Jenny’s heart slammed against her chest, and she was barely able to breathe. “This is all so . . . confusing. I don’t know how I can want you like this and still . . .”
Nik held her close and touched his forehead to hers. His hands ran up and down her spine as they swayed gently from side to side, the passion ebbing away from them as they came to their senses. “I can’t tell you what to do,” he said quietly. “All I can do is tell you what I hope for. Let me try to put the pieces of us back together. Let me show you how I can fix me, so you never have to doubt me again. And if after all that you don’t want me, I’ll go. But please, let me try.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Unfinished.
Nik looked around the third floor of the house, the bare bones of the master suite, as his fingers hovered over his electric piano. Everything is his life was unfinished.
The music sprawled out in front of him was definitely unfinished. Elliott had come back from treatment with lyrics that had blown them all wide open. When he’d presented them to the group, they’d been left speechless, and even now reading them as he composed music, they left Nik feeling raw. Somehow, Nik had the sinking feeling that the music he was writing would dishonor Elliott’s words.
His house was unfinished. Only six weeks into a five-month reno, he knew there was a long way to go, and while he was loving the process of helping rebuild his home from the studs up, he couldn’t explain how unsettled he felt sitting there alone.
And he hadn’t finished reading the love letters from Wilfred to Avaline.
He reached for the bundle that he’d been compelled to bring with him from the first floor and untied the ribbon. They were in chronological order, he noted, and he could imagine Avaline carefully adding each new letter to the bundle as she received and read it. He’d read the first three, so he gently pulled the fourth letter from its envelope.
My dearest Avaline,
I have realized that in my darkest moments, all I need do is close my eyes and remember happier times. I remember the smell of your apple pie as it bakes, and the whisper of the corn fields right before harvest. I think of the chill of the first snowflake of winter and the hope that comes from seeing the first snowdrop in spring. I remember the pride I felt when I first put on this uniform, and the way your eyes lit up the day you saw me in it. And I remember the day I saw you walk toward me on our wedding day, the way your hair glowed in the late afternoon sunshine, the way your eyes met mine with such love and adoration I felt unworthy. It is very caddish of me to mention, but I also noticed you had new stockings, which was a very inappropriate but deliciously naughty thing to wonder over as we said our vows.
I say all this because despite your attempts at optimism in your last letter, I felt a sadness, one I would carry for you if I could. Fall back in love with your life, Avaline. Find the joy in being a nurse, reclaim the brightness that shone from you on our wedding day. If I do not come home, you must live so joyfully enough for both of us.
You should know that I will haunt you, if you do not.
With Fondness,
Wilfred
“Fall back in love with your life.”
It seemed so simple, and yet impossible. Had he ever been in love with his?
The thought ripped something deep within his chest. He’d been in love with Jenny. Hell, he’d probably never stopped loving her. But himself? His life?
He felt alive when he stepped on stage, of course, and there was no greater feeling than performing with his brothers. But was that love?
Lost in thought, he placed the letter on top of the piano and then fiddled with some settings. He started with a simple melody based on Joy Division’s classic “Love Will Tear Us Apart.” Every lyric of that song was perfect for his mood. A lament about routine, ambition, and resentment. And about how timing could be so flawed. His worst fear was that every miserable failing would be exposed. Using his Mac, he synced a dance beat to it but began to deconstruct the melody. His own lyrics began to run through his head. Not Elliott’s words or his controlled guitar, or Dred’s fiery lyrics, or Jordan’s bass. But something uniquely his own.
As he played around with words, he thought about Wilfred’s comments. He thought about how hard his father’s life had been before his sudden death. Time didn’t always heal everything, but it sure as fuck brought perspective. As a child, he’d thought of his father as a strict disciplinarian and an unhappy man. Learning about intergenerational trauma, the legacy from his family’s time in residential schools, had helped Nik understand some of his father’s behaviors. And Nik found himself wondering what his father had loved. Had he loved Nik’s mother? He couldn’t remember.
And what had his mother loved?
Her son.
The thought stopped his fingers on the keys.
His mom had loved him.
In the purest sense of the word. Without strings. In a way that had caused her to lie down over him when he’d been knocked to the ground and take every stab wound that had been meant for him. Rage flowed through him as he thought about the way her eyes had gone wide, her mouth opened into an O. The sound of that god-awful blade passing through her skin like a skinning knife through salmon. Nik stood and kicked his piano, sending the Mac, the piano, and the letters flying across the room.
“Fuck!”
He ran his fingers through his hair and tugged it near the scalp.
For his entire life, he’d been trying to get to the mysterious “there.” That place where he would have enough, would be successful enough, happy enough, loved enough. And yet here he was, in a home that he owned, with every luxury at his disposal, and a pit in his stomach the size of Lake Ontario. And nothing he did, no amount of success or money or fame, was going to fill it.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to check who was. His heart rate began to slow as soon as he saw the name. She was the only one who had that kind of effect on him. The only one who could calm the turbulent storm that roiled inside, even if the rest of the world only saw the swan above the water.
Jenny.
He opened the text, praying that she wasn’t going to cancel. Their date was the only thing stopping him from sinking into a really dark spiral.
