They wrapped up the discussion, and Wyatt turned to Fiona. “Do you want me to drop you off before my next appointment?”
“I thought I’d hang out here for a while, if Nick’s okay with it.”
Nick nodded. “Of course.”
“All right.” Wyatt packed up his laptop, and set the bag on the table. “Call me if you need a ride home or want lunch or anything.”
Fiona had complained she didn’t like being doted on, just because her arm was broken, but her current flush and faint smile said she didn’t mind too much. “I will.”
Wyatt tugged her to her feet, pulled her close, and knotted his fingers in her hair, eliciting a sharp squeal. She draped her good arm around his neck when he kissed her.
This was awkward. And it left an empty pit in Nick’s chest, that wanted something similar in his life. Could he ever have that with Tara? Was long term even an option there? It might not be a good idea to dwell on the thought, or even consider it, but he couldn’t help himself.
Wyatt broke the kiss to press his forehead to Fiona’s. “I love you and I’ll see you soon,” he said.
“Me too.” She dropped back into her seat as he left.
“You two are happy together.” Nick didn’t feel any animosity over the observation. He’d hated Wyatt two months ago. For everything the other man had done. Were things so easily forgiven?
Fiona met his gaze. “We are. All three of us. You don’t sound upset.”
“I’m not.”
“I should send you to Italy more often. It makes you agreeable.”
Nick had no arguments there. “I suppose it did adjust my perspective a bit.”
“A bit? You came home with a tattoo—that you forgot to mention—and you don’t hate my other boyfriend anymore. You’re different. What’s going on?”
Nick shrugged. “Like I said. My perspective has shifted.”
She raised her brows and pursed her lips.
“What?” He’d seen that look of doubt too many times over the years.
“Just wondering when you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”
As soon as he figured it out himself. Or at least unraveled it enough to put it to words. “Nothing’s going on.” Besides that he was falling for one or two people. One of whom was related to his and Fiona’s newest business partner. The same partner who was keeping their company solvent. All this after Nick gave Fiona so much shit about being with two guys, and one of them being related to business. Oh, and Nick might have to tell her at some point about how dire their financial situation was.
Fiona twisted her mouth. “Whatever. Tell me when you’re ready.”
“I will. I promise. What’s new with you?” He shouldn’t pry when he wasn’t willing to give up details, but she had almost said something a couple of times, his first day back. He was curious.
“Promise you won’t yell. It won’t change my mind, but it will ruin this peace.”
Nick didn’t like the question, but after the things he’d said about her, when he found about Wyatt, he deserved far worse. In fact, he owed Fiona something he hadn’t given her yet. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For how personal I made the fight when it came to Wyatt. For the way I attacked you verbally. I’m still not over what he tried to do, but the two of you together, and what he’s done for our company... I was wrong to accuse you of the things I did.”
“And you’re sorry for being a judgmental prick.”
The words stung. “I deserve that. I’m sorry for being a judgmental prick.”
She nudged her laptop aside, and leaned in to rest her arm on the table. “It’s all right.”
“Is it?”
“No. But I forgive you, and we’re all dealing with what comes next.”
He accepted that. “Tell me whatever it is that has you hesitating.”
“Wyatt is selling his condo in Atlanta. It’s already under contract. And... The-three-of-us-are-looking-for-a-condo-here.” Her last words all ran together.
“Oh.” Nick had no idea how he felt about the news. Logic insisted he tell her this was wrong. What she had wouldn’t last. She was setting herself up for heartbreak. All the bullshit he’d fed her before, that he’d just apologized for and no longer believed.
Fiona stared back, expression blank. “Oh? All I get is oh?”
“I’m processing. But I’m not upset. I think...” What did he think? “I think it’s fantastic. Congratulations.”
“Yeah?” Some of her hesitation melted away.
“Yeah. Though...” He shouldn’t share this next thought. She looked happy. Wyatt and Parker looked happy. It all made Nick desperately miss Tara, and even Nathan. “Promise you won’t yell.”
“No.” Fiona frowned.
That was asking a bit much. “Fair enough. I always thought you and Parker would get married. How does that work now?” Was he asking Fiona for her sake, or because he wondered where he’d fit in the picture with Tara and Nathan if they made that next step? Both.
“Well, for one, you don’t get to choose who I marry, so what you thought doesn’t matter.” She stuck her tongue out playfully. “I don’t know if those details will ever matter, but if it comes up, the three of us will talk it through and work it out. I don’t want Parker to go anywhere, but he’s not planning on it. And neither is Wyatt.”
Nick liked her confidence about the relationship.
It didn’t help him make sense of his own feelings, though. He wasn’t a long-term kind of guy. It interfered with work and life. And he was lusting after a woman already in a relationship, and who lived on another continent.
