Life Shocks Romances Collection 3: Inflamed, Jilted, Kindled, Lured

by Jade Kerrion

  Marisa stared at him. I couldn’t. That was his reason, his excuse? He didn’t even bother to come up with something more plausible, something that would smooth over the hurt and ease the pain. “Is that all you can say? You couldn’t?”

  Anguish scored his green eyes. “Were you happy with Michael?” he demanded brusquely.

  When had they changed topics? Marisa wondered, but defiance and anger raised her chin. “Yes, I was very happy with Michael.”

  “Good.”

  She cringed at the rawness of his voice and at something else she didn’t understand. “You sound…relieved.”

  “I am. I’m glad you were happy.”

  “Nicky.”

  He shook his head. “Not now.” He sounded exhausted and driven to the edge.

  Of what? Tears?

  But Nicky never cried.

  “Not now or not ever?” she challenged.

  A thin smile touched his lips. “Ever.”

  “Nicky, I don’t like…” Her voice quivered. “I don’t like to see you in pain.”

  “Maybe I should find a different massage therapist.”

  “That pain I can handle. It’s the pain in your eyes and your voice when you look at me. Like I’ve hurt you.”

  He snorted and looked away, but not before she saw it again, the sudden flare of pain in his eyes.

  “What did I do?”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. And as you say, the words, the apologies, won’t change anything. It won’t make the pain go away, and it won’t turn back the years. It’s over, Marisa. We were done eight years ago.”

  We were done eight years ago. Nicholas’s voice echoed through his own skull. He frowned. How about I start acting like I believe it?

  Here, in the home Michael and Marisa had built together, there was no turning a deliberate blind eye to the past. It was all around him. The most tangible reminder, Eva, sat at the foot of his bed, playing with foam alphabet blocks. The other reminder, Lacey…no, Daisy, sprawled on the rug in front of the dresser.

  Marisa had retreated, her head held high, but her eyes glistening. She hadn’t bothered to argue, which was in itself a bad sign. He had pushed too far, or perhaps she had. Nicky’s first instinct had been to send Eva and Daisy out as well, but it was their home. He was the interloper, the reluctant witness of a family absent a husband and a father.

  The memory of the man Nicholas had once considered a friend tightened his jaw. You were a bastard, Michael. Michael had stolen from him and screwed him over. Michael had then shut Nicholas out when Nicholas had demanded he make things right. Anger was certainly justified, even hate.

  But now you’re gone.

  How was Nicholas supposed to hate a dead man, a man who had lost everything, including his life? How much longer was he going to nurse grievances against a man who could no longer apologize to him?

  Did Michael ever regret what he had done?

  Obviously not. Nicholas’s silent sigh settled like a weight in his chest. Michael had years to make things right, but he never did.

  This…all this could have been mine.

  He stared at Eva and Daisy. His thoughts lingered on Marisa.

  She had lost her husband, the man she loved. Eva had never known her father.

  In the grand scheme of life, what were his losses compared to theirs?

  Nothing. He had been acting like a spoiled child deprived of a favorite toy. It’s time to grow up. And it’s time to let go—to really, finally let go, and be the friend they need me to be.

  Nicholas inhaled deeply, and when Eva crawled over to him, he opened his arms to her, his heart still desperately aching but—for the first time—with a real smile on his face.

  We were done eight years ago.

  In the kitchen, Marisa paused in the act of mincing garlic to swipe the back of her hand across her eyes. If only she could blame the tears on slicing onions.

  “We were done” implied that something had existed eight years ago, and Marisa was certain Nicky wasn’t thinking about the dance partnership. Perhaps she hadn’t imagined the tender affection in his eyes whenever he looked at her. Perhaps she had been too quick to dismiss his reaction to her and Michael getting together as merely a sulky fit.

  Perhaps it had been a broken heart.

  But why hadn’t he said anything about it?

  Why had he left and never returned?

