by Tara Leigh
Nash made me question my self-imposed exile. His kiss shook my foundation like an earthquake, made the ground beneath my feet feel unsteady—but in a good way. Like I wasn’t standing on dry, barren dust but rich soil, ripe with possibilities.
And now . . .
Now, there will be no more flirting, no more kisses.
But maybe there is one more silver lining.
Although running into Nash with a gorgeous woman and two adorable kids in tow isn’t how I wanted to spend my evening, I’d rather come face-to-face with his hypocrisy now than later. Nash and I are nothing, really. Not even friends.
Sure, Nash Knight is fifty shades of sexy.
But we’re completely incompatible. Nash said it himself—he doesn’t do relationships. And I don’t do one-night stands.
Except that no, that isn’t true. Nash Knight is a liar. He’s clearly in a relationship—and there are kids involved! I curse my stupidity for not paying closer attention to the woman’s ring finger. Eva, he’d called her. Is she his wife, fiancée, serious girlfriend? Are those his children? With a pang, I remember how she referred to the little boy that was clearly Nash’s mini-me. Our little guy.
I might not have checked out the woman’s hands, but it would have been impossible not to notice the rest of her. Tall and thin, with jet black hair and startling blue eyes, she wore elegant, expensive-looking riding boots that peeked out and slim-fitting, dark jeans. A white blouse and brown suede blazer added to her look of streamlined sophistication.
Looking down at my own ensemble, I grimace. I’m wearing jeans, ancient Converse sneakers and an oversized sweatshirt that defeats the purpose of my logo’d tee beneath, with my hair in a messy top-knot. Inhaling an entire pint of ice cream.
A disgusted sound emerges from the base of my throat, the contents of my stomach turning sour. I jam my spoon into the nearly empty carton and pitch it into the garbage.
Of course Nash would rather be with her. She’s his perfect pair and I’m just . . . not.
Somehow I manage to get through the last hour of my shift, not that there are many customers on a chilly evening in mid-September. Too bad, because it allows a lot of time to think. Their happy little foursome was in the store for five minutes, maybe ten. Yet every second of the ordeal is alive inside my mind, rubbing at my brain like sandpaper, making it impossible to think about anything else. Nash. Eva. Two kids. One that looked like her. One that looked like him. They could have been cast in a commercial for a minivan.
Actually, no. Not a minivan. A six-figure Mercedes SUV, maybe.
It’s at times like these when I miss my parents the most. Especially my mom.
Because I have questions. Why do I keep falling for the wrong men? How can I spot a liar before it’s too late? Is love really worth the trouble?
Dozens of ice cream tubs mock me with their silence, and the thick cotton of my sweatshirt is no match for the frigid air. I cross my arms and rub at my shoulders, willing the clock to speed up.
Nash
Leaving my guts at Nixie’s feet on the floor of the ice cream shop, I pick up Madison and carry her to the car while Eva tends to Parker. Her cone drips all over my clothes as I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes, the memory of Nixie’s shocked, hurt expression lodged in my brain like a poison-tipped spear.
After Jay drives us back to Eva’s apartment, she and I continue with our tag team approach, as we’ve done so many times before. I run the bath, she strips off their clothes. She soaps up Madison. I wash Parker. I dry Madison off, she dries Parker. The twins have only recently separated into their own bedrooms, and there we switch again. Eva dresses Madison in her pajamas and I do the same for Parker. I read Goodnight Moon to Madison and then again to Parker.
Eva emerges from Madison’s room just as I close Parker’s door, The Very Hungry Caterpillar dangling from her hand. “Thanks, Nash.” She shoots me a grateful look, pushing fingers through her dark hair. “I could use a glass of wine.”
When I don’t immediately jump in with a Me too, she adds, “Don’t make me drink alone, okay?”
I shove my hands back into my pockets and drag in a breath. “Sure.” Nixie is hardly in a hurry to see me again, and I can use a drink to quiet my racing thoughts, not that wine would have been my first choice. Following Eva into her kitchen, I open a drawer and pull out her steel corkscrew. “Sorry about last night, again. Were the kids disappointed?”
