Jenny smiled sadly. “It’s still my favorite song. But I haven’t sung it in a real long time.”
“It’s part of the reason I came up to you that day in school.” The day he’d seen her wandering around in a daze during lunchtime. The day he’d seen a group of guys in the grade above her calling her stupid names.
He’d run to her before he even had chance to think it through, before he’d taken a moment to consider what a fist to the face of the ringleader might cost him personally. Even Dred hadn’t been able to pull him off.
Jenny sighed, a sound not of frustration but of melancholy. “I know. I must have heard you tell that story a thousand times.”
Even though he knew it was wrong, he stepped toward her until he stood right in front of her, a whisper of air separating them. It might as well have been a thousand miles. “I couldn’t stand the thought of someone bullying you or hurting you because even though I didn’t know anything about you or why you were in that therapist’s office, I knew it must be something serious. It’s ironic—my spending so much time looking out for you to make sure that nobody hurt you, and then ending up hurting you myself.”
Jenny sniffed quietly, ran her fingers under her eyes, and looked around as if to make sure nobody had seen them. “You’re hurting me all over again by doing this.”
“Do you really mean that? Because I would never put you through that pain again. If you really mean it, just tell me again, and I’ll make sure I keep my distance without letting any of the boys down.” He dipped his chin to try to meet her gaze, which was focused over his shoulder. When he finally had it, he said, “Just tell me to stay away, Jenny.”
His words hung in the air. He realized he hadn’t meant them. Staying away would be nearly impossible.
When she didn’t immediately answer, he felt a flood of relief.
“I have work to do,” she said and turned on her heels.
Six hours later, he found himself leaning against the wall by the gate to the group home. He’d killed the afternoon after the guitar lessons by ripping out the interior walls of apartment three with Lennon, Dred, and a giant sledgehammer. Dred had questioned him about Jenny. And Lennon had poked at Dred about everything from the sweater Pixie had made him to being off key as he sung until Nik had had to step in and separate the two of them, playing Dad like he always had. It was getting old.
Finally, the door opened and he watched Jenny shout goodbye to those inside.
“Nik,” she said, when she finally saw him. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to walk you home.” It was the truth.
Jenny looked over his shoulder to the garden. “What if I drove?”
“Did you drive?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I walked. I live close by. But I’m perfectly capable of walking home and—”
“I know you are. But this isn’t about you; it’s about me. I don’t like the idea of you walking home alone.”
She held his gaze. Again. But finally conceded. “Fine.”
There wasn’t a whole heap of excitement in her tone, but he’d take whatever opportunity she was willing to give him to get to know her again.
The last dregs of daylight colored the sky with streaks of orange and blue. He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away and tucked it in her pocket. The gesture made him smile. When they’d first met, she’d been so self-reliant, so used to depending on herself, that she’d struggled with the basic concept of holding his hand. But he’d convinced her once before that it was fun, romantic, comforting even, and he’d do it again. “So where do you live now?” he asked.
She set out south from the home. “I rented a basement apartment near Church and Maitland in The Village.”
It was a fifteen-minute walk but if he dragged his heels, he could make it last twenty. It felt strange and yet incredibly familiar to walk alongside her. If he was going to win her over, he needed to start from the beginning, but he was reluctant to go back as far as their messy break-up. “What were you doing before you came here?”
Jenny glanced over at him, then faced forward. “I moved to Ottawa after . . . you know, everything went down. The press was painful and everywhere reminded me of us, of you.”
For years, he’d tried to avoid thinking about how it must have been for her because every time he came close, every time he put himself in her shoes, he’d reached for a bottle of anything that would take the pain away or a warm body he could lose himself in, closing his eyes and pretending it was still Jenny falling apart in his arms. A part of him wanted to explain, wanted to tell her why he’d done what he had. It wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was downright fucking ugly. He still hadn’t figured out himself why he was so damn destructive all the time. Not so much to anyone else anymore, but to himself. In fact his behavior was at best polarized, but even as he thought it, he had no idea how to stop it.
The logistics of how she’d managed to start again in Ottawa baffled him. She’d left behind the joint credit card he’d given her, one with a five-hundred-dollar limit because that’s what he had qualified for back then—years before the black Amex Centurion Card that currently sat in his pocket. Nor had she taken any of the money from their account, one she was still named on. He’d kept money in there all these years in case she’d needed it. She’d just disappeared, taking only her clothes, the few personal belonging she’d acquired, and her social work schoolbooks. She’d wanted nothing from him, which hurt second only to her leaving. “That kinda move takes courage, Jenny. What did you do when you got there?”
Memories of being homeless, of being hungry, or being terrified flooded through him. If she’d experienced any one of those, he’d never forgive himself.
“I finished college, although I had to go back and repeat the year I was in once I got to Ottawa because . . . well, I didn’t cope with what happened too well. Couldn’t get up to go to school, couldn’t work on my projects. I finished my final year, and went to work in my first group home. Before I moved here, I was second in charge in a large home just outside of Orleans. Being back here . . . proving I can run a home by myself . . . it’s a big deal for me.”