  Well, he’s here now, in my guest room, with an injured back and a mood fit to sour the world. She tossed the garlic into the frying pan, sautéed until they were sizzling and aromatic before adding the chicken and vegetables. She topped it off with sauce before ladling a generous portion of it over steamed rice. Carefully balancing a tray of food and a glass of water, she walked toward his bedroom, but paused outside the door when she heard his voice.

  “And this is a picture of your daddy playing football.”

  “Foosball,” Eva repeated dutifully, lisping through her front teeth.

  “And there’s your mommy, dancing.” Nicky’s voice was tender, wistful.

  Eva squealed. “Mommy!”

  “Yeah, your mom is an amazing dancer. And those are pictures of your grandma and grandpa.”

  Marisa peeked in through the open door. Eva sat on Nicky’s lap and pointed at pictures displayed on his tablet. The sight made her breath catch. Tears stung her eyes. How often had she wondered what it might be like for Eva to have a father?

  She had never imagined that Nicky would be the one to give her a glimpse of it.

  Clearing her throat, she stepped through the door to find three pairs of eyes—two human and one canine—on her. Daisy sprawled on the bed at Nicky’s feet, a picture of contentment.

  “I brought your dinner,” Marisa said, feeling like the intruder into a cozy scene.

  “Thanks.” The animated expression faded from Nicky’s face. He did not scowl at her, but neither did he smile. Marisa could almost see him rebuilding the emotional walls and bracing himself to be around her.

  She squashed the vague sense of having been insulted. She could do him a favor and get out of the way. She set the tray down and reached for Eva. “Come on. Let’s get your dinner.”

  Eva jabbed a finger at Nicky’s plate of food.

  Marisa shook her head. “Your dinner is outside, on the dining table.”

  Eva’s brow furrowed into a frown. Her lips shaped a pout.

  “Come on, Eva.”

  Eva’s chubby feet kicked a protest against the sheets.

  “Nicky…Nicholas doesn’t want you here. He wants to eat his dinner in peace.”

  Eva wailed. “Nicky!”

  Nicky spoke up. “She can stay. I don’t mind.”

  Marisa glanced at him. Was that laughter she heard in his voice? He still wasn’t smiling, but the tense lines around his eyes had relaxed.

  Eva, apparently aware that the situation had resolved, grabbed a small piece of chicken off Nicky’s plate with her fingers and put it into her mouth.

  Marisa winced. “I’ll get a fork and spoon for her.”

  That time, Nicky definitely laughed. “All right.”

  She returned a minute later with utensils for Eva and stood back as Eva gamely spooned rice and chicken into her mouth. Nicky spread a napkin over the bed to catch the bits of food that didn’t quite make it into Eva’s mouth.

  “Should I stay?” she asked quietly over Eva’s happy giggles.

  Nicky glanced at her as if she were speaking a foreign language.

  “I don’t want to be in the way.”

  “It’s your house. She’s your daughter. You’re not in the way.”

  “You’re relaxed around her. Not with me.”

  “That’s because she doesn’t put me through massage torture every other day.”

  Marisa laughed as she sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s kind of you to say so, even though we both know the massage isn’t really the issue.”

  “There is no issue.” Nicky smiled faintly. �
��There never was, except in my head.”

  Marisa smiled along with him, but she continued to wonder. What about your heart?

  And what about mine?

  Chapter 7

  Marisa awoke the next morning to a blaze of sunlight pouring in through the window. It undulated in golden waves on the wooden floorboards. She turned her head to glance at the clock on her bedside table. It was almost 9 a.m. on a Sunday. The house was quiet, surprisingly so.

  Dangerously so.

  She leaped out of bed and rushed into Eva’s room. Her daughter’s toddler bed was empty, the covers tossed aside. “Eva?”

  The sound of giggles drifted toward her. Marisa hurried to the kitchen to find Eva seated in a high chair with a bowl of half-eaten cereal in front of her. Nicky sat across from Eva; Daisy sprawled at his feet. Both Eva and Nicky looked up as Marisa entered. Eva grinned; Nicky didn’t.