Heels or flats?
Those three words made him smile. It was odd . . . for a girl who would pretty much do anything and go anywhere, that she’d always needed to know what shoes to wear.
I’m driving. No hiking. Whichever makes you most comfortable.
Could you be any vaguer?
He was being vague because he didn’t want to spoil the surprise. Trust me, wear what you want.
See you in an hour?
He thought about Wilfred’s letter again and suddenly felt childish that he’d kicked his piano over and had very likely killed his laptop. He picked both up, and was relieved to see that the screen wasn’t cracked, although only time would tell whether he had done internal damage. Then he bent over and picked up the letters. What was it he had said about Avaline’s stockings? Quickly he typed his response.
It’s probably inappropriate to say, but I’ve always thought your legs look great in either.
The embarrassed emoji she sent back made him smile.
Nik hurried through his shower, and, once dry, he pulled on a dark navy shirt, rolling the sleeves up over his forearms. He knew how much she liked that look on him. He reached for the beaded necklace that had belonged to his father that sat on his dresser and slipped it over his neck. Every time he wore it, he thought of his grandmother hand-beading it. When he was finished dressing, he grabbed the stuff he needed, locked up his house, and headed to his car.
The growl of his Jaguar F-type roared through him. It was a sound he loved, and again he found himself thinking about Wilfred’s letter. Was life really the sum of a million small memories, as opposed to what you had to show for it? He pulled up outside Jenny’s and was surprised to find her standing there. He had always been the first one out of bed, the one who pu
t on the coffee and handed her a cup when she wandered out of the bedroom half asleep. She had been the one who hit the snooze button six times in a row, the one who was ten minutes late no matter what time you told her to be ready. Instead, there she stood, waiting for him.
He pulled into the parking space slowly because he needed a moment to take her in before he actually had to put into words exactly what it was she did to him. Despite the cold weather, she wore a beautiful burgundy dress that skimmed her frame perfectly, emphasizing her narrow waist and curvaceous hips. It brushed just above her knees, and the black heels she wore revealed toned calves that told him she worked out more now than she used to. The black leather jacket she wore was open, but the way she crossed her arms beneath her breasts—which, holy fuck, pushed them up and together—told him she was cold. That, he could do something about.
He pulled up and, leaving the engine running, stepped out of the car and walked over to her, wrapping her in his arms. Damn. He’d always been a sucker for her in plum lipstick. Especially when her lips were wrapped around his cock. “You look spectacular,” he said, unable to resist brushing her lips.
“You clean up pretty nicely too,” she said. “I have no idea whether I am overdressed or not, given that you gave me nothing to go off.”
Nik smiled. “Believe me, there will be nobody judging you and nobody to compare yourself to.” He knew that for a fact because he’d arranged for it to be that way. “Let’s get you into the car where it’s warm, and it will only take us fifteen minutes.”
For fifteen years, he’d had reasonable control of his dick. But for some reason, just the smallest glimpse of her thigh as she lowered herself to her seat had him readjusting himself as he closed the door. Thank God they were going to have some privacy where they were headed.
“So, where are we going?” she asked as he drove them across the Don Valley Parkway, heading east on the Danforth.
“For a walk down memory lane,” he said as they passed the Danforth Music Hall, where they had played as a practice venue before they’d gone off on the tour that had driven Jenny and him apart.
When he parked outside of Petrino, Jenny turned to look at him. “For real?” she asked with a grin.
“For real. I want you to myself tonight. I didn’t want to share any part of either of us with anybody else. Ready for some Greek food?”
Jenny looked out of the window. “You realize this is the last place we ate together?” she said quietly, glancing up at the windows of the apartment they’d once shared.
He did. It was the reason they were there. “Seeing that it was the last place we were together, it made sense to me that this is the place we begin to pick up the pieces.”
Without turning to face him, she reached for his hand and he took it. “Thank you,” she said. Yet before he could respond, she pulled the door open and stepped out of the car.
* * *
For the briefest moment, she was twenty years old again, and the man at her side was still the love of her life. So often they had jogged down the steps from the apartment to the restaurant below to grab takeout, but occasionally they’d sat down at what she’d always thought of as their table.
And now she was back, and so was he. The dissonance she’d felt when she’d first seen him with Albi was fading. Despite her reluctance, they were falling back in step. Nik reached ahead of her to pull the door open, and she dipped under his arm in a move that was so familiar it made her heart ache.
Cristos, the retired owner, appeared out of nowhere as he’d always done. “When Denes told me who had hired the restaurant for tonight, I had to come and see it for myself. I can’t tell you how happy this makes me.”
Jenny reached out her arms and hugged him. “How have you been, Cristos?”
“I am so much better for seeing the two of you,” he said, reaching around her to shake Nik’s hand. “Please, come sit. I’ll have Denes bring out some tapenade and tirokafteri to get you started while you decide what you would like to eat and drink.”
Once they were seated, Cristos hurried off to the kitchen.
Jenny looked around and for the first time noticed they were completely alone. “It only just hit me, what Cristos said about someone hiring the restaurant. Did you arrange for there to be nobody else here?”