He didn’t want her to lose Nathan, but was there a place for him in their lives long-term? Did he want there to be?
Chapter Three
Tara had to do a livestream today, to stay in the competition. She’d rather wait around for Nathan’s call. His text had said he was with his father and he’d call when he was done.
That could be minutes or hours.
She prayed for his sake that it would be hours, and they’d be good ones. But for her how sanity, she wanted to talk to him now.
She set up the Stream Starting Soon graphic, and let the automated system send out its subscriber alerts.
Was there any point in pushing through this contest if Nathan wasn’t coming back?
Of course there was. She wouldn’t let a hiccup in her relationship destroy her business. Besides, it wasn’t as though things were over. She and Nathan would work things out.
None of self-assurances made it easier for her to be bright and cheerful in front of the camera. She wanted to. She needed to. The desire wasn’t there.
The countdown from ten to one kicked off, and she forced a smile into place. The camera clicked onto her, and she grabbed her standard intro.
“Since we’re still looking for a new building, we can’t do any tattooing today, but I have something awesome for you instead.” Talking to the viewers, with no immediate feedback, was so much better than arguing with herself. “I’m going to create some original art. You get to see the entire process.”
She flicked on the licensed background music, turned off her own mic, and switched to the camera pointed at her desk.
She's smile crumbled. She forced herself to draw. The views would suck on this video. They’d been dropping all week.
Tara let the lines flow from her pencil, and tried to slide into the meditative state that drawing drew her into. There was calm there.
But peace hovered just out of her reach. As she sketched, her brain assaulted her.
Why didn’t she tell Nathan about the baby when she called last night? She wanted to. But when she got him on the phone, the words lodged in her throat.
He wasn’t a family guy. If things didn’t go well for him in Chicago, he’d be even less so. Tara didn’t understand how any parent could do to a child what had been done to Nathan.
She also wasn’t naive enough to believe that a d
eathbed apology would mean much in the grand scheme of things.
She’d love a family. But after what happened with Marco, she wondered if it was a good idea. And Nathan was so anti-family, that she’d never entertained the thought.
So she’d frozen when she got him on the phone. Was she as guilty as he was about keeping secrets? Did she even have a right to be angry with him if she didn’t tell him this? Why didn’t she reach out before he left the country?
The questions focused into a narrow point of pain in her skull, drilling and hammering and making her desperate for answers.
Her timer beeped, letting her know she’d been live for an hour. Thank Christ, she could log off.
She looked at her work, and the throbbing in her head increased. She’d drawn a pudgy cherub... sort of. Somewhere along the way the stylized Cupid became more like a real baby.
She cut the live feed without signing off, crumpled the art into a ball, and tossed it as hard as she could.
It didn’t have enough weight to go far, and dropped to the ground just a few feet away, mocking her.
A sob of frustration lodged in her throat, and she gasped past it, struggling to not fall apart.
Thank Christ the competition was giving them a week off for Christmas and the end of the year. Maybe Tara could get her shit together by then.
She needed to find something to do to occupy her mind. Spend some time with other people. She pushed back from the drawing table and made her way upstairs. Even when her mind wasn’t assaulting her, it hurt to spend too much time in the tattoo shop. Every place she looked, in the main room or the back ones, was a reminder that she couldn’t do business here anymore. The art, the tattoo guns, the ink—it all screamed that this was another thing that Marco had managed to take from her.
If she really wanted to wallow, she could blame him for all the friends lost, as well. It wasn’t that he’d pushed acquaintances out of her life. In fact, it was the opposite. Connections and relationships were everything. The people Tara and Marco knew were key in pushing him along in his political career.
And some of those same people, friends they’d both grown up with, turned their back on her during the divorce.
Tara sank onto the couch and flipped on the TV. After several minutes of scanning every channel and app, nothing had grabbed her attention. She wanted to scream in the empty room, just to keep from bursting. However, the last thing she wanted to deal with was another noise complaint from that bitch queen Matilde.
She needed company. The itch crawled under her skin and joined the murkiness in her thoughts.
Her brother had never turned his back on her. Antonio would understand this. She dialed him. Then Emily, and Justin. No answers.
Probably because they had each other, and ways to spend their time. The ache behind her ribs threatened to split her in two.
Her phone rang, and she swiped Answer without looking, desperate to hear a voice that wasn’t her own. “Ciao?”
“Hey, Bella.” Nick’s voice almost drew another sob, but this one of relief. He’d never used the nickname before. Hearing him say it instead of Nathan should hurt.
But a tiny spark of warmth pushed aside the mountain of bitter frustration, and she could breathe again. “Anyone ever tell you you’ve got perfect timing?”
“Occasionally. Usually right after sex.”’
