Home: Ky & Nick (Six Degrees Book 1)

by Sandy Smith

  “I just… I guess I have hung on to what I did for so long, it’s hard to let go.”

  “Ky, you have held on to this fear of not being enough for your entire life. You need to stop apologizing for what you were forced to do as a teenager.”

  I chuckled, and when he raised an eyebrow in question, I answered, “That’s pretty much what Nick said when I told him.”

  Ant smiled. “He is an incredibly intelligent man, you know. You should maybe listen to him.”

  I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling. Logically, I knew Ant was right. I needed to find a way to let it all go before I pushed Nick away with my insecurities. Talking to Ant had helped. Maybe even saying some of the words out loud took away some of their weight.

  I knew what I had to do, and I texted Tim to get the ball rolling. But mostly, God, what I needed was to talk to Nick. I just needed Nick here.

  When my phone beeped, I was sitting on the rower finishing my last set. I waited until I was cooling down on the bike before I pulled the text up.

  Hey love. Made some progress today with the lawyers. I miss you. How are you? Did you get to Riley’s last night?

  I’m good. Guess who I saw there?

  ??

  Sean.

  He must have gotten busy because he didn’t answer. I was driving home before I got a reply.

  And?????????

  I called him.

  “And?” he demanded in lieu of a greeting.

  “And what?”

  “And is there some reason you are telling me about Sean?” He sounded strangely hesitant.

  “No, no reason—I don’t know, only chatting. It was just interesting seeing him again.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Nothing. Is something wrong?” Nick didn’t respond. “Nick, does it bother you that I was talking to Sean? You know we were never—well, anything, right? It’s not like we were together. I’m not exactly the only person in Sydney he has slept with this year. I’m not even the only person on this phone call.”

  I heard Nick huff out a breath. “Logically, yes, I know that. And it doesn’t really bother me. I’m not a complete arsehole, but hearing you mention him was a surprise. If I were there, it wouldn’t bother me that you’re talking to him. But being this far away makes everything feel… different, I guess. But I trust you, and I honestly don’t have a problem with Sean. Not that you need my blessing for who you talk to. I’ll shut up now. Say hello for me if he’s there next week.”

  “Okay. And if that was insecurity from you for a change, it was kind of cute. Anyway, it looks like he’s seeing someone. Ant said he hasn’t been going to Subway, and he was a bit reluctant to answer questions last night, but he did confirm he was dating someone really sweet and protective. I can’t imagine Sean with someone like that, but whatever works for him, I guess. Oh, hey, Eddie was there too. I haven’t seen Eric, though. Anyway, how’s things with you?”

  “I don’t think you’ll see much of Eric. He is currently busy with his latest obsession, but it should only be a matter of weeks before he decides they’re not the one. And Ky, I’m sorry if I acted weird when you mentioned Sean. I really don’t mind if you hang out. I’m glad you’re spending time with your friends, okay?”

  Nick began to look and sound better over the next couple of weeks. Based on the shadows under his eyes and the time of night he called or texted, he still wasn’t getting enough sleep. Nick was still trying to keep on top of as much hotel business as he could when he finished with his Dad’s business, despite Eric’s assurances that it wasn’t necessary. But he was talking, and that was a start. The call that day felt like a big step.

  Nick had said he was going to be busy for a few days, but mid-afternoon, my phone rang. My heart jumped when I saw his temporary number come up, hoping nothing was wrong. “Nick?”

  “Hi, love, do you have a minute?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “I just got off the phone with Mum. I’m an adult, seriously—how is it I can’t let it go? She is… fuck…. I needed to hear your voice.”

  “You can ring any time day or night to hear my voice, Nick. You don’t have to give me details, but is there anything I...”

  “I want to tell you. It isn’t really a big deal, but she gets under my skin so damn easily. She was asking how soon I would have the business ready for a sale. I mean, seriously? I know she isn’t going to run it, and I’m not interested, but I’m the one here working. It sounds like… like she wants to get rid of anything associated with him. I know it wasn’t exactly an ideal marriage, but he was still her husband, for God's sake.”

