Chapter 5
NINA
The mission for tonight was to look good and get drunk.
I meet my slightly unsteady gaze in the bathroom mirror and run a hand through my waves.
Mission accomplished.
I went a lifetime without drinking. Then I had Ava, I was utterly alone for the first time in my life, completing online courses to keep up with my studies, and all I could think about was my ex.
That was when I felt a shred of understanding for my father, for the first time in my life. Some emotions need to be obliterated in a haze of substances rather than felt.
Daniel might have had an ulterior motive for suggesting drinks — based on the way he’s been looking at me all night, the ulterior motive was me — but I think a night out was just what I needed as well. My saintly neighbor Ms. Orlov gladly agreed to babysit Ava for the evening.
Despite the assholeish actions of management today, I like my colleagues. I fit in at Middlefield in a way I never really have before, not while I took an accelerated path through college, not while I was a quiet nerd in high school, and certainly not within my family.
Everyone who was clocking off a shift came out for a drink to reassure me that it wasn’t personal.
“We’ll fight those bastards for you, if we need to,” said Terry, our union representative. The other nurses toasted their beers to me. “This is the second time management have been discriminatory towards single mothers.”
Lily squeezed me close to her and ruffled my bangs until I protested.
“Nina will not let those dickheads fire her. She might look cute, but she’s tough as nails, this one,” she reassured the table, who cheered in response.
“Damn right, Nina.”
Like the drop-everything bestie she is, Lily rushed in to the hospital before we went out, with a supply of make-up and a going-out top to replace my usual t-shirt. She chose well. The deep green top has a keyhole cut-out in the front and emphasizes my curves in exactly the right places.
I’m not the kind of person who gets dressed up for a drink with colleagues, and I felt self-conscious as we whipped out a curling iron in the staff bathroom, but right now looking good feels like a shield against the world.
I rearrange my bra and swipe on some lip oil before I head out of the bathroom.
I think Daniel is appreciating it a little too much. I’ve been trying to redirect his attentions towards Lily, but he only has eyes for me.
On the way back to our table, where the jugs of sangria are flowing, I catch a glimpse of that golden fucking hair.
Tousled but just neat enough to look like it was meant to be that way. Hairstylists could spend years practicing and never perfect this look. I’d recognize it anywhere.
Artyom.
It’s not like it was the other day, when I caught snippets of him.
This time his presence is whole and it hits me with its full force. It feels like the floor gives way beneath me.
The sight of him, seated at the bar and looking so relaxed that it’s like he owns the place, makes my chest tighten with hopeless, utterly doomed need. He’s wearing a collared shirt, the cotton hugging his shoulders and arms. No suit jacket, no tie. Unusually informal for Art.
Before I’ve even thought about what I’m doing I'm raking my hands through his hair. It’s like an automatic reflex, to see Art and to want to touch him. He leans back against me, like he knew I was here, like he expected that I would do this.
I blame the alcohol entirely.
And still I can’t pull myself away as he tilts his head back and fixes me with those uneven, trickster eyes.
“Hey, Nenoka.”
At the sound of that nickname, which I haven’t heard in years, I drop his head like I’ve been burned.
What the fuck am I doing? Of course, on the worst day of my career so far, my ex shows up to after-work drinks to make me go totally out of my fucking mind.
“Don’t be like that,” he calls as I turn away, his voice liquid honey. “I was enjoying the head massage.”
A murmur ripples through my colleagues as I turn back to them. I make an apologetic face.
Then, a thick arm wraps around my waist.
All this time and he thinks he can fucking touch me.
After everything.
It might be the alcohol… Okay, it’s definitely the alcohol. I’m not a violent person.
But something about Art having the audacity to show up at my hospital, my workplace, has my blood boiling.
I whirl around and land a slap on his cheek.
I’m satisfied by how surprised he is. His mouth drops open and his fingertips fly to where his cheek is reddening from the impact.
Then, a grin spreads across his face and I go back to scowling.
Art dips his head towards me. There’s a playful light shining in his eyes. All that I want to see there is regret.
