by Krista Holt
I wake with a kink in my neck. Slowly sitting up, I try to work the sore muscles back into functioning order. Not that it matters, I feel like shit. My head pounds from drinking too much. The clock across the room says it’s only a little after six, but I need to replace my phone before anyone notices I can’t be reached. I shower, dress, and grab the SIM card off the counter before heading out the door.
After driving to an acquaintance’s shop, I wait outside in the brisk morning air until he sees me through the window. He hurries to the door and jerks it open.
“Nic, please come in. What can I do for you?”
“Morning, Sam. I need a new phone.” I hand him the SIM card.
“Of course. I’ll check the stock in the back. Give me a second.”
He finds the newer version of my old phone, pops the SIM card in, and powers it up. Once everything comes through, he hands it to me.
“It has the same number and everything?” I ask him.
“Yep, you’re all set.”
“Thanks, what do I owe you?” I reach for my wallet.
“Nothing,” he refuses. “Consider it a thank you for everything you did.”
“That was nothing, let me pay.”
“No.” He holds up his hands in refusal. “Please, let me do this for you.”
“Thank you.” I palm the phone, slipping it into my jacket pocket. “Has everything been quiet?”
“Yes. You solved our problem.”
“Good to know.” I give him a wave, heading toward the door. “Thanks again.” I step outside, bracing myself against the cold, and hurry to the Mercedes.
I’m not above bribing Reagan, so my next stop is for coffee, but first I check the burner phone in the glove box. There’s a voicemail waiting for me.
“Things have changed. Call me back,” the voice crackles and then disappears.
“Great,” I complain aloud, already dialing. Like I needed one more mess to clean up today.
CHAPTER 28
Reagan
I’m under the covers and blissfully unaware of the world, when my phone rings from across the room.
“Go away,” I mutter into my pillow, breathing a sigh of relief when it finally silences itself. I shift deeper into my blankets, hoping to fall back asleep. Until it rings again.
I plan to ignore it, but someone knocks, loudly, on the front door. Flinging the covers back, I sit up, glancing at the clock. 6:42. Seriously?
I shuffle down the hallway dressed in black yoga pants and Nic’s old Stanford sweatshirt that he left here the other day. “You better have a good reason for knocking this early,” I grumble, cracking the door open.
Nic stands on the other side, dressed in faded jeans and a gray sweater underneath a black overcoat. He holds a cup of coffee out to me. “Morning.”
I squint at him, my eyes still adjusting to the brightly lit hallway. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Were you still asleep?” He reaches through the door, gently pushing his way in.
“Yes, I was. Most of the population still is.”
His eyes skim down my frame, taking note of his sweatshirt. He tries to hide a knowing smirk by extending the coffee again. “Here, it’ll wake you up.”
“I’m not sure I want to.”
“Did you want to go back to bed?” The corner of his mouth twitches. “I don’t have a problem with that.”
I frown at him, but he ignores it. Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he walks us to my room. He deposits the coffee on the dresser and waits until I’m sitting on my bed, back against the headboard, before tugging the covers over my legs.
“Go back to sleep, I’ll be here.” He takes a seat in a small chair by the window and pulls his phone out.
I sink down into the covers, watching him type something. His eyes catch mine periodically as he goes about his business. I wish I understood him.
I would give anything to know him, really know him. But, he won’t let me in. He tries, but his physical presence isn’t the same as him being present. Even now, as he stares out the window, his thoughts are elsewhere. His expression is distant, distracted.
“What’s your father like?” I ask hesitantly.
He stills, his eyes slowly meeting mine. “Where is this coming from?”
“I’ve always wondered. You don’t talk about him. You don’t talk about any of your family.”
“He’s my father.” The words hang there between us as I wait for him to give me more. “He’s like any other, I suppose.”
I sigh inwardly. He’s deflecting.
“I don’t want to talk about this. If you aren’t going to sleep, let’s go get you a tree.”
“It’s too early,” I argue.
“Well, I’ll buy you breakfast first.” When I don’t acknowledge him, he stands, leaning over the bed, over me. “I come here to forget, Reagan.”
“And when I stop working as a bandage? A quick fix?”
The back of his hand brushes my cheek. “Can we not do this right now? I didn’t get much sleep, and I’m tired of fighting with you.”
I wish I could shove this aside as easily as he does, but I can’t. I want to know. “Who was that guy, Nic?”
His stare is intense, his eyes never leaving mine. “A colleague.”
“I asked you if you knew him.” I sit up.
“No.” He straightens, sliding his hands into his pant pockets. “You asked if he was a friend of mine. He’s not.”
My gaze narrows. “But you work with him.”
“He works for my father.”
I groan, running a hand over my face. I move to the side of the bed, letting my legs dangle off the edge.
Everything from last night has been tumbling over and over in my brain for hours. It took me forever to fall asleep. What happened wasn’t normal, and the way Nic reacted to it set me on edge.
“That’s all it was,” he says, reading my thoughts.
“How did your colleague even know where you were?”