  “I’m sorry, Nick. That sucks.”

  Nick spent the next twenty minutes venting and asking my opinion on how to deal with a few things. This wasn’t us planning a date. It wasn’t sex. It was us being partners. And it felt really fucking good.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Finally, on a Thursday afternoon in early November, while I was reviewing reports on a case that had cleared up quickly, I heard Grayson yell my name. “Rixon. Rixon! Over here.”

  I frowned at being summoned by the junior officer in the team but pushed my chair back and walked over to his desk, keeping the standard “can’t catch the gay from here” distance.

  He was jumping from document to document too quickly for me to understand what he was doing. I stepped forward and put my hand on his shoulder. “Stop. Take a breath. What the hell are you trying to show me?”

  He glanced at my hand and shrugged his shoulders as he moved away but started talking. “The Shorts. I’m looking at the interviews. Nothing jumped out in any of them, but I have read them dozens of times now. Look at all the highlighted sections. Look at the timelines. Some of the changes in Aimee were not only when she broke up with that boy—they also coincide with Uncle Jeff losing his job at the warehouse. The difference is when he started working nights at the Tourks’ place, he had a lot more unsupervised time with Aimee and Bailey.”

  Frown deepening, I scrolled down through the documents and pointed at a few sections. “The changes in behaviour also coincide with him taking up photography. And look at this. They didn’t disappear a few days after that incident at school. I mean, they did, but look—they also disappeared the day after the family dinner, where Uncle Jeff gave Bailey those photos in frames. Have a look at that one. The scar on the knee. That’s Uncle Jeff’s knee that Bailey is sitting on. They aren’t just family photos. They are reminders, threats. I think he was starting to look at Bailey the way he had been with Aimee. I think that’s what the photos told her.”

  “Fuck.”

  Every single thing he showed me could have a reasonable and innocent explanation. But I knew we were right. “Let’s go see Ian.”

  Six months we had been running in circles, and one scar on a knee in a family photo brought everything into focus. I took one of the other detectives with me to speak to Stacey. Ian and Brooke went to see Jeff.

  As soon as we laid out what we thought, Stacey’s demeanour changed immediately from concerned sister and aunty to sneering and angry. Telling her our thoughts on Bailey tipped her over the edge. “Bullshit. Jeff isn’t a faggot. Aimee has been begging for it since she hit puberty. She was always in a fucking bikini, swinging her boobs in his face. Fucking slut had the nerve to try to tell me that Jeff came on to her. I told her, I did. Looking like a slut with her tits out, she can’t fucking blame men for havin’ a look. Jesus. She always thought she was so fucking perfect. Like he was ever going to leave me just ‘cos her legs were open more hours than 7-Eleven. Don’t go saying that sick shit about Jeff. He wouldn’t touch a boy. He ain’t one of them.”

  I felt sick. My stomach was rolling. When I tell people what I do for a job, they always say, “You must see some terrible things.” But thankfully, days like today were actually few and far between. A lot of days were routine. Paperwork based on baseless complaints. Most days, even in this job, were still pretty good.

  Today was
n’t one of those days. Getting Stacey’s statement took hours, going back over each thing she said. When we finished, I was surprised to see Ian and Grayson back at their desks already. I approached Ian’s office and updated him on the sections he hadn’t heard. I asked how things had gone, and Ian grunted. “You weren’t wrong about Grayson. The guy is a fucking dick, but he is good, so I guess that makes him our fucking dick.”

  “Not the sort of fucking dick I am usually a fan of, but as long as he gets the job done, huh?”

  It was early morning before we left the station for the day, after talking about our plan going forward. Jeff was being held overnight, and someone had to talk to the Shorts tomorrow. And we still had to find the kids. Assuming Aimee had never intended to harm herself or Bailey, they had still been on their own for a long time.

  I emailed Nick to let him know we made progress, rather than texting or calling him and waking him. Even though I couldn’t discuss details, I needed to talk to him. Just to connect with him. I had barely closed my laptop when my phone rang. I glanced at the clock: after two in the morning. “Nick?”

