Chapter 17
She heard a knock on the front door, then the creak of it opening.
“Merritt?”
The sound of his voice calling her name sent a thrill down to her toes.
“Hey,” she said, standing up and shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot. “I’m in the living room.”
She saw the beam of the flashlight first, then the shadowy outline of Niko’s body behind it. He stopped when he saw her, pinning her to the spot with the light. She drew her oversized cardigan closer around her, hugging herself, resisting the irrational urge to put her hands up in surrender.
It had been three and a half weeks since that night at Last Chair, and yes, she’d been counting. Part of her felt like she’d summoned that text to her phone through sheer force of will.
“Thanks for coming,” she said around a lump in her throat.
“Not a problem.” He slid his bag off his shoulder and onto the floor. “Want me to build a fire?”
For the next few minutes, they worked silently in tandem, Merritt setting up candles and Niko lighting the fire. When he offered her a portable phone charger, she thought she might cry.
What had she done to deserve this? The care and attention of this man, which she’d done nothing but shut down and reject—except when she’d thrown herself at him at the most inappropriate possible time.
Her face burned at the memory like it was still fresh, even though she’d been replaying it almost daily.
She wondered if he was also thinking about that—how she hadn’t been able to keep her hands off him the past three times she’d seen him.
Maybe that was why the air between them felt so electric that she half expected to see lightning flashing inside, too.
They’d have to break that cycle tonight, though, because there was no way she was letting her It Has Been Twenty-Four (24) Days Since You Last Kissed Niko counter reset back to zero.
“So…” she said, casting a sideways glance at him as they stood in front of the fire. “How have you been?”
He looked straight ahead, the flames casting dancing shadows over his face. “Fine,” he said, after a long pause. “You?”
“Fine.”
Finally, he met her gaze and held it. It didn’t seem like he was going to say anything, though.
“How’s the house?” she asked.
“Good,” he said. “It’s coming along. I, um. I’ve been there a lot lately.”
Merritt’s stomach twisted. “When do you think it’ll be done?”
He shrugged, turning away again. “By the end of the summer, probably. Could be sooner, but these big jobs always drag on longer than you think. Especially since it’s just me.” He shifted his weight. “I’ll be done before I leave, though.”
“Where are you going?” Merritt racked her brain, but she couldn’t remember him mentioning any upcoming trips.
“The guy who owns my house is turning it into a vacation rental. We all need to be out by September.” His voice was dull and emotionless.
Merritt was speechless for a moment, absorbing the impact of that statement as if it were a physical blow. “You’re not going to find somewhere else here?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know if it makes sense. He gave me a really good deal on rent; I could never afford another place that nice. And…it’s home, you know? Not a lot of renters stick around here as long as I did. So, I think this might be my sign to move on. Put down some real roots somewhere.”
Merritt rolled her lips, which suddenly felt dry. “You mean Tucson? With your mom and stepdad?”
He glanced at her, like he was surprised she remembered. “Yeah.”
“Oh,” said Merritt hollowly. “That’s great. I mean, I’m sorry. I mean…” She paused. “I don’t know what I mean.”
He met her eyes again, and she didn’t bother trying to hide how knocked sideways she was by this news, completely unable to process it.
As much as she’d dreaded seeing him around over the past few weeks, the thought of him not being around to avoid at all made her chest ache.
His brows knit together, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Do you want to sit down?” she asked, inclining her head toward the sofa.
“I should go.” But instead of heading for the door, he sat down in the armchair, while Merritt perched on the couch. “Want a beer?” he asked, after another loaded silence. “I brought some over.”
Merritt shook her head emphatically. “No, thank you. But go ahead.”
She hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since that night at Last Chair and had finally accepted that she never could again. Even if moderation worked for her nine times out of ten these days, the carnage of that one outlier wasn’t worth it.
Niko shrugged. “Probably smart. They’re pretty warm.
” Still, he cracked open one of the cans, taking a sip.
All Merritt had was a mug of ice-cold peppermint tea, but she picked it up anyway, just to have something to do with her hands.
From Niko’s grimace after drinking, she suspected he’d done it for similar reasons.
