47. Indy
FORTY-SEVEN
INDY
I don’t go home straight away. Instead, I walk the streets for the longest time, trying to figure out my next move, but it’s not coming to me. Eventually I give up and just walk until I can’t feel my legs anymore, and only then do I make my way back to my place.
By the time I walk through the front door, the soles of my feet are on fire, and I’m cold and tired.
The apartment is dark because it’s so late, but it’s a relief.
For now, I don’t have to worry about what to say to Bridget about quitting my job.
It’s not going to be a fun conversation. I really should have stayed fired.
I sit down on the bench by the door and pull my sneakers off. I lean back and drop my head against the wall before I blow out a breath. It’s been a long day, and I don’t have the energy to move anymore. Maybe I’ll just sleep here.
I drag myself to the bathroom nonetheless, strip, and step under the shower. I rest my forehead against the wall and let hot water beat down on my back.
Eventually, I climb out, wrap a towel around my hips, and make my way to my room. I only turn on the narrow LED lighting strip that lines the upper edge of the empty shelf. I drop the towel and I’m opening the underwear drawer of my dresser when somebody clears their throat. I whirl around.
There’s somebody sitting on my bed. Without thinking about it too much, I grab a book from the top of the dresser and lob it toward whoever is on my bed.
“Fucking ow!”
I blink and hit the light switch.
Nick squints and raises his hand to shield his eyes from the bright light.
I slump against the dresser, my heart beating way too quickly.
“What the fuck, Nicholas?” I ask. “Why are you in my bedroom? Are you trying to add breaking and entering to your résumé or something?”
He rubs his temple where I hit him with the book. “I was waiting for you.”
“To give me a heart attack? What a great prank.” I glare at him. “How did you get in here?”
“I have a key.” He sounds distracted and doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, his eyes move up and down me before they land on my face. “Did you forget something?”
I look down at my body. It takes me a few seconds to realize I’m buck-ass naked.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. I grab a pair of shorts and hold them up in front of myself while I glare at Nick. “Turn around.”
He raises his brows, and the corners of his lips start to twitch. He’s having fun with this. Great. Really fucking great.
“Why?” He blinks innocently. “There’s nothing I haven’t seen there.”
My whole body goes hot. “What are you doing?” My voice is a rasp. Barely that.
I see his throat move as he swallows before he looks away.
“We need to talk.”
“And it couldn’t have waited until any other time?” I ask.
“No.”
Still glaring at him, I yank the shorts up then cross my arms over my chest. “What?”
His eyes trail up and down me before he sighs and pats the bed next to him.
“I’m good.”
The last thing I need is to be that close to him.
Even being in the same room feels like too much.
He is too much. I never properly let myself think about what it would feel like to see him again.
Sure, there have been moments late at night when I’ve imagined accidentally running into him.
But in those daydreams I always had my shit together.
I was always calm and collected. I had a life and accomplishments, and I would not gloat because I was obviously dignified and classy, but he’d get it, nevertheless.
There would be the silent, look what you gave up. Look what you’re missing.
I never imagined that being near him would be so overwhelming.
“I want to apologize,” he says.
I did not expect that. I was preparing for a fight, so this has now officially taken the wind out of my sails. My shoulders slump, and I lean against the closed door.
We look at each other, neither of us saying anything.
Eventually I push myself off the door and go sit down on the bed, leaving a careful few inches between us. He’s silent for a long time before he turns his head and looks at me.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I guess… I don’t know how this works now. I know how we used to be, but that doesn’t fit anymore with how we are now.”
I look down at my feet, fingers plucking at the edge of the comforter.
It’s not that I thought we could ever go back to the way things were. But I also don’t think that up until this moment, hearing him confirm it out loud, I truly accepted that whatever comes next will be a pale shadow of what used to be.
“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” he says.
I turn my head, eyeing him carefully.
“But I am,” he says. “I look at you, and I remember, and I’ve spent so long trying to ignore what was.
But now, with you right here next to me, every feeling is raw again like no time has passed at all.
But then I also remember everything else.
What it was like between us… And it just messes me up because I still… care, and I hate that I care.”
I close my eyes and inhale softly. Harsh truths laid out in front of my feet. It feels like I’m walking on barbed wire.
“I don’t know how to be a dick to you,” he says.
A surprised chuckle escapes my throat. “But it used to come so naturally.”
He snorts out a laugh. “I guess I’m out of practice.”
We smile at each other, and it’s small and cautious and not really that much of a smile at all. But it’s there anyway.
“Or maybe you’re just losing your edge,” I say.
“It’s confusing as fuck,” he says bluntly.
I nod and direct all my attention back to my toes.
“Probably a good thing I quit, then,” I say, as lightly as I can possibly manage.
“You’re not quitting.”
I roll my eyes. “I already did. You were there, remember?”
“No. We’re not doing that.”
I blow out a breath. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and I’m too tired to hope for something good. “Then what do you suggest?”
“We’re not nineteen anymore,” he says slowly. “I think we can both handle a truce.”
Can we?
I’m honestly not sure.
He raises his eyebrows at me when I still haven’t said anything after a minute.
“I bet I can last longer than you,” he says.
I snort out a startled laugh. “You’re mature enough to handle a truce but not mature enough to avoid a stupid dare?”
He shrugs. “You’re already gearing up to beat me, so stones and glass houses, Blue.”
I shake my head and look away, biting back a smile; a genuine one this time.
He leans closer. I can feel the heat of his skin against mine. It happens in a snap. The tightening in my chest, followed by a flutter.
Oh, for fuck’s sake! No. We’re putting a quick stop to that right now. He offered me a truce, not his hand in marriage. It means we’ll both do our best not to snipe at each other or dig up the past in each other’s presence. Nothing more. And it’d be a good thing for me to remember that.
“A truce,” I say, testing the word out.
It’s not exactly a promise of forgiveness or friendship, but since I’m still not sure I’m after those things anyway, I figure we might as well start there.
I turn slightly toward him and hold out my hand. He blinks at it for a second and hesitates for another before he takes it.
I regret it almost immediately. It’s the feel of his palm against mine. Skin against skin. Somehow familiar and foreign at once. Nick’s fingers curl around mine. My breathing hitches the slightest bit. My shoulders tense and loosen in a beat.
Jesus Christ, it’s just a handshake.
Only it’s not.
Not with us.
Not after everything.
Nick clears his throat, but he doesn’t let go right away either. Instead, his thumb brushes over the side of my hand in this absent little movement that looks almost involuntary.
This tiny movement scores a direct hit directly beneath my ribs.
I pull my hand away. My fingers curl into a fist for a second and then I stretch them out.
“Truce,” he says, like he’s signing a contract. Sealing a deal.
The handshake lingers between us, and we’re sitting too close to each other. And neither of us seems to know what to say or do now.
Nick snaps out of it first. He gets up abruptly, all business.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says. “Early day tomorrow, I guess. Now that you’re employed and all.”
I get up too. We stand opposite each other, only a few feet of space between us.
He looks at me, and I allow myself to look at him.
His dark hair is shorter than it used to be, the messy waves trimmed into a neat haircut.
But his eyes are the same as they were once upon a time. Dark enough to drown in.
Nick absently shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and the movement draws my attention to the rest of him. The broad line of his shoulders beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. The chest that’s wider than it used to be. Long legs and muscular thighs.
For just a moment, I’m transported back in time to when we were more than a reluctant truce.
When we were everything.
My gaze flicks briefly to his mouth before returning to his eyes.
It’s difficult to look away, but I force myself to get it together.
It’ll do me a lot of good to remember that there is no more everything between me and Nick.
Now there’s less than nothing.