He falls silent. The air fills with tension at his hesitation.
“Tell me the truth,” I plead.
His lips press into a tight line. “You already know I can’t tell you everything. The same way you don’t tell me everything about your work. So I don’t push, I don’t ask, I let it be. Is it too much to ask for the same courtesy?”
I draw a quick breath. “I’m precluded from telling you everything.”
“The same way I am,” he responds, moving to stand in front of me. “I work out of my place, I meet people wherever they need me to. Last night happened to be unscheduled. He saw me and wanted to talk.”
“That doesn’t explain him watching us outside.”
“He was having a smoke.”
It’s more than that. I know it.
He moves toward me. “You have to give me some grace. Every move I make, you scrutinize it. You’re constantly looking for something to hold against me, waiting for the other shoe to drop. So, let’s be honest, you haven’t forgiven me for leaving you.” He cocks one dark eyebrow.
When I don’t respond, he continues. “I need you to trust me.” He reaches for my hand, his fingers playing with the bracelet still on my wrist. His bracelet. His thumb runs over the inscription, brushing against my skin. “No one is protecting your interests more than I am, Reagan. If you need more time to forgive me . . . fine.” His hands move to my waist. “But stop fighting with me. We can’t rebuild anything if we end up arguing all the time.”
“Why is this so hard?”
“Because I hurt you.” My eyes drop, and he tilts my chin back up. “You didn’t want to let me in the first time. But I got in there, and I’ll do it again. We have to stop arguing though.”
The earnestness in his gaze is so strong that my resolve begins to cave. “I have been waiting for you to screw up,” I admit.
“I know.”
“Do you realize how hard this is for me?”
“I do. And I’m not taking it lightly.�
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“As long as you understand that.”
A smirk appears. “Can we kiss and make up?”
I roll my eyes. “No, I’m going back to bed.” My back hits the mattress. “Want to join me?”
He shrugs out of his coat and tosses it at the chair, putting a knee on the bed. “I can’t refuse that offer. But I’m still going to kiss you.”
He does. And for the time being, I can forget.
* * *
“There,” Nic says, plugging in a strand of lights. The four-foot Noble Fir taking up temporary residence in the corner of my living room flares to life a second later.
“It’s beautiful.”
His enthusiasm has kept a content smile on my face for most of the day, from breakfast and Christmas tree shopping to our trip back out to the store when he discovered I had nothing to decorate a tree with. An assortment of multi-colored ornaments now covers my glass coffee table, and my fingers ache from fastening metal hooks onto every single one of them.
He drops onto the couch behind me, sprawling out. “This is a lot of work.”
“I told you.” I laugh, tossing some loose garland at him. “But you insisted.”
“Yeah, yeah, rub it in.” He brushes the shimmery mess to the floor. “I need to eat,” he says, giving me a disgruntled look.
I glance over my shoulder, raising a brow. “Are you expecting me to do something about that?”
He wipes away a fleeting smirk. “And if I said yes?”
“I think I have an open bag of chips somewhere.”
“That’s disappointing. We’re going to have to work on your domestic skills.”
“Excuse me?”
“Good Italian wives feed their men.” He toys with a strand of my hair.
“I am neither Italian nor anyone’s wife.”
He playfully tugs my hair and I let my head drop back into his lap. His features are upside down as he looms over me, smirking. “For now.” His lips hover over mine for a torturous amount of time, and then, he kisses me.
When he pulls away, my fingers jump my lips. “Um . . .” I swallow nervously, trying to get a grip on the rush of feelings his words unleashed. “I have tickets.”
“You have tickets?” His eyes twinkle with amusement.
“For New Years.”
“Ah.”
“Do you have plans?”
He shrugs non-committedly. “Tell me about yours.”
“It’s at the Italian embassy. There’ll be drinks, dancing, and probably some really horrible appetizers. Cameron had some extra tickets and gave them to staff. I guess he knows the ambassador or something. There’s an extra ticket, if you want to come.”
“I don’t need the ticket.”
“Oh, okay.” I try to hide my disappointment. “That’s fine. If you have plans, I get it.”
Nic shakes his head. “I don’t need the ticket ‘cause I was already going.”
“Really? I didn’t realize you attended stuff like that.”
“It’s work related. We import from Italy. And of course, I’ll come with you.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to distract you. I can invite a friend.”
He gives me a dark look. “Like I’m going to let you go with another man.”
“I didn’t say anything about it being a man.”
“I’m taking you. End of story.” He drops his arm around my shoulders. “Do you need a dress?”
“I’m sure I have something.”
“It’s a dressed-up kind of thing.”
“Thanks, but I can dress myself.”
He doesn’t say anything, just grins.
“What are you thinking?” My eyes narrow in suspicion. “You have that look on your face.”
The corners of his mouth draw up even higher. “What’s wrong with my face?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, but I recognize when you’ve decided to ignore me. It’s the I do whatever I want face.”
He throws his head back and laughs, loudly. “I didn’t realize I was so easy to read.”
