Chapter 12
Nadya
Nick slung my battered bag over one shoulder, then hoisted his own duffel in the other hand, making it look as if they weighed nothing. I grabbed my backpack, ignoring his raised eyebrow.
"You sure you don't want me to carry that, too?" Nick asked, already setting a pace down the wide, empty sidewalk.
The last train's departure echoed behind us, the sound making my bones jitter.
"I'm not helpless, Tuna," I shot back, but there was no acid in it. We both knew the last thing I wanted was to be coddled. Still, he slowed a little, so we walked in step.
The three blocks to the hotel stretched into an eternity.
Each intersection was more deserted than the last, storefronts sealed behind grates.
A pizza place, a vape shop, a bakery where the window display was just an empty cake stand and a single plastic rose.
There was a world where all of this looked homey, even beautiful, but right now it felt like a movie set after the crew had packed up and left the set to the rats.
Neither of us talked. My mind should've been gnawing itself to death with anxiety over tomorrow, over the reason we were here at all. Instead, I was hyper-aware of every shift in Nick's face, every inhale and exhale.
After the last crosswalk, we reached the hotel. The sign was supposed to say "HOMETON INN," but M and E were a stuttering blue flicker, so it looked like "HO TON INN." Nick laughed under his breath when he saw it.
"Could be worse," he said. "Last place they stuck me was a motel with an actual chalk outline in the parking lot."
"Now that's curb appeal." I tried to relax my shoulders, but the tension settled there and refused to let go.
The front entrance sucked us in, glass doors whooshing open on a burst of over-conditioned air. The lobby was surprisingly packed with a writhing mass in matching basketball jerseys.
I stopped short, nearly colliding with the wall of sweat and cheap body spray.
Nick maneuvered me through the chaos, then dropped our bags at a sofa near the front desk.
I stayed there, letting him handle the check-in process.
The front desk was manned by a kid who looked like he should've still been in high school, all acne and panic.
He gaped at Nick, then at me, then at the screen, like maybe if he blinked enough the whole situation would vanish.
There was a lot of unhappy muttering, so I edged closer to eavesdrop, but all I caught was the kid saying, "Yeah, I'm really sorry, sir," and Nick's jaw tightening in a way that might end in a very calm, very patient homicide.
"Everything cool?" I asked.
Nick planted both elbows on the counter, then dropped his head, massaging the bridge of his nose like he’d just found out his favorite microbrew was out of business before turning toward me to explain.
“So, slight issue. We were booked for two rooms, but one of them got double-sold. There’s only one left in the whole place, and at this hour, everywhere else within walking distance is booked solid with the basketball crowd. ”
“It’s fine. Not like we’ve never shared a room and a bed before,” I reminded him.
He sighed, mumbled something under his breath, then took the key card from the kid at the front desk before guiding me to the elevator.
We crammed in next to a couple of seven-footers who looked like they'd be more comfortable sleeping on a trampoline. Nick punched our floor, then braced himself against the wall. The other two got off first, talking about some party in a suite upstairs.
I could've made a joke about sleeping in the bathtub, but honestly? I'd rather have Nick there in the dark, between me and the rest of the universe, than be alone with my thoughts in some sterile room with clinically white bedsheets and plastic-wrapped cups.
But I couldn't say that, or it might get weird. Him knowing about everything that had happened was bad enough without me telling him I still got scared sometimes.
We hit our floor. The hallway was carpeted in a color I refused to name and a pattern designed by someone with a grudge against human happiness. There was a soda machine halfway down, and our room was at the very end, right next to the fire exit. Perfect.
Nick unlocked the door and stepped aside so I could go in first. I did, dropping my backpack on the single armchair by the window.
The room was exactly as promised with one queen bed, made up with a precision that bordered on military.
The TV hung right above the large dresser.
There was a tiny table with two hard chairs. And there was nowhere else to sleep.
Nick followed me in with bags in hand. He set them both on the dresser, then ran a hand over his face; the first sign of actual fatigue since we'd left New York.
"You want the bed?" he asked. "I can grab a cot from the front desk."