Tight bands bracket her lips as she sets a bottle on the counter in front of me. “Oh Nash, I know better than to get their hopes up. I never tell them that you’re coming over until the doorman says you’re in the elevator.” Her eyes shine with a sadness I didn’t put there, but haven’t done nearly enough to fix.
This is turning out to be one hell of a banner day. Fuck.
I uncork the Malbec, Eva’s words chipping at my conscience, and pour two hefty glasses. What can I say? She’s right. One hundred percent right. “Eva, I—”
She takes the glass from my outstretched hand and moves to the couch in the living room, sinking into the cushions. “It’s fine, Nash. Really, I get it. You have a life.”
And my brother doesn’t.
The unspoken thought hangs in the air between us, lowering the temperature in the apartment by at least ten degrees. I gulp at the wine, my eyes prowling the room for the photographs of Wyatt scattered on walls, tabletops, and bookshelves. An electronic frame plays a montage of photographs on a continuous loop, my brother in every single one. Wyatt—alone, with Eva, with me, with Scott, with our parents, with his firefighter buddies. Photos of Wyatt with everyone . . . except the twins. They’ve never met their father, but Eva makes sure that they see his image and feel his presence in their lives every day. I sit down heavily on the couch. “I should be here more. I want to be here more.”
“Do you really mean that?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yeah. I really do.”
Eva ventures a cautious smile. “Madison and Parker would like that,” she says, then adds softly, “I would too.”
My shoulders hunch forward as I meet her gaze. Eva and I have known each other for years, since my time in the Executive MBA Program at Columbia. She was an undergraduate and we bumped into each other, literally, walking through campus. I asked for her number while we scrambled to pick up books and papers before they blew away, and after dating for months, I brought her home to meet my family. Wyatt was home too, the same age as Eva, and the three of us went to a local bar together.
It was a fall night, nearly Thanksgiving. The line at the bar was three deep, and as I bellied up for another round, I had a clear line of sight to Eva. There was a look on her face that was similar to the way she looked at me, but her expression seemed brighter somehow, her blue eyes gleaming.
But it was the wide, goofy smile splitting my brother’s face in half that sent the bottles I waited so long for sliding through my fingers. When they hit the floor, splashing everyone around me, Eva and Wyatt had turned immediately, guilt breaking through their elated haze.
I left. Later, they both denied what I’d seen with my own eyes—the spark between them. Our break-up was mutual, and Eva seemed relieved. Not long after, they became a couple. It caused a rift between me and Wyatt, but with him risking his life every day, it was hard to stay mad at my brother. I threw myself into work and a steady stream of interchangeable women, knowing that Wyatt and I would get back on track, eventually.
And we did. I was the first person Wyatt told when he decided to propose to Eva. By that point, I was genuinely happy for them. And then, he died before he had the chance. Before he knew Eva was pregnant.
Eva discovered she was pregnant after the funeral, and I vowed that I would take care of her, and my brother’s child. One child turned out to be two, and the three of them are the reason I’ve thrown myself into work, shunned any relationship that might encroach on my responsibilities to them.
In nearly five years, Nixie is the first woman to make me questi
on whether I have room in my life for anyone else.
“Good.” I nod. “Why don’t you ask the kids what they’d like to do next weekend? We can go to the Bronx Zoo, or the Children’s Museum. Maybe take a quick trip down to Disney or Legoland.”
She smiles as if I’ve said something funny. “Slow down, Nash. Why don’t we see how your week goes? Don’t you have some big deal you’re working on?”
I’m always working on a big deal. “I’ll make the time, Eva.”
She replies with a vaguely noncommittal noise. “So, what else are you up to these days? It’s been a while since we’ve done more than talk about the kids.”
I rarely discuss my work outside the office, and never with anyone not bound by an ironclad NDA. Too many deals have been destroyed from a casual comment overheard by the wrong person. Eva knows this. “The usual. Mostly work.”
“Still fighting?”
“Yeah, when I get the chance.”