  “Baby, are you okay?”

  “I am now. God, it’s good to hear your voice.” Suddenly, the progress on the Short case wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. “I talked to Ant the other week, and I have been doing some thinking. Well, a lot of thinking actually.”

  “And?” His voice was wary.

  “I’m scared of losing you.”

  “Ky—”

  I cut him off before he could continue. “That’s on me, not you. I have spent so many years thinking other people would judge me if they knew my past that I was judging myself way harsher than anyone else would have. You are the first person I have ever wanted more with, that I have ever been invested in, and it scares the crap out of me to lose it. But I need to stop jumping to conclusions and overreacting every time I misunderstand something.”

  I paused to collect my thoughts, and Nick didn’t jump in. I loved that about him. He knew if I need to get things off my chest, that sometimes I need some breathing room.

  “I trust you, Nick. I do. But trusting myself to be enough is still a work in progress, and I guess… I guess I’m asking you to be patient with me while I work on it.”

  I heard him exhale. “You amaze me, Ky. I wish you could see yourself how the rest of us see you. How Ant sees you, how Tim sees you, how I see you. We all know about your past, but we know you are so much greater. You deserve so much more than letting that define how you see yourself. But Ky, I—look, I… I know I can be a dick sometimes. I can be insensitive, and I need to know you will still say something if I upset you. It would kill me if you were there thinking you had to toughen up or some other macho bullshit. It kills me when I hurt you, even if I didn’t mean to. Ky, I...” He cut off what he was going to say and cleared his throat. “Ky, I think it’s getting late, and you need to get some sleep, okay?”

  I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Tell me what’s going on with you for a minute. I like listening to you.”

  So he did.

  I don’t know how long we talked before I fell asleep. My phone was on the pillow next to me when I woke in the morning.

  Later that day, I got a text from Nick.

  Date night on Friday via Facetime. 7 PM. Cook your lasagne. A bottle of Merlot. And have your toys ready. We are going to have fun.

  If I wasn’t so conscious of what the next couple of days would entail with the Short case, I would have been walking into the station with a hard-on.

  By 6:30 PM on Friday, I hadn’t had time to buy milk, let alone the ingredients for a lasagne. Exhausted, I dropped my bag in the doorway and tried to decide what I needed to do first. I needed to shower and get ready; I needed to work out food. There was probably a bottle of Merlot in the cupboard. I hadn’t even progressed from the entryway when my phone beeped. I smiled through my sleepiness once I saw his name on the screen.

  Evening, babe. Are we still good for 7? Hopefully you have your lasagne in the oven and are lazing on the lounge with a glass of Merlot. I can’t wait.

  I felt my tired shoulders slump even further. Damn it. I didn’t want to disappoint Nick.

  Hi. I’m so sorry to do this so last minute, but could we do a rain check? I’m so sorry. I just got home. I’m tired. I need a shower and twelve hours of sleep. I didn’t have time to get food. I know you went to all this trouble, and I really wanted to do this. I’m sorry.

  His text came in a couple of minutes later.

  That’s completely fine, sweetheart. You have one thing you need to do to make it up to me. Go and fill the bath. Put in some oil. Once you are in there, send me a picture.

  I really didn’t want to. It sounded like a good idea, but I wanted a quick shower and sleep. Talking to Mr. and Mrs. Short had been hard. Of course it was. We were telling grieving parents we believed their daughter had been sexually assaulted over a long period by someone they loved and trusted implicitly and possibly the same had been happening to their son. We couldn’t even give them any positives. We couldn’t reassure them Aimee hadn’t hurt herself or her brother. We couldn’t tell them the kids were safe. Even if it was progress for us, it wasn’t for them. We’d only shoved them further into their hole of grief and guilt and fear.

  But Nick had told me what to do, and honestly, something was comforting about him taking over and telling me what I needed. So I did it. I filled the bath. I threw my clothes in the wash basket. I poured in a couple of drops of the lavender and chamomile Mum gave me last year, which I had thrown in the cupboard, never intending to use. I stepped in and sank down until I was as far into the water as possible. The bath wasn’t the largest in the world, but it did the job. Laying my head back, I took nice slow breaths. Nick was right, as usual. This was exactly what I needed.