"Don't be ridiculous," I said. "It's just a bed. And we're both adults. Unless you're planning to get handsy in your sleep?"
He snorted. "I'm more likely to kick you off. I move around a lot."
"Good. Keeps me from getting too comfortable," I said, but inside I was a ball of nerves.
I didn’t sleep with men. Sex, sure, I could do that, but sleeping? Hell no.
I kicked off my shoes, then checked out the bathroom. It was standard issue: white tiles, a towel rack, everything bolted down. The only surprise was that there were actually two disposable toothbrushes in the little cup. Someone must've really cared about customer service.
I came back out to find Nick staring at the bed like it was a loaded gun.
"Hey," I said. "Is this going to be a problem?"
He blinked, as if I startled him. "No. Just thinking."
"About what? The trauma of sleeping next to me?"
He smiled, but it was thin. "Just if my boss finds out, he's going to have some words about witnesses, agents, and compromising situations."
I held up my hand. "I promise to tell him lies, lies, and nothing but the lies. You slept on a cot made of holy water and bibles. I'm not going to get you in trouble."
He nodded. "Thanks."
I sat on the edge of the bed, then fell backward, arms spread out. The mattress was actually comfortable.
"See?" I said, "Perfectly harmless."
He went over to the window, pulled the blackout curtain shut, even though the street below was empty, save for a squad car idling by a fire hydrant.
"Do you want to shower first, or should I?" Nick asked, turning back.
I gasped in mock outrage. "Ladies first."
He grinned, a real one this time, and I felt the heat flood my neck. Why did he have to be so... so Nick. Ugh, I clearly didn’t bring enough panties with me because one smile from him, and they were ruined.
I grabbed my pajamas—if you could call a t-shirt and shorts pajamas—then ducked into the bathroom. I let the hot water run, let it thrum against my skull, and tried to scrub off the anxiety that was starting to pool beneath my sternum.
Spoiler alert: it didn’t work, so I just washed off the sweat and got out.
I toweled off, dressed, then stared at myself in the mirror.
My hair looked like I'd just lost a cage fight.
My eyes were dark but clear. I didn't look scared.
Not yet. But what would they show tomorrow if we found that house?
When I came out, Nick was perched on the windowsill, scrolling through his phone. He looked up and gave a little half-smile, the one that said he noticed my bad hair but wasn't going to comment.
"Your turn," I said.
He ducked into the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack. He didn't take long—efficient as ever, probably a holdover from the Navy. When he came out, his hair was damp, and he was shirtless, wearing only boxers.
I averted my eyes, but not before clocking the delicious muscles on his chest and shoulders and arms and abs... damn, the man was a danger to my panties.
"Sorry," he said, and pulled the shirt over his head.
"Nothing I haven't seen before," I answered. True, but also not. It hit differently now because I knew what it felt like to have all that pressed up against me, and I wanted more. So much more.
I crawled under the covers, tugged them up to my chin, and watched Nick cross the room. He hovered at the edge of the bed, as if he needed an invitation. I patted the spot next to me.
"You're not going to get cooties, Tuna. Just lie down."
He obeyed, careful to stay on his side. We lay there, not touching, the gulf between us six inches and a million miles wide.
I stared at the ceiling, listening to the way the building breathed, the faint tick of pipes, the muted laughter from a room two doors down. Eventually, Nick turned on his side to face me, propping his head on his hand.
"You nervous about tomorrow?" he asked.
I wanted to say no, but the lie wouldn’t come.
"A little," I said, voice so small I almost didn't recognize it.
He nodded. "You don't have to go through with it if you don't want to. You don't owe anyone anything."
"I do," I said, and for once, I meant it. "There were other girls the other men would bring. If they’re still doing that..."
He studied me, eyes sharp and soft at the same time.
"Okay," he said. "I'm here for you, if you need a shoulder to lean on."
I let out a breath, and my hand found its way to the edge of the blanket, fingers worrying the seam.
I wanted to reach over and touch his hand, to feel the weight of him next to me, but I didn't. Instead, I lay there, feeling the heat of his body and the safety it offered, and pretended that was enough.