Chapter 14
Nadya
NICK GUNNED THE ENGINE and took the first exit onto the highway while I wrapped my arms around his waist and hung on for dear life.
His jacket smelled like motor oil and fresh basil, as if he’d kept a potted herb in his duffel for emergencies.
I buried my face between his shoulder blades, watching the world unspool in blurred fields, and tried not to think about anything.
Except I thought about everything. About how I’d woken up that morning with his hand splayed across my stomach, his chin on the top of my head, and our legs tangled.
For just a moment, I had become that helpless kid again, flattened by hands twice as big, breathing in sweat and smoke.
It took me three very long seconds to convince myself I was safe.
I’d been with plenty of men before, and sometimes they wanted to cuddle, but it never, ever made me want to cry and throw up at the same time.
It’s the sleeping part that had tripped me up.
When my brain was fully awake, I had an easier time knowing what was real and what wasn’t, which was exactly why I only ever had one-night stands and never stayed the night.
Now, I was here, clinging to Nick’s back, heartbeat going a hundred miles a minute and not just because of the motorcycle.
Ever since that night with Nick, he had been my secret wish. I wanted someone who’d make me feel like Nick had, and I wanted to keep him instead of walking away. But dreams weren’t real. No one as good as Nick would want to stick around and deal with all my baggage.
Nick deserved something easier, someone who didn’t wake up in a cold sweat or treat simple affection like a grenade with the pin already out.
By the time we reached the sign for the town I hated with all my heart, my hands had gone numb.
The country road gave way to a main street so flat and empty it could’ve been the set for a remake of every small-town horror film.
Nick slowed as we coasted into what passed for the center: a handful of old storefronts, some warped plywood on empty windows, a sun-bleached flag.
In the distance, a church steeple cut through one and two-storey houses, but the rest of the town seemed determined to avoid attention.
Nick killed the engine and set the kickstand, then waited until I pried my arms off him and wobbled off the back like I’d never had working legs in my life.
I yanked off the helmet, shook out my hair, and tried to look like the kind of woman who didn’t almost break down on the highway for no reason.
“Nice driving,” I said.
Nick grinned. “You did good. Didn’t even try to kill me with your knees once.”
“I was holding out for a scenic overlook.”
He pulled off his helmet and raked a hand through his now messy hair, eyes scanning the main drag. “Any idea what direction we should be headed?”
I looked around, trying to recognize something, anything, but it was all wrong.
In my memories, this town had been a blur of car windows and cigarette smoke, every trip bookended by the “house with the blue door.” We never stopped at the diner, or the store, or the sad little playground.
There was just the drive, then the house, then the drive home.
“I don’t know,” I said, because it was true. “It all looks... smaller.”
Nick nodded. “Then let’s take a look around on foot and you tell me if you see something familiar. Just because I think this is the right town doesn’t mean it is. We might be looking in the wrong state.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, and started walking.
The sidewalks were cracked and bulged from tree roots, and the only sign of life was a lawnmower somewhere in the distance.
I counted every step, then lost track and started over.
When we reached the town square—really more of a lopsided triangle—I got a vague sense of familiarity.
Not something I could put my finger on, but it felt like the right place.
Then again, maybe all small towns looked like this.
I forced myself to look around, really look, and that was when I saw it: the old gazebo, paint peeled to the bone, the wrought-iron fence bent at both ends. And just across the street, the ice cream parlor— still open, somehow— with the same striped awning I remembered from a lifetime ago.
I stopped, breath catching in my throat.
“Hey,” Nick said, voice gentle. “What is it?”
I just stared at the awning, the colors faded but still there, and in a flash I remembered sitting in the car that first time, wondering where the hell we were going without my sisters, wishing we could stop for ice cream but knowing I’d feel guilty if I had some and they didn’t.
Nick followed my gaze to the shop. “Familiar?”
I nodded. “It’s more faded, but it’s the same one.”
“Have you been inside?”
I let out a sad laugh. “No. He didn’t bring me here for ice cream.”
Nick didn’t say anything to that. Just stood next to me, quiet and solid, letting me absorb it on my own terms until I was ready to walk again.
The main street turned residential; the houses pressed close together, each one clinging to the illusion of privacy behind scraggly hedges and leaning mailboxes. I looked for anything blue, but every door was white or brown.