“How about women? Are you seeing anyone these days?”
An image of Nixie fills my mind, regret slamming into my stomach. “No.” I frown, the word slipping from my lips like a bitter pill.
Is it a lie? After today, I don’t know if Nixie will ever agree to see me again.
Eva tilts her head to the side, silently appraising me. “Don’t you ever want more?”
I stare back. “I’m fine with the way things are, Eva.”
“Are you, Nash? Really?” Her voice is gentle. “Wyatt wouldn’t want us to be alone, or lonely, for the rest of our lives.”
I stare at her warily. “I’m not lonely. I have you, the kids. Work.”
“I have you and the kids, too. And I’ve been working with Jolie on branding her new jewelry line, which I’m really loving.” Eva presses her lips together, releasing them on a sigh. Whatever is coming, I won’t like it. “But Nash, I am lonely. I want to spend my life with someone. Someone to share dinners and bedtime routines and an after-dinner glass of wine with. Someone to go to bed with at night and wake up beside in the morning. And the kids need a father.”
“They have a father,” I shoot back, bristling at the direction our conversation had taken. Why is my perfectly ordered life suddenly busting at every seam? First Nixie makes me doubt the path I’ve chosen, then Mack Duncan condemns it. And now Eva is telling me she’s dissatisfied, too. What the hell is going on?
“Yes, they do,” she agrees. Her features are neutral, her voice as calm as if she’s trying to coax one of the twins out of a temper tantrum. “But he’s buried six feet under and we’re here. Alive.”
Frustration bubbles inside my veins and I take a deep breath, then another, holding my temper in check. The last thing I want to do is hurt Eva’s feelings, or offend her at all. She has too much on her plate for me to pile anything else on. “They have me,” I say simply, my tone restrained.
She shrugs. “Sometimes. Once a week, at most. It’s not enough, Nash.”
I set down my empty glass on the cocktail table and wrap my hands around my knees, feeling jumpy and on edge. “What are you saying, Eva?”
A few seconds pass by as she looks at me with her mouth just slightly open, as if she isn’t quite sure she should push out the words clogging her throat. Finally, she does. “I’m telling you that I’m going to start dating. Or—”
“Or what?” I press, despite wishing this conversation was already over. Better yet, that it never began.
“Or . . . I want to know if whatever there was between us . . .” her voice trails off as she looks at me hopefully. “I want to know if there’s a chance we can get back to that place. If there’s room in your life, and your heart, for more than just your next takeover target. If you and I and the twins can be a family. A real family.”
Shock swirls inside my gut, and I stand up, then fall back down as if yanked backward by a string. “You’re my brother’s—”
“No,” she interrupts, her voice firm. “I was, past tense. Before that, I was yours, remember? We loved each other.”
I try to make sense of what Eva is saying, but I can’t. It’s completely disorienting. “You’re asking me to take Wyatt’s place,” I eventually manage. “Eva, I don’t think I can—I can’t. I won’t.”
Her expression is stoic as she holds the delicate crystal goblet between her palms, thumbs tracing the slender stem. “Maybe you’ve given up on love, but I haven’t. I can’t force you to be anything more than what you are, a friend to me and an uncle to my children. But just think about it, okay?”
I offer only a long, searching look before I stagger up from the couch, dragging the back of my hand over my lips as if I can scrape the taste of our conversation away. Eva is the only woman I’ve ever loved, and she ripped my heart out of my chest and danced on it in a pair of spiky stilettos the night she chose Wyatt over me.
But I buried any lingering animosity toward Eva the day we buried my brother. And as the mother of my niece and nephew—I care about her, deeply. I’ll do anything in the world for her. But I’m not in love with her. Hell, I want nothing to do with that damned emotion ever again. Her kids deserve a father, though, and the thought of anyone taking Wyatt’s place makes me sick with nausea.
As I cross the living room, my normally compartmentalized mind is a jumbled mess. Eva doesn’t deserve what fate doled out to her. What she and I once had was light and fun, simple. Maybe we could get back there again . . . but is that enough? After what she shared with Wyatt, and even just the initial spark I felt with Nixie—would simple be enough, for either of us?