“You know, people pay good money for that kind of thing, Nenoka.”
“Don’t call me that. You lost every fucking right to call me that.”
“Well, I want to get it back.”
Bullshit. I don’t trust a word coming out of his mouth… His beautiful, lying damn mouth.
“Oh? What would you do?”
“Anything.”
“Hmmm.” I place a finger to my chin and pretend to look thoughtful. “How about you go back in time and make it so that we never met?”
That wipes the playful look away from his face. “I won’t do that. But I really will do anything. Within reason, outside of reason.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, Art. That’s how this works. Get me a Lamborghini and a Fabergé egg, and all memories of you breaking my heart will be forgotten.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
I push his chest, trying to forget how solid and warm his muscles feel on top of me.
“Of course not.”
He gives me a lazy, slow smile and I do not get butterflies. No, what I’m feeling is flames of rage tickling my stomach.
I fold my arms across my chest, a defense mechanism.
“Everything okay here?” comes a voice from behind us. Daniel looks between us. Thank God. An out from this deeply confusing encounter. “Nina? Do you want to come back to the table?”
I smile at him gratefully and pull back from Art.
I hadn’t realized how close we were standing.
“Thanks Daniel. I do want to go back to the table.” I link my arm through his.
Art scowls.
“See you around, Nina.”
At least he used my name.
My colleagues watch as Daniel leads me back to the table.
I haven’t been out in heels much since I had Ava and I’m feeling wobbly. Although the two shots of tequila I slammed back after my interaction with Art may be contributing to that sensation.
“What the hell was that?” Lily’s face is a mixture of shock and excitement.
“An ex,” I grimace. “I just saw him and felt…”
“Like you wanted to jump his bones? Because yeah, honey, I get it.”
I sigh. The familiar feeling of being Art’s inadequate girlfriend returns to me. When you’re freckly and curvy and your boyfriend looks like a Greek god and has more money than you can fathom, people love to tell you how well you’re doing.
“He’s an asshole.”
“Mhmm. But if he looks like that, he can be as much of an asshole as he wants.”
“No, he can’t.”
I reach for the jug of sangria on the table and pour a large glass.
I feel a rush of embarrassment as I head out of the bar and see Art. If he didn’t keep catching me off-guard, I would be acting normal, like everyone else does when they see their exes.
His eyes are fixed on the door where I’m silhouetted, considering turning back. He leans back against his car, the collar of his coat raised against the cold, his breath fogging the night air. He must have waited out here for hours.
Behind him is a shiny black SUV, the thick bulletproof glass glossy and impenetrable. The kind of car that screams organized crime. I consider ducking back inside, but he’s already seen me.
“Get in.” His deep voice is husky from the cold as he opens the door. The warmth from the car is hard to resist, but I keep walking, shaking my head.
“Get fucked.”
“Nenoka—” his hand encircles my wrist, rough and deliciously warm in the cool night. Reluctantly, I turn to face him.
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Fine.” His jaw tenses. “But it’s late, and it’s dangerous, and I am not letting you go home alone. Not after you had half a jug of sangria.”
I pause for a beat, narrowing my eyes at him. “You weren’t even in the bar when I did that.”
“I sent someone in to keep an eye on you.”
He did not send someone in to watch me have drinks with my colleagues. I cast my mind back to the tattooed man with dark hair, drinking at the bar alone, who Lily was eyeing up.
“That is not normal.”
“I suppose it’s not, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise.” The corner of his mouth quirks into a familiar smile and he pulls me closer, ignoring my stony expression. “I only want to talk.”
My stomach drops. There’s only one thing this could be about.
“You’re five years too late for a conversation, Art.”
“Please, Nen— Nina.” He fixes me with those uneven eyes and brushes his thumb over the soft skin of my inner wrist.
“Please,” he repeats, uncertainty creeping into his voice.
I’ve never seen Art like this. I allow myself to scrutinize his face for a second, taking in the shadows under his eyes, the new lines. Is he begging me?
“Fine.”