They reached the busy intersection with Sherbourne, and as the lights changed Nik placed his hand on her lower back. She didn’t jump. In fact, she didn’t appear to notice it at all. But to him the contact was everything he’d missed.
“Why didn’t you tell anybody where you were?” It was the question that had always burned him. He knew that she didn’t have anybody else in the world who cared that she was okay as much as he did.
Jenny stopped suddenly and turned to face him. “Because I knew you would come and find me, and back then I knew I wasn’t strong enough to keep you away.”
Nik’s heart stopped in his throat. The pain in her voice cut him as deeply as any of his stab wounds had. Unable to help himself, he placed the palm of his hand on her cheek. Her face looked so soft, so vulnerable and open. As much as he wanted to kiss her lips, he buried the urge. “I’m sorry, Jenny. I can repeat that a thousand ways, and I can show you a thousand times over just how sorry I am. I just . . .” Just what? Threw it all out of the window in a reckless fit of hedonism?
Self-destruction.
He shut the voice off.
SELF-SABOTAGE.
This time it was even louder.
Jenny pulled away. “It’s probably best we leave all that alone. No point picking at a healed scab.”
“I don’t want to pick at a scab or have you hate me,” he said, sadly. “Or worse, I don’t want you to disappear on me again. I just want to get to know you, Jenny.”
“For what purpose, Nik?” Her eyes filled with tears, and he could feel the pain she was in. It mirrored his own. The pain that drove him to keep holding his makeshift family together so that life had some kind of meaning.
All out of words, he did the only thing he’d ever relied on for comfort. He pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers, lips he’d used to wa
tch as she sung, lips he could visualize around his cock as she’d given him her first-ever blow job, lips that he’d missed. They were soft and sweet, just like Jenny. Her fingers slid into his hair, her nails trailing along his scalp in a way that never failed to make him shiver. She remembered this. Their bodies remembered the way they were together. So did his dick, which was pressed up against her.
He knew it was over the moment her hands slid their way to his chest, and his heart broke all over again as she pushed him away.
“See, this is why I can’t be around you, Nik,” she cried. “It’s impossible to resist you. And we don’t belong together anymore.”
Nik shook his head. “Don’t do this, Jenny. We deserve a second chance to see what we’ve got. We are perfect together.”
“Were, Nik. We were perfect together. Don’t you see? It’s all past tense.” Jenny turned and hurried down the street.
“Jenny. Wait.” He jogged to catch up with her. “There was nothing past tense about that kiss, or the way you turn me on as much as you always did. There is nothing past tense about the way the sun catches your hair and turns it the color of a cornfield in fall. And I know you hate star references but there is nothing past tense about the way your fucking eyes light up your face like Nyah-Gwaheh, your Big Dipper, lights up the night-fucking-sky” he said. “I don’t want what we were to be the sum total of everything we ever add up to.”
“I’m never going to be able to trust you, Nik,” Jenny replied softly, a tear escaping to trickle down her cheek. “No matter how badly I want to. You let me down just like everyone else.”
He paced his hand on her cheek and wiped the tear away with his thumb. “Just let me back into your life, Jenny. Let me earn your trust. I won’t let you down again. Meet me. Have lunch with me. Or coffee. Anything. If you need closure, I’ll give it to you. Just don’t shut me out again. Please.”
Jenny stepped out of his reach. “Fine,” she said. “I’m off next Sunday.”
He had to wait a week, which was good. Because he had a shit-ton of work to do to be ready.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jenny pulled the baby blue sweater off over her head and threw it down onto the bed with the twenty-seven other discarded items.
It’s not a date.
If she repeated it over and over to herself enough, maybe she’d stop worrying so much about finding the perfect outfit in her less-than-perfect wardrobe. She yanked the hangers along the rail, looking at each item with a critical eye before dismissing it and sliding it along. Why oh why had she allowed him to talk her into spending Sunday, her only fixed day off, with him?
At least she’d been smart enough to set boundaries. She wasn’t certain exactly what had happened between the two of them when he’d walked her home the week before, but something had. That night as she’d lain awake in bed thinking about Nik, she’d come to the realization that for the sake of her own mental health, she needed to let go of what had happened in the past. It wasn’t that she forgave Nik per se, but she realized that hating him was taking too much energy.
And if she wanted to reinforce that this really wasn’t a date, then she needed to wear un-date-like clothes. No cute underwear, not that she had much of that anyway. Neither did she own any cute skinny jeans. Well, there was that one pair tucked in the back of the closet, but it had been a while since she’d wiggled her butt into them, and she wasn’t sure her nervous stomach would do well trussed into tight denim today.
She pulled on a pair of boyfriend-cut denim jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and the soft fitted navy jacket she’d bought to go to court with one of her boys last year. She’d throw her long coat over the top to beat the chill. Her brown ankle boots were going to have to do. Heels were not her thing, and flats were a necessity given the amount of time she spent on her feet during the day. Accessories were not a major part in her life, but her coworkers at the home in Ottawa had bought her a pretty blue and cream scarf as part of her farewell gift. Carefully, she pulled it from its hanger and slipped it around her neck before objectively studying herself in the mirror. It was the kind of outfit she imagined someone would wear to brunch. Good enough.
