sure.
Young love is bright and pure and full of optimism. But it’s not always strong enough to withstand the storms it comes up against.
In our story, Elio Parisi was the storm. And back then, neither of us were strong enough to resist it.
But does that mean Nico never loved me? Or was he a young man who was hurt and confused and made the wrong decision?
Did I make the wrong decision by not trying harder to explain?
Hindsight is twenty-twenty, was another of my mom’s favorite sayings. Don’t beat yourself up over things that happened before, she’d tell me. You did your best. Learn from it and move forward.
If I take her advice, what does that mean for me and Nico?
Do I forgive him? Can I separate Nico from what his father did? When things go back to normal—at least, I hope things go back to normal—do I keep Nico in my life or let him go?
Before I came here, the answers would have been simple. But now? After seeing him again? After spending time with him? After discovering he’s still that same Nico I fell in love with, with his stubborn protectiveness and his generosity and the way my heart still skips whenever he touches me?
And he risked his life to keep me safe. I can’t forget that.
As if I could.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound of the bullet hitting the car. Or of Nico barking out orders at Kurt while he protected me with his body. I won’t forget how it felt lying on the cold ground, my heart pounding out of my chest, wondering if that was the time my luck had finally run out.
I’ll never forget the fear in his eyes. The panic. The way he hugged me to him, his heart racing in the same frantic rhythm as mine.
Nico wouldn’t have acted like that if he didn’t care. I know it. Just like I know I wouldn’t have been so frightened about Nico getting hurt if I didn’t care about him.
That’s what my nightmares were about last night—not me being shot, but him.
Every time I’d slip back into sleep, I’d be revisited by the same horrific images: Nico shot while he rushed me inside, crimson blossoming across his back, his skin paling as the life drained out of him.
And me by his side, sobbing, begging him not to leave, telling him I forgive him, that I can’t lose him again.
My throat goes thick. My eyes sting.
What if he’d died yesterday?
What if I never got to tell him how I really feel?
When Nico first showed back up in my life, I didn’t want him here. But now…
A tear leaks down the side of my cheek and dampens the pillow.
I don’t want to say goodbye to him again.
Nico’s eyes pop open just as another tear escapes. In a blink, he’s wide awake. He jumps to his feet and rushes to the side of the bed. “Soph.” His voice is rough with worry. “What’s wrong? Was it another nightmare? Is it your head? Your arm?”
Great. Of course he wakes up while I’m crying. I haven’t cried for years, and in the last week, I’ve turned into a veritable waterworks of tears.
“I’m fine,” I insist. Which would be more convincing, I’m sure, if I wasn’t sniffling and blinking as I say it. “No nightmare. Nothing hurts.”
Nico frowns. “But you’re—” He stops. Exhales. “Okay. You’re not in pain. But something’s wrong.”
Well, yes. I’m freaking out about the possibility of Nico getting killed while protecting me. But maybe I don’t want to start with that.
“Nothing’s wrong.” Pushing myself to a seated position, I add, “I think it’s just everything from yesterday catching up to me. That’s all.”
Which is true.
“Okay,” he says slowly.
“Why did you sleep in here?” I ask, eyeing the discarded blanket on the floor.
“In case you had another nightmare.” It’s said like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t want to have to run back in here from my bedroom. It takes too long.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your sleep.”
“Soph.” His brows draw together. “I wasn’t worried about my sleep. I was worried about you.”
It’s funny, the more often he uses my old nickname, the more I like hearing it.
Glancing at the screen of my phone, I realize it’s already half-past nine.
“Oh, you didn’t have to stay in here until I woke up.
I’m sure you have work to do. And I—” Belatedly, I realize my hair must look like a literal bird’s nest considering how restless my sleep was.
While patting my hair down, I add, “I should get working, too. I didn’t mean to stay in bed this late. ”
Nico brushes a rogue strand of hair behind my ear. “We’re not working this morning.”
“Yes we are.” I wriggle out from beneath the covers and start to get out of bed. “I have more cases to look through. Especially after… Well. I have to catch up.”
His hand settles on my shoulder. “I’ll follow up on some things, Soph. But you need a break.”
I jerk away from him. “No, I don’t. I need to figure out who’s behind this. Before someone else takes a shot at me. Or you. Or one of your friends. Your employees. You could have been hit yesterday, Nico. Kurt could have been shot. Because of me. I can’t just sit around doing nothing!”
My voice pitches close to a shout by the end. Which is so contrary to the controlled person I try to show the world, my face flames with embarrassment. “Crap,” I continue more quietly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”
Nico stares at me for a few seconds. Then he perches on the edge of the bed. He links his pinkie with mine. “It’s okay to get upset. I’m upset—” His jaw sets. Anger flares in his eyes. “No. I’m more than upset. I’m furious.”
“Which is why we need to—”
“But,” he interrupts. “I want to make sure you’re okay, too.”
“I can work from here. It’s perfectly safe at your condo.”
“It’s not just that.” He hesitates. The veneer of confidence falls from his gaze, exposing a hint of uncertainty. “I guess… I was hoping we could just hang out for a while. You could relax, since you didn’t get to yesterday.”
He has a point. By the time we dealt with things at Fox & Falcon—Nico’s friends and employees searching the area for the shooter, dealing with the police, coordinating secure transportation back here, including a four-car cavalcade—it was already evening and I barely managed a shower before collapsing into bed.
“Yes, I want to work on your case,” he continues. “And I will. This afternoon. But I thought we could do puzzles this morning. Order food. Watch a movie.”
A cautious hope lights in his eyes while he waits for my answer.
My heart pulls again.
Give him a chance, it says. He’s trying. And you know you want to. It’s just your stubbornness holding you back.
“Okay.” Before I can second guess myself, I cover his hand with mine.
Surprise flickers across his face. Then he turns his hand over and laces his fingers between mine.
A feeling of right-ness sweeps through me.
My heart squeezes.
Is it possible I never fully fell out of love with him?
“Okay, Soph.” Nico smiles. “We’ll have a lazy morning. You’ll be glad we did. I promise.”