  Well, not exactly. The only thing I needed now was him. Here. I needed to curl up with him after the bath and relax.

  I sank down until my head was underwater and blew out all the air in my lungs, staying down until my lungs burned with the need for air. I lifted my head out of the water, wiped my face, and grabbed my phone. I took a couple of selfies, all of which looked weird, so I deleted them. Finally, I got one with my arm stretched out so most of my body was in the frame. I looked tired, but I couldn’t do much about that, so I stopped critiquing it and pressed send.

  Right as I put it down, my phone rang. I wiped my hand on the towel and grabbed the phone, swiping a couple of times. “Hey.”

  “Baby.” His voice sounded husky, and Jesus Christ, that worked for me. “I hate that I’m not there. That photo nearly killed me. I love your hair when it's wet. And your chest. God.”

  The groan that came through the phone at the end hit me deep in the chest.

  “Ky?”

  “Mmm.”

  “I don’t like the dark circles around your eyes, though. That needs to be fixed. I understand that it isn’t always easy to walk away from work. I really do, but you need to look after yourself. I’m not happy.”

  “I’m sorry.” I wasn’t entirely sure I should have been apologizing. But I wanted to do what made Nick happy. And if promising to look after myself worked, I would try. After talking a few more minutes, he made me promise to enjoy the bath and then text him when I was out.

  After I threw the towel in the wash basket and pulled on some comfortable old pyjama pants, I texted Nick. My door buzzer sounded. I frowned and ignored it, assuming it was a salesman or a neighbour who had forgotten their key. When it buzzed again, I answered. Eric’s familiar voice was way too cheery, announcing, “Special delivery for a Ky Rixon.” I buzzed him up and went to open the door.

  Eric was carrying a Styrofoam box, with a bag slung over one shoulder as he climbed the stairs. “Wow, thank God I get to sit behind a desk all day pretending to work. This whole delivery business would kill me.”

  “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Delivery. Apparently, it was an emergency. Chef J
ulian wasn’t overly impressed, but damn, his ego won’t let him produce anything other than magic.” I must still have looked confused as he put the box down. He smiled. “Your boyfriend sent very exacting orders.”

  He opened the bag, pulling out a wine glass wrapped in a cloth and a bottle of Merlot. He poured a small amount, making a grand gesture out of me tasting the wine. I sipped and nodded, still completely baffled. After filling my glass, he opened the box and assembled a dinner of lasagne, garlic bread, and a small side salad. I was left staring at the dinner assembled in front of me when he bowed dramatically and left without another word.

  I didn’t move until my phone beeped, startling me.

  I pressed to accept the Facetime call. He was right there, curled up on a black leather lounge, wearing pyjama pants and my old worn university games T-shirt.

  “Hey,” I croaked. He was so beautiful.

  He smiled at me. “Hey yourself.” He leaned forward and lifted a wine glass. Merlot. Then I blinked and looked at the screen properly, not only at Nick. He had a plate of lasagne and a bottle on a small table beside the lounge. “Eat, sweetheart. I assume you haven’t been eating properly.”

  “I’m sorry.” I wasn’t totally sure what I was apologizing for. No, I hadn’t been eating properly or getting enough sleep, but I was fine. I was just fine without him here.

  I looked down at my plate and realized my hand was shaking slightly as I reached for the wine. Swallowing, I blinked at the tears burning my eyes. I was fine without him here, and I was not under any circumstances going to cry.

  “Are you crying, sweetheart?”

  “No,” I answered defiantly, swiping at the tears with the audacity to form on my eyelashes to spite me.

  “Eat,” he said softly. So I did. I moaned as I tasted the first mouthful. Before I knew it, I had eaten half of the plate without taking a breath. I wiped my mouth, embarrassed at my complete lack of manners or, you know, dignity. When I glanced at the screen, Nick was watching me. The hunger on his face didn’t look related to the completely untouched lasagne on his plate.