At the front door, I turn. “I’ll think about what you said, Eva. But even if all I can be is their uncle, I want to be a damn good one. Let me know what the kids want to do this weekend, and I’ll make it happen.” I close the door behind me and dart into the elevator. My head is pounding and my heart—the organ I thought had turned to stone long ago—feels shredded.
Despite the late hour, I need to burn off some of the emotions clogging my pores, squeezing my chest. For the next three hours, I pound heavy bags, pummel speed bags, jump rope, and lift weights before finally climbing onto the treadmill. I should be tired, but I feel like I could keep going all night.
After five miles, Reggie comes up to me and turns off the machine. “You fucked it up already, huh?”
My head drops, frustration knifing through my spine. “Yeah.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
I’ve known Reggie for more than half my life. We don’t talk. He throws out advice, I usually take it. “Nah, I’ll figure it out.”
He blinks up at me a few times, then gives a reluctant nod. “All right, son. You’ve got two angels looking out for you, one on each shoulder. They won’t lead you wrong.”
Scott and Wyatt. I hear their voices as I log another couple of miles, as I head to the locker room, as I shower off the sweat. Family first, always.
And when I walk out the door of Reggie’s gym, my eyes are drawn to the alley across the street where I first encountered Nixie. At this hour, it’s a dark gap between two buildings.
I swallow, grabbing my phone from my pocket and pulling up Nixie’s name in my contacts. She thinks I’m the lowest of the low right now, and maybe that’s for the best. With a feral growl, I hit delete. Before I can change my mind, I scroll over to my texts and erase our entire feed, too.
If only I can wipe out the memory of Nixie’s heart-shaped face burnished with golden freckles, forget how every glance sends waves of heat licking at the surface of my skin, penetrating deep.
Chapter 8
Nash
The next month goes by at warp speed, most of which I spend leapfrogging across the Eastern Hemisphere. China, Hong Kong, Japan, South Korea, India, Israel. My passport needs extra pages.
Am I running myself ragged to avoid Eva?
Yes.
And in the hopes of forgetting about Nixie?
Hell, yes.
Not that it works. As I analyze dozens of companies with technology similar
to NetworkTech, but without marriage-on-his-mind Mack Duncan at their helm, they are like a jumble of rocks held together by cement. Some are as dull and misshapen as gravel, and some glow, valuable enough to be worth the hassle of drilling through the excess.
Which is exactly what my balls feel like they’ve been filled with. Gravel. Swallowing a groan, I shift in my chair.
Ever since a goddamn meteor named Nixie crash-landed into my life, nothing has been the same. It’s as if all that gold has spoiled me for other women. Coppery hair, topaz eyes, sun-kissed skin dusted with bronze freckles. Every thought of her shoots off fucking fireworks, overshadowing every woman who isn’t her.
Including Eva. Things are tense between us, too. We haven’t revisited our last conversation, but I can’t cut her out of my life. That would mean ignoring the twins, too, which is out of the question.
I have my assistant set up visits to the Museum of Natural History and the Hayden Planetarium, and buy tickets to Disney on Ice, the Harlem Globetrotters, and the latest Disney movie to hit theaters. Activities with little opportunity to talk.
Today though, Madison and Parker have a cold, cancelling our plans to spend the afternoon at a kid-friendly festival on the High Line. Instead, they want me to come over to build them a fort out of couch cushions. So I throw myself into building the best damn pillow fort possible, reading them half a dozen books by the light of a flashlight.
I’m stalling, and Eva and I both know it. But as the kids eyelids droop, it’s obvious Eva’s done being patient.
Which means—I have a problem.
I have no fucking clue what I should do. What’s the best course of action in this situation?
Should I get back together with my ex, the woman my brother planned to marry, to ensure my niece and nephew have the family they deserve?
Yes.
It’s the right answer. The obvious answer. Eva is gorgeous. She’s also smart and funny and kind. And a great mother. I loved her once.
And yet . . .