  Eva thumped her spoon on the table joyously.

  Marisa stared in surprise and ran a hand through her disheveled hair. “I’m sorry she bothered you.”

  “It wasn’t a bother,” Nicky said. His eyes were fixed on her face, and his mouth was set in a tense line.

  “Oh.” Marisa flushed, suddenly realizing at she had dashed out of her bedroom wearing only one of Michael’s T-shirts and panties. The shirt was long enough to cover her underwear, but left her legs exposed. Her first instinct was to scurry away, but heck, it was her house. With her head held high, she turned and stalked out of the dining room.

  Nicky’s low, amused chuckle followed her out, accompanied by the thumping of Daisy’s tail on the dining room rug.

  Marisa’s chagrin melted into a smile by the time she reached her bedroom. Nicky had seen her in less than a T-shirt and panties when they hurried through costume changes in the wings. How many times had Nicky helped her strip off an elaborate tutu and shimmy into a breath-stealing leotard?

  It had been different then, though. They had been dance partners, and it had been more than eight years ago.

  Marisa stared at her reflection in the mirror. The fresh-faced teenager who had been Nicholas Dragov’s first dance partner was now the tired mother of a nearly two-year-old child. She hadn’t touched her pointe shoes in eight years.

  Not since I started dating Michael.

  Not since Nicky left.

  Michael hadn’t insisted she give up dancing, but he had shown her a world beyond the daily grind of school, dance classes, and rehearsals. Marisa was clear-sighted enough to know that she was talented, though not brilliant, at ballet. With hard work and luck, she might have squeaked into a corps de ballet and stayed there for her entire professional career.

  Nicky, however, had been destined for the stars.

  The timer on their partnership was running out.

  So she had walked away before he had. It started out small—cutting out on dance classes and missing rehearsals to spend time with Michael instead. Her truancy had cascaded into a scathing rebuke from her dance teacher, and sobbing, Marisa had pulled out of the Christmas performance of the Nutcracker.

  It would have been her last public performance with Nicky before he moved to New York City to join the American Ballet Theatre. Instead, she had sat in the audience while Nicky danced with another girl, Whitney.

  Whitney hadn’t gone any further than Marisa had as a professional dancer, but she continued to talk of that performance with Nicky as one of the highlights of her life—her moment in the spotlight with a star.

  Marisa, who had danced far more with Nicky, suddenly found herself envying Whitney that last moment with Nicky before his career took off and he became Nicholas Dragov—as much a stranger to her as to anyone else.

  A stranger who had given her daughter breakfast so that she could sleep in.

  No, Nicky wasn’t a stranger. He was a friend who had become a stranger. Whatever she thought she knew about him probably did not apply anymore. Yet, many things were aching reminders of the boy she had once known—his mussed-up hair that refused to be tamed with hair cream or gel, his lopsided smile that flashed white, straight teeth, and the warm glow in his emerald green eyes.

  I’ve changed too, she thought as she stared at herself in the mirror. And to think I once fancied myself in love with him. She shook her head as she turned away from the mirror and from the reflection of a tired young woman.

  Teenaged hormones were the craziest things.

  She showered, dressed, and returned to the dining room, but Nicky, Eva, and Daisy had already migrated out into the yard. Marisa stood by the door, unwilling to intrude on their play. Nicky sat on the patio chair, throwing a small ball out into the yard. Eva squealed and ran after the ball as Daisy pranced beside her, like a young puppy. She snatched up the ball, and holding it to her chest like a professional football player, minus the speed, strength, and body armor, she ran back to Nicky. She flashed a mouthful of teeth when she grinned and handed him the ball.

  Nicky laughed, a warm sound that carried no pain or hurt, and threw the ball again.

  Eva scrambled after it, but Marisa saw Nicky’s sudden grimace and the tensing of his shoulder and arm muscles.

  She slid the glass door apart and stepped out. “You need to take it easy.”

  Nicky rolled his eyes. “I’m not even standing up.”