Where was Nik going to take her? She pondered the question as she threw on a little brown eye shadow and mascara. It was just about all she wore on a daily basis, and she prided herself for withstanding the urge to apply more. No matter how hard she tried, her thoughts veered to the romantic. Cristo still owned the Greek restaurant under the apartment they had lived in, only his son, Denes, ran it now. Nostalgia had her thinking about their usual order. She’d give Nik half her tzatziki; he’d give her all his olives. Or maybe they’d go to the Auld Spot Pub across the street, where they’d used to daydream about what life was going to be like when they finally made it.
Jenny grabbed her lip gloss and applied a quick coat. It was foolish to think about the good times.
When the buzzer rang, she deliberately took her time pulling on her coat and going to the door. Make him wait. Because I am not eager. When she finally opened it, she immediately regretted saying yes.
Nik stood there in a pair of dark jeans that fitted him like a glove yet sat low on his hips. He wore a collared shirt, and she would bet any money that underneath the leather jacket he wore open, the sleeves would be rolled up to reveal his forearms. Around his neck was the beaded necklace that his grandmother had made for his father. She blushed as she remembered the nights she’d lain in bed next to him and played with the blue, black, and white beads.
“You’re early,” she said. It was only ten after ten.
“Good morning, Jenny,” Nik said with a grin, as if he could read her mind and knew her thoughts had turned to his naked body. “You feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, stepping out onto the small lane that ran alongside the house.
She was about to close the door when he reached for her arm to stop her. “Wait, are you not inviting me in?”
“Why would I?”
“Well, first it would be polite. But second, you’re going to need your passport. You do have one, right?”
Jenny tipped her head to look at him. “Why on earth would I need my passport?”
Nik reached for her wrist. “Because we’re leaving the country. And unless you want to end up permanently on the wrong side of a border, you’re going to need it.”
“What? Why can’t we just go to Starbucks like normal people? This is my only day off, and I’ve got shit I need to do tonight.”
He flinched slightly, as if not expecting her response. “Well, it’s a good thing this won’t take all day if we leave now.”
She put a hand on her hip. “How long is this going to take?” The slight pinch in her voice made her sound ungrateful, but she didn’t care. This was way beyond what she’d been expecting.
“As long as you want it to. Look, grab your passport, come with me. I’ll have you home by seven, I promise.”
“Seven? Nik, this is too much. What on earth are we going to talk about for nine hours?”
“We’ll find something,” he said with a shrug. She recognized the tone—disappointment. “I’m sure plenty has happened in the last eight years. I could spend a couple of hours talking about 2013 alone.” Nik looked down at the ground and kicked at some loose concrete with the toe of his boot. Something about the way he sighed told her it had been rough, and for a moment she wanted to know why.
Finally, he looked at her. “I just wanted to do something nice. Something unexpected. You used to like it when we were spontaneous,” he said wistfully.
She thought about the time they’d decided to hitchhike to Algonquin to go camping with nothing more than a rolled-up tarp from the construction site Nik was working, two old sleeping bags, and a backpack full of food. She remembered bathing in Madawaska Lake and eating Doritos while sharing a bottle of Moosehead. Once upon a time, she’d have thought nothing about letting Nik lead her on adventures. She’d trusted him implicitly.
Plus, he�
�d always been generous. To her, to his brothers. He’d saved so much of his salary to make sure that the rest of the band were set up when they moved out of the group home. Hell, he’d shared his home, food, and money with them until they had found their feet.
She shook her head. Fine. She’d go along with his plan. Instead of saying so, she turned and headed back to her apartment. “Stay up there,” she shouted over her shoulder after she heard footsteps following her down the stairs. The sound of boots on wood stopped.
Quickly, she found her passport but took the time to change her purse. If she was going somewhere farther away, she’d need her phone charger and her full purse rather than the small coin purse she had planned on.
Finally packed, she jogged back up the stairs. “I’m ready.”
“Good. Oh, and I forgot to say . . .”
“Say what?”
He kissed her cheek gently. “You look lovely, Jenny.” Before she could acknowledge his words, he placed his hand on her back. “We need to hurry if we want to keep our flight time.” At the end of the driveway was a taxi. “I figured there was a chance if I showed up in a limo that you wouldn’t get in it,’ he said with a grin.
“That’s a fair assumption . . . it’s so . . . grandiose, for a quick trip to the airport.”
Nik grimaced. “Yeah, well . . . are you going to refuse to get in the one I booked for when we get where we are going? Because my life . . . well, it gets tricky to just line up at a taxi rank.”
Jenny stopped walking and raised an eyebrow. “Luxury in the name of security?” she asked dryly.
Nik laughed. “You haven’t seen anything yet, babe.”
Babe.
It had always been his name for her. And she’d never been one of those women who found the name offensive. In fact, she’d loved it. The way he’d whispered it gently in her ear. Open up for me, babe. Fuck, babe, you feel like heaven. She shivered.
He took her hand as he helped her in, then closed the door softly while she got comfortable. The door on the other side popped open as Nik slipped inside. Once he was seated, the car pulled away from the curb.
Nikan Rebuilt--A steamy, emotional rockstar romance Page 7