She laughed in spite of the knot inside. Christ, that felt good. A few unwanted tears of relief squeezed from her eyes. “How are you?”
“Good. Better now that I’m talking to you. I wouldn’t have called this late, but I caught your show. I figured you were awake.”
Like that, a cloud ghosted across her mood again. “Oh. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m not. You looked good. Tired. Sad. But stunning.”
“You’re biased.” If she couldn’t sink into his arms, she could wrap herself in his warm voice and words.
Nick made a clucking noise with his tongue, that the lines distorted. “I’m honest. Do you want to talk about it?”
She did. So very much. But talking wouldn’t fix anything. Not with him. As much as she was grateful to hear from him, he couldn’t make things right with Nathan. “It’s nothing new. I miss Nathan. I miss you...”
“I’m right here.”
“It’s not the same.” She twisted to lay back on the couch, and grabbed a pillow to place behind her head.
“I know it’s not. But it’s something, and I’m listening. Whatever’s on your mind, sometimes it helps to get the words out.”
Almost what she was wishing for before he called. “I don’t know where to start. The channel is struggling because I’m not feeling it. I want to make things right with Nathan, but I don’t know where to start. The broken trust... how do we get past that? And how am I going to tell him about the baby—” She clamped her jaw shut. Fuck, she didn’t mean to let that slip. She’d wanted to tell Nathan first.
“Baby?” Nick sounded hesitant, but not upset.
Or she was painting a lot of hope on a single word. She couldn’t take it back, and it felt good to have it out there with at least one person. “I’m pregnant.”
“That’s fantastic. Congratulations—if it’s okay to say so. You were great with Ben. You’ll make an amazing mother.”
Nick’s genuine enthusiasm caught her off-guard. “Thank you.” She needed him to call randomly more often. Or stop by. Or just fucking be here.
Too bad none of that was happening.
“Is Nathan excited?” Nick asked.
“I haven’t told anyone else yet. And there’s a tiny possibility it’s not his.” She might as well get the entire story out. This was going smoothly, and she could consider it a practice run.
“You mean... me?” Was he upset?
“The timing is right. It’s possible. I’m telling you for honesty’s sake, not to try to manipulate you.” Please don’t let him be angry. She didn’t know if she could handle that right now.
Nick chuckled. “You sure know how to get a guy’s hopes up.”
“You’re okay with it?”
“I’m about two seconds from telling you it doesn’t matter if it’s mine, I’ll be there for you and the kid however you need or want it. Fuck it. I guess I just told you.”
And now she wanted to cry with happiness. Was that hormones or simply stress? “You don’t have to. That’s not what this is about.”
“They’re not just words,” Nick said. “And I’m not saying it because it would be dickish not to. I mean it. And I shouldn’t be projecting my hopes and dreams on you. How do you feel about the situation?”
Better than she had since she took the pregnancy test. Not so alone. “Good. Excited. I’m still making sense of all my feelings, but at the core of it all, I’m looking forward to it.”
Now she needed things to go even half as well when she told Nathan.
Chapter Four
Nathan finally understood the phrase a ghost of their former self. His father lay sleeping, pale and thin, skin stretched taught over bones with no meat underneath.
Was this really the man who had berated Nathan about his every decision? Who drove his mother away? Who disowned his son for liking both boys and girls?
“If you’ve got time, you should wait until he wakes up.” Christine spoke softly from behind Nathan.
He glanced over his shoulder to where she stood in the doorway. The only plans he had were talking to Tara. That was a pretty big one. He’d much rather have her on the phone right now, so they could talk through everything.
He needed to see this moment with his dad through. “Where can I wait?”
“There should be fine.” She nodded at a pair of chairs near the bed.
He took the one that didn’t have a book sitting next to it, and settled in to count away the seconds. Each that ticked by pounded in his eardrums with his pulse. What was he going to say when the older man woke up? Hi, Dad, or, did you miss me? That was a bit flippant and the ans
wer, given the lack of communication over the years, was a good indicator of the answer.
Then again, Nathan hadn’t reached out either. If he had, would they be doing this now? Would he have been turned away, or would there be reconciliation? Would they talk about the last couple decades, or gloss things over with a polite I’m glad you’re here. Have a nice life?
If Nathan kept tumbling down the rabbit hole of what if’s, he’d never climb out. He didn’t want to risk sneaking away to call Tara, and having to cut the conversation short. They needed uninterrupted time.
But he could watch her most recent video. He stuck an earbud in, pulled up the channel, and let the new clip play.
The few seconds she spent talking to the camera were enough to show the tightness in her voice and the shadows under her eyes. She didn’t look as miserable as Nathan felt, but she was far from great.
Fuck, he missed her.
A series of grunts and groans, and