“You aren’t. Except for this.” I push up to my knees, and turn around. “Nic . . .”
He pulls me in between his knees, leaning forward to kiss me on the forehead. “What size are you again?”
“Don’t even think about it . . . ,” I warn. “I mean it.”
“Never mind.” His hands span my waist. “I’ll just guess.”
“I don’t need anything.” I shove at his chest. “I’m fine.”
“You are,” he says, chuckling when I groan at his corny line. “Let’s go grab something to eat.” He lifts me to my feet, standing as well. “We’ll finish this when we get back.”
“This isn’t over,” I threaten.
He just grins, steering me toward the front door. I have one arm in my coat when his phone rings. We both stare at the offending object, sitting on the coffee table.
He grabs its and answers, “Yeah?” His face blanks out as he listens. “I’m on my way.” He hangs up and then slowly turns to me.
“Work?”
“Something like that. I’ve got to go.”
I bite my tongue, forcing back all the questions that fly through my mind. Instead, I calmly say, “I’ll walk you out.”
We’re silent in the elevator, waiting for the doors to open.
“Can I drive you somewhere?” He holds the building door ajar for me.
“No. I’ll walk.”
He’s not pleased, but he doesn’t argue.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says, kissing my forehead before stepping off the curb and heading to his car. “I promise.”
* * *
The piercing sound of my ringtone pulls my head from my pillow. Lying on my stomach, I push up on my elbows, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark room. Ugh. Where did I leave my phone?
The nightstand.
I reach for it, almost falling off the side of the bed before I grab it.
“Hello?” I mumble, not fully awake.
“Sweetheart.”
My head drops back to my pillow, lazily holding the phone to my ear. “Nic, it’s the middle of the night.”
“I know.” He clears his throat. “I didn’t want to do this over the phone . . .”
I sit up, trying to force a swallow down my suddenly dry throat.
“ . . . but this is gonna take me longer than I anticipated.”
Seconds pass before I can put together a sentence.
“Are—are you coming back?”
A door closes on his end of the line. “Of course I am,” he whispers harshly. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know, maybe because you’ve done this before,” I snap, anger igniting in the pit of my stomach. “You gave me some vague goodbye and then disappeared into the mist last time, too.”
“That’s not happening again,” he says sharply.
“Then what is this? Why are you calling?” I pull my legs underneath me, surrounded by the darkness in my room. “You’ve already been gone for two days.” I glance at the illuminated clock across the room. “It’s officially Christmas morning.”
“I know it is,” he groans. “But I may not be back until tomorrow.”
“I can’t believe this,” I say coldly, shutting down. Shutting him out. “I guess I didn’t need a tree, did I?”
He curses under his breath. “If I could be there, I would.”
“Of course. You never say things you don’t mean, right?” My hand drops to my side, taking the phone with it. I hang up, even though he’s still talking. I don’t want to listen. Not this time.
I shut my phone off and fall back into bed. Pulling a pillow over my face, I let the tears fall. Will I never learn my lesson? How many more times do I have to go through this before I realize—He can’t be trusted.
CHAPTER 29
Nic
I’m sitting here, surrounded by noisy, boisterous conversation and the scraping of silverware against china dishes.
The alcohol is flowing, and that’s largely the reason why my father is sitting across the table from me with a red face, laughing loudly at something Saul whispers in his ear.
It’s a long table set with anyone and everyone my father deemed necessary to attend his Christmas feast. Half the people here I haven’t seen since I was in diapers, but I ignore them.
I ignore everyone, focusing on relaxing my hands against my legs. Otherwise, they’ll become fists, and those fists will reach across the table, grab my father by his tie, and strangle him.
“Nicola.” My mother captures my attention. “You aren’t eating.” Her eyes drop to my plate.
She’s right. The white dish is still full, stuffed with turkey, stuffing, and all the trimmings. It’s the only holiday meal she’s Americanized over the years.
Trying to appease her, I pick up my fork and force myself to swallow a mouthful. It tastes like sand, and I’m sure it has nothing to do with the cooking. She keeps watching me, though, so I keep eating, until my sister elbows me in the side.
“Did you talk to him yet?”
“No,” I shake my head slightly. “I’ll do it later, after he gets a few more drinks in him.”
“Don’t forget, Nic.” She giggles, sounding a little buzzed. “I made a rhyme.”
It pulls a smile from me. “I won’t forget. Why are you so insistent about this happening tonight?”
“Daniel bought a ring.”
I lean forward, staring down the table at the very uptight man sitting next to my sister. His face is pale, and sweat lines his forehead. He wipes it away every couple of seconds like a nervous tic.
“Does he think we’re going to shoot him?”
She sobers. “No, I think he’s heard the stories.”
“Are you sure about him? I mean,” I glance down at Daniel’s ruddy face again, “he’s a little . . .”
“It’s him.” Her eyes flicker to our father. “He worries Daddy won’t approve.”
“He doesn’t.”
“He will, once you talk to him.”
I grab the wine glass in front of me, and take a drink. “I think you overestimate my touch.”