Curiosity gets the better of me. After all, I’ve never been the one who shuts people out when they need to talk. That was him.
He holds the door open, but I refuse his offered hand as I step up into the car.
The dark car interior smells just the same as I remember his cars always did, soft leather scented with cedar. He stays a respectful distance away as he shuts the door behind him, letting out a sigh and stretching out his legs.
“It’s good to see you.” He turns to me lazily, handing me a bottle of water.
“Mhmm. Just say what you need to say.” I fold my arms tightly across my stomach, my nerves thrumming. The worst case scenario is so bad I don’t want to consider it. Has something changed?
“I think we should catch up, first.”
“Okay.” I keep my tone cool. “Let’s start with you ignoring me in the corridor of the hospital. I know you saw me.”
Art rakes a hand through his hair and he nods, his throat bobbing. “I did. I saw you. I glanced at you and you looked… Like you’d seen a ghost. You looked fucking terrified and I didn’t want to make it worse.”
I had almost fainted. “A little warning might have been nice.” His driver pulls away from the curb, the car rumbling and smooth and warm. “You can’t just show up at my work and expect—”
“Seatbelt,” Art growls at me. I hesitate for a second, and he reaches over my shoulder to pull it on. “What can’t I expect?”
“That I’m going to be totally relaxed about my ex showing up at my workplace. And don’t tell me you didn’t know. There’s no way.”
“I didn’t know.” He shrugs his big shoulders nonchalantly. “There are only so many rooftops close enough to Wall Street which are for rent at any given time.”
I still don’t believe him. “Tonight, then. You must have known I would be at the bar.”
“Maybe I just wanted a drink.” I’m used to Art smelling lightly of vermouth, beneath the scent of cigarettes and cologne. Right now, I can’t detect any of that.
“Who was that guy?” He keeps his voice light but I can sense the crackle of danger underneath. “The one who is in love with you?”
“Daniel?”
“I didn’t catch his name tag.” His voice drips with disdain. “The one who was staring at you all night.”
“Everyone was staring at me. They were wondering why my ex showed up to after-work drinks.”
His lips curl into a smirk. “They wouldn’t have been quite so interested if you hadn’t slapped me.”
Somehow, Art gets me talking, though my every instinct screams not to reveal anything to him. Maybe it is the sangria.
I tell Art about my job, how I’m hoping to get the substance abuse fellowship at the end of this residency.
His eyes are warm and constant, his every reaction lulling me into the feeling that everything is going to be okay. That my goals are achievable.
He’s always been a good listener. Except when it really mattered.
Eventually I look out the window and notice the park. For the second time. “Hey, are we driving around the block?!”
Art’s face doesn’t reveal anything, but a smirk creeps across his lips. “What makes you think that?”
“Art. I don’t have all night. I have to get Ava from the neighbor’s place.”
“Ava?”
“Yeah, my daughter. Ava.”
“Right.”
He breathes out through his nose, a crease forming between his brows.
“Your daughter. Ava.” He repeats it back to me, slowly, his eyes searing on mine. “If you have a daughter, why were you trying to get drunk tonight?”
I huff and fold my arms across my chest. “Don’t you dare judge me.”
“I’m not judging you. I just know that it’s not like you.”
“You don’t know me anymore,” I spit at him, but he’s right.
No one here knows why I hate drinking alcohol. Except Art.
I feel a rush of shame. He knows why, which means he knows that tonight I broke one of my rules. And it led to me losing control and slapping him in the face.
“I want to make sure you’re okay.” His voice is softer now and I know if I turned towards him I would crawl into his arms.
“The hospital management put a mark against my permanent record today,” I admit.
I find myself spilling the whole saga.
When I’m done, there’s a look on his face that I can’t place.
Determination, maybe.
“You don’t deserve that, Nina.”
When the driver pulls up outside my apartment building, he helps me out, walking me into the lobby of the apartment building, where the doorman greets me with a friendly wave.
Only when I’m home, Ava curled in my arms as I carry her to bed, does it hit me that I never told him where I lived.