  “You do know that every muscle is connected, right?” She walked up to him and touched the knotted muscles in his neck and upper back. He flinched slightly. “When your next appointment?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “You can’t wait that long.” She applied gentle pressure to his back. “Actually, I think your recovery might have been slowed by the uneven pacing of your treatment.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your physical therapy, chiropractor, and massage therapy sessions are all held on the same day, three times a week.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So, it might be better spread out incrementally each day rather than clumped on a single day. A fifteen-minute massage three times a day might do you more good than a sixty-minute massage every other day. That way, your treatment aligns better with whatever physical strain you’re putting your body through—like throwing balls when you should be resting in bed.”

  “It’s just a ball.”

  “You fell eight feet two days ago. You were in a major motorcycle accident two weeks ago. Did you forget?”

  “I can’t just stay in a room and do nothing. I’ll go crazy.”

  “Okay, you can sit here and throw a ball if you let me get some of these knots out of your back.”

  He grunted. “Why are you doing this? Keeping an eye on me. Helping me.”

  “Because we’re friends, Nicky—Nicholas.”

  He sighed. “You can call me Nicky.”

  Something leaped in her. It couldn’t have been happiness, not over something so ridiculously small and trivial. But it had felt like happiness, like she had won a precious and priceless victory.

  Like she had found something she thought she’d lost.

  Like his friendship.

  Nicky.

  How could something as simple as acknowledging a name be so transformative?

  Nicky sat in Marisa’s guest bedroom, content to listen to the sounds of a household settling down for the evening. The day had passed at a relaxed pace. Marisa hadn’t gotten on his case on his tendency to push too hard as long as he allowed her to dictate his care. Twice, he had been ordered to rest for a half hour with an ice pack and then a heat pack, but for the most part, she had been content with gently soothing his tense muscles with a five-minute back rub.

  After dinner, she had hustled Eva off to her bedroom for a bath. Nicky retreated to his own room but did not close the door. He wanted to hear the sound of Eva’s giggles and Marisa’s laughter. He had not realized how silent his life was until he was immersed in the activity of hers—life lived in vibrant color instead of black and white.

  He had chosen dance and life in New York City.r />
  He had chosen a life without Marisa.

  Nicky gritted his teeth as he leaned over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into soft darkness.

  She chose a life without me.

  He closed his eyes and listened to her voice as she read a bedtime story to Eva. Her voice had always been like music, and the passing years had mellowed it into a rich alto. When she laughed, he could swear it resonated in him, like it was connected to his heartbeat.

  She’s just a friend. It’s all she’s ever wanted from me all these years. Nicky sucked in an unsteady breath, and he shifted to lie on his stomach to conceal his arousal. At some point, his body and his heart would finally get the message his head had already acknowledged—probably when he was eighty, he chuckled ironically.

  He closed his eyes and allowed the draining combination of physical, mental, and emotional fatigue to drag him deeper into a place where he wouldn’t have to deal with his chaos of his life.

  A soft knock on the door yanked him out of it. “Nicky?”

  “Huh?”

  “Were you asleep?”

  He grunted. “Not anymore.”

  “I wanted to say thank you for being so patient about hanging out with Eva today.”

  “No problem. She’s a charmer.”

  “I also wanted to check on your back. You put a lot of strain on it today.”

  “No more than usual.”

  She snorted. “That, Nicky, is exactly the problem. You push too hard. That’s why your progress has been inching along the past two weeks. You’re undoing all the work that your therapists are trying to do.”

  “I can do more. I need to do more. I have to get back to dance.” It’s all I have.

  “Well, you got in lots of stretching today.” Marisa’s tone was even, the voice of a therapist. “How do you feel?”

  “Better. The massages during the day helped.”

  “I thought they would.” Her hand touched his back. “Would you like another massage before you go to sleep?”

  He drew in a jagged breath. How could he say, “No, go away. You’re making me hard,” without screwing up the careful friendship they were rebuilding?