We turned down another street to walk back toward the town square, but as soon as we rounded the corner, I saw a man standing by the post office across the street.
He was maybe thirty, wearing khakis and a golf shirt.
He smoked a cigarette with the bored efficiency of a man who’d done nothing else for decades.
The way he flicked the cigarette, the tilt of his head, his eyes tracking passing cars. The world tunneled down to that one figure, and suddenly I was a kid again. Someone was telling me to “just let it happen, and it’ll be over quicker.”
My hands started to shake. I stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk.
Nick noticed immediately. “What is it?” he asked, voice low.
I stared, unable to blink. “That man,” I said. “I know him.”
Nick didn’t ask how. He just followed my gaze, then very casually pulled his phone and snapped a picture. Then the man ground his cigarette into the concrete and walked inside the post office.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. The whole world narrowed to a pinpoint.
Nick put a hand on my elbow and steered me away from the street, down an alley behind the bakery. I let him guide me, my feet barely touching the ground. When we stopped, I pressed my back to the wall and gulped air like I’d just resurfaced from a deep dive.
Nick positioned himself between me and the mouth of the alley, blocking the view. I tried to steady my hands, but they wouldn’t cooperate.
“It’s okay,” Nick said, voice steady. “You’re safe. I won’t let anyone touch you.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Damn it. I should’ve been ready for this. Of course, if I went to a town where it all happened, I might run into someone who... someone from the house.
Nick shook his head. “Don’t be. You did well. Just focus on me, on the sun on your face, on the smell from the bakery. You’re here with me.”
After a few minutes, my pulse slowed. I focused on the chipped bricks, the smell of yeast and powdered sugar, the weight of Nick’s body between me and the rest of the world. That was enough to tether me.
When I could speak, I said, “He’s not the same. Too young, maybe. But he looks like one of them.”
Nick held up his phone to look at the picture. “It could be a relative. Son, nephew. I’ll run this through the system and see what comes up.”
“Yeah. It could.”
Nick waited for me to recover, his arms folded, his eyes fixed on the end of the alley.
I straightened up, brushed imaginary dirt from my jeans, and squared my shoulders. “I can do this,” I said, mostly to myself.
Nick looked at me, searching my face for any sign of another freakout. “We can go back to the hotel and return tomorrow, if you need a break.”
“No. We need to find that house,” I answered, determined.
A drink would’ve been nice right about now, though. It was probably a bad idea, considering we were on a motorcycle, but if there was ever a time I needed to drown out the past, it was now.
Nick gave a short nod, then held out his hand. I hesitated before taking it. His grip was warm and dry, anchoring me in the present. Maybe with him holding me, I could face that blue door and not lose it completely.
We walked back out into the now empty street, as if that man had never been there at all, as if he was just a ghost.
But he had been here, even if he wasn’t really one of those men.
I looked up at Nick, his jaw set with quiet fury—but he wasn’t angry at me.
I could tell from the way he angled his body to protect me, the way he held my hand, that he simply hated what had happened to me all those years ago, hated that I was back in this cursed town where I might run into someone I never wanted to face again.
But with him here, I felt safe despite it all. This feeling wouldn’t last, but for now it was enough.
We moved on, through street after street, looking at every door, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, I saw it.
The house at the end of the street, smaller than I remembered, hunched under a drooping porch. The door was a shade lighter and some of the paint peeled off, but it was the same house.
I felt my stomach drop into my shoes. “That’s it,” I said, barely above a whisper.
Nick followed me to the edge of the property, eyes alert, cataloguing every window and door. “Do you recognize any cars?” he asked.
I scanned the driveway, but the two cars parked there didn’t look familiar.
“There used to be a big, green Oldsmobile.” I shrugged at my own description. “Sorry, I was never into cars.”
Nick grunted, then pointed at the house. “You want to get closer?”
“No,” I said, too fast. I couldn’t. Not with my heart in my throat and my skin prickling.
“Alright. I’ll just write down the address and see what I can find when we get back to the hotel.” Nick pulled out the phone and wrote down the information, then steered me back to the motorcycle.
Finally, this awful trip was over, and I could return to the hotel to get plastered.