39. Nick
THIRTY-NINE
NICK
It’s been six years since I last saw him.
I don’t have to ask myself if I was seeing things or do that whole was it really him? thing.
Of course it was.
As much as I’ve tried to convince myself I wouldn’t give a fuck if I ever ran into him, I’d recognize him anywhere.
I recognized him even before he turned around in that train car.
I’d barely rounded the corner when my eyes landed straight on him, still with his back to me.
I got a second to come to terms with what was happening before he turned.
He looked…
He’s definitely not nineteen anymore.
For a moment, I’m transported back to the dock all these years ago. The first time I laid my eyes on Indigo Von Ehren. That gut punch of a moment.
The impossibly bright smile.
Those emerald green eyes.
I step off the train and make my way out of the station, my mind hundreds of miles away in a whole different life. The one I’ve been trying to pretend never happened. Unsuccessfully. For years.
I just need to get home and get some sleep. It feels like I’ve been constantly on the move for years now, specifically so I won’t have too much time to think, and for tonight, that routine is fucked.
I need to go home and sleep it off. I’ll think more clearly tomorrow.
But before I can do that, I turn the corner. My eyes land on the lone figure in front of the door to my building.
My feet carry me forward.
He turns his head and pushes himself off the wall, head tilted to the side as he watches me approach.
“Blue.”
Almost immediately, I wish I hadn’t called him that. And now I’m pissed off. First at myself for slipping up like this, then my anger turns to him.
Why is he here?
Once upon a time I would’ve known exactly how he would react to me. What he would say. What he was feeling.
Those days are long gone.
When he looks at me now, I have no idea what’s going through his head.
His eyes move up and down me. He doesn’t show whatever he’s feeling.
“It really is you,” he says.
In the time it takes him to utter those four words, I get hit by phantom feelings so intense I almost stagger. There’s a vivid sensation that a missing part is still present, even if it was ruthlessly cut off years ago.
Without a train door between us I get a better look at him.
His black hair falls around his face in damp, messy strands. He’s still tall and wiry. There’s still a birthmark in the hollow of his throat.
But the eyes that always used to be so open and trusting? The look in them now is cautious and careful. Uneasy.
He rakes his fingernails over his collarbone quickly before he lets hand fall to his side.
My eyes track every move he makes. I take it all in. I drink him in. Greedily.
And then I’m even more pissed off because what the hell gives him the right to make me feel this way?
It’s been six years, but the memories of those last few days are still as vivid as if they only happened yesterday. I cling to them. I’ll cling to the stab of anger that shoots through me until my fingers are bloody if I have to.
I cross my arms over my chest.
“What are you—” I narrow my eyes. “How are you here?”
He gives a sort of helpless shrug. “I have a job here. It’s new. I—”
“No.” The word comes out harsh and I shake my head. “No. How are you here? In front of this building. In front of my building.” It takes me off guard. Completely. I fucking hate it.
He studies me quietly, so much more composed than I remember.
“I called Dia,” he says. “I guess I wanted confirmation that I didn’t imagine you. I thought…” He looks away then—a small moment of insecurity. “I thought you were in Chicago.”
The city hangs between us with all he leaves unsaid as baggage.
You went without me. Chicago was supposed to be our plan. You went ahead and did it without me.
My jaw tightens.
We don’t owe each other any explanations. We don’t owe each other anything at all.
Doesn’t stop me from demanding answers.
“Dia knows where I live. Bridget too. You’re really trying to tell me you didn’t know?”
He lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah, most of our conversations revolve around you, actually. I just can’t get enough. You should see us. I’m all, ‘Hey, Di. Remember that guy who hates my guts? What’s he up to these days? Spare no detail.’”
There he is.
Bite him, and he bites back.
My Blue.
Oh fuck no. No! Absolutely no part of him is mine. Not anymore. Not after everything.
Silence stretches between us until he exhales on a deep sigh.
“She wants us to figure our shit out. Dia. She’s your sister.
Technically, she’s mine too. In a way. She wants us to…
get along, I guess? Be friends. So this is pretty much her trying to push us to talk, I figure.
” He sighs again. “I don’t know. Take this as a courtesy or something.
I know you don’t want to see me, so if she ever invites you over to hang out, it’s most likely a setup. ”
“Is that why you’re here?” I ask.
He sets his jaw, and his eyes flash with annoyance.
“I’m here because I need a job and Bridge has a client who needs a babysitter.”
I frown. Bridget is a sports agent. She only has a handful of clients, most of them up and coming, fresh-out-of-college dudes with ambition that I highly doubt involves having kids any time in the near futu—
Wait.
Yeah, I’m fucking dumb.
Babysitting in this case will not be for an actual child. Although it might as well be.
“She roped you into working for Callum Mercer?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes.
Neither of us says anything for a bit. The tension is thick enough that I’m surprised it hasn’t taken a physical form.
“You can’t take that job,” I say.
His brows rise higher. “That’s none of your business, is it?”
I shake my head. “I’m serious. Find something else.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me. “No.”
“Blue,” I grit through my teeth.
He averts his eyes.
“Indy,” he says quietly.
“What?”
“My name,” he says. “It’s not Bl—it’s Indy.”
We stare at each other wordlessly. Both seemingly taken off guard by this reminder of who we are now.
“Indy,” I finally say. Even after all this time, it feels like I can’t make my mouth form the word.
There’s an invisible wall between us, and for once, I’m not the one who put it there.
The stubborn set of his jaw is back.
“It pays well,” he says. “And I need the money. And it’s actually none of your business.” He blows out a breath and drags his hand through his hair. “I’m gonna go. I think… I better go.”
Despite every instinct, I can’t force my eyes away from him. I can’t make myself leave.
He was my person. The one people search and long for.
The boy I loved.
And there’s the borderline irresistible urge to go to him, to wrap him up in my arms. It’s another phantom feeling. I shouldn’t want to do that. Absolutely I shouldn’t.
When we collided six years ago, it happened for a reason.
You can’t trust him.
He turns and walks away.
“Blue,” I call after him.
He stops, shoulders tensing, and slowly turns around to face me.
“You need to quit. Tonight. I’m serious.”
He tilts his head to the side.
Then he walks away.
Fuck.