Nik reached across the table and took her hand. “Are you going to be mad at me if I say yes?” His grin was contagious.
How could she be when he’d done something so thoughtful? “No,” she said. “As long as you don’t let me drink too much ouzo.”
Nik’s smile dropped a little.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Remember when I told you that I went full tilt, enjoying everything that I’d been deprived of when I was younger?”
“I do,” she said. Something about his tone worried her, and she rubbed her thumb across his fingers.
“I don’t drink anymore. Everything got out of hand. My spending, my drinking. So, I stopped. You are more than welcome to have as much ouzo as you want, and it will be my privilege to get you home in one piece, and I will also promise to be a complete gentleman when I put you to bed. But you’ll be drinking alone.”
He held her stare as she processed his words. “Water will be fine for me. I have a feeling that keeping my wits about me around you might be a good thing.”
“Smart move,” he answered, his stare becoming heated.
Jenny looked down at the menu that Cristos had placed in front of her. “They changed out those sticky purple menus, but the choices still look the same.”
“Why mess with perfection?” Nik asked, but he held her gaze as he said it. God, how would she ever be able to guard her heart when he looked at her like that? “Let me guess, piperies kaftes gemistes? I never really got why you loved those hot peppers.”
“Why mess with perfection?” she said, laughing as she repeated his words to him. “And some of those fried and baked zucchini things.”
“Kolokithakia tiganita. And some tiger shrimp?”
“Yes,” Jenny said, slamming her menu down on the table. “The garides rodou.”
“We can decide the rest later, but that’s a good start.”
Cristos brought them the tapenade and the spiced feta and took their order, returning only to pour their water. He disappeared into the kitchen again.
Jenny took a bite of the Kalamata olive tapenade that she knew Nik wouldn’t touch. “Oh my God,” she groaned. “This is just as good as I remembered.”
Nik scooped some of the feta onto his fork. “I should come here more often,” he responded before he slipped his fork into his mouth.
She tried to ignore the way his lips opened, or the way his tongue met his fork. Damn him for even making eating look sexy. “So, what is going on in your life right now?” she asked, trying to take her mind off how good he looked sitting opposite her, his long dark hair flowing over his shoulders the way she loved it.
“Well, I have rehearsals for the Canadian leg of the tour. We finished a three-month European tour at the start of September and needed a break. Now we’re just ramping up to the Canadian leg, but we’re a bit fed up with the set, so we’re trying to mix a couple of things up, switch out some songs, see if we can’t find a new way to engage the audience.”
Her heart pounded at the mention of the one thing that had come between them.
If they were going to move on from what happened, she couldn’t be terrified every time he mentioned touring. “I’m proud of you, Nik. I mean, this is what you always wanted. To play these huge arenas. To be a household name. Preload has done incredibly well.”
Nik took her hand across the table. “Thank you, but it’s such a double-edged sword. We’ve gained a lot, but we’ve all sacrificed a lot. I mean, this”—he waved his hand around the restaurant—“this isn’t normal. But there is no way I could have come to eat here on a Sunday night and hoped to be left alone. And then there’s the individual spotlight.”
Jenny too
k a bite of the feta as she listened, the spicy cheese delicious. “I have to be honest. For the last five years, I’ve tried to not pay too much attention to what you’ve done because . . . well, it was just too . . .” She shook her head. There was no value to keep bringing their conversations back to that moment. “Explain it to me.”
He took a sip of water. “Here’s what I’m grappling with right now. CBC wants me to do this genealogy show about my ancestry. Which sounds cool, right? National TV, et cetera. But shit. You know my life. You know what happened. And I don’t get to control the dialogue. I mean, they could try to show the positive, show how, despite obstacles, I’ve pushed through. Or they could be total jerk-offs and turn me into a victim. And I get that I created some of that, but the average twenty-two-year-old fucks up and the worst that happens is one of their friends posts it on Snapchat. I’ve fucked up a thousand times over on a national stage. But I’d do it all over again because of the amazing career I’ve had.” He sighed. “So even talking about it smacks of first-world problems, right?”
When the story of Nik’s cheating had broken, she’d been able to hide. Ottawa had been the perfect place to disappear into the crowd, but Nik had had nowhere to go. While she had little sympathy for the circumstances, she understood what it must have felt like to not be able to escape the media. “I honestly don’t understand what that must feel like. I mean, I guess I do a little. When the news first broke, some local press tried to come around and get my story. It’s part of the reason I moved out. I can’t imagine what it feels like living like that permanently.”
“I feel like there’s one big thing and a million little things that I need to say sorry for . . .”
Jenny placed the knife and piece of bread down on her plate. His words of the last week came back to her. About the two of them, about what they’d been, about what they could be if they could get over the past. “I think we’re going to trip ourselves up if we keep going back to that place, yet everything seems to stem from there. I think I agree with you, that we can get to a better place eventually, but perhaps, for now, we could try to not just focus on the bad. Perhaps try accepting what happened for what it was.”
Nikan Rebuilt--A steamy, emotional rockstar romance Page 13