“I want to apologize again,” she said, unable to look at him, her words stilted. “About that night. I acted like a complete asshole. I hope…I hope I didn’t ruin your date.”
She heard him laugh a little in the back of his throat. “It was a fucking disaster. Even before I kissed you.”
“You mean, before I kissed you,” Merritt corrected, looking up at him in surprise, her cheeks heating.
He met her eyes.
“You can’t take all the blame for that one. I was kissing you right back, from where I was standing.”
She felt her blush deepen, and she was so rattled that she took a sip of her disgusting tea. Niko cleared his throat. “Um. Anyway. That was our last date.”
“I’m sorry,” Merritt said automatically, then corrected herself. “Actually, I’m not. But I’m sorry that I’m not.”
They sat in silence for another beat, but a tense one, the room hushed and dark and intimate, save for the crackle and glow of the fire.
“Can I say something I probably shouldn’t?” Merritt said quietly, her eyes dropping back to the table.
Niko made a soft and strangely sexy noise in the back of his throat that sounded like assent.
“I miss you. So fucking much.” Her gaze caught his. “The time we spent together…that was the most fun I’ve had since I moved here. Probably even before that. I don’t think I fully appreciated it until we couldn’t—until you weren’t…” She trailed off, looking down into her mug again.
She braced herself for him to point out that it was her own fault, that she’d been the one to break it off. But instead, he just said, “I miss you, too,” in a voice so low and ragged that her heart broke a little. “Can I say something I probably shouldn’t?”
“Please.”
He took another drink from his beer first, like he was building up the courage. “I’ve been listening to your music.”
Merritt felt a nervous, unexpected thrill race through her. “You have?”
“Yeah. You’re really good.”
She laughed self-consciously. “Thanks. I’m no Bjorn Ulvaeus.”
Niko’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Bjorn Ulvaeus?”
“He was one of the B’s in ABBA.”
“Oh,” Niko said, confused. “I don’t know any of their names. But I don’t think you sound like them, anyway.”
“That wasn’t the goal, no.”
Niko leaned back in the armchair, and Merritt tried not to notice the spread of his thighs as he readjusted in the seat. “It was just…it surprised me.”
“How?”
He took a moment to answer, his thumb coming up to brush his lip in thought. “I hadn’t listened to a lot of music like that before.”
“Like what?”
“Like…so personal, and emotional. Open. I didn’t expect that from you. The way you are now, I mean.”
She was still, hands folded on her knees, head bent at the neck. “Yeah. I don’t think I would put myself in a position to be that vulnerable, that publicly, ever again.”
He nodded slowly, finishing his beer. “I get that. I think. But…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said, a little shy. “I’m sure you’ve heard it all before.”
“If it’s something nice, I can’t hear it enough,” she said with a laugh, only half joking.
“I understand you feeling some kind of way about it now. But…you have an incredible gift, Merritt. I think we’d all be worse off if you’d never shared it.”
Merritt’s blush returned, hotter than ever.
She’d worked over the years to harden herself to other people’s opinions of her work, to avoid the temptation to pander to what they liked or rebel against what they didn’t.
But somehow, in this moment, hearing that from him made her feel like he’d cracked her open like a walnut.
“Thank you,” she said, her throat tight.
“I’m still proud of those records. And it does mean a lot to me, that they mattered to so many people.
Made them feel less alone. I loved doing it more than anything.
It’s the only thing…” She trailed off, unable to finish.
“I just couldn’t handle everything that came with it.
” He was watching her with such intensity that she had to look away.
“You can’t stay at the party forever. I think it’s better to leave too early than be the last one to realize you’ve overstayed your welcome. ”
There was a long, heavy silence. Niko finished his beer but didn’t reach for another one.
“When you say you couldn’t handle it,” he said, his voice low, “what does that mean?”
She met his eyes, searching for the ulterior motive behind the question.
Did he already know? Was he trying to bait her, to see if she’d be evasive about it again?
It didn’t matter, she realized with a jolt. Against all odds, he was here with her tonight, and she didn’t want to hide from him anymore. She was ready for him to know this side of her, her darkest, ugliest shame.
“I wasn’t totally honest with you before,” she said slowly. “That first night at the bar. When I told you about my last show.”
“The night you had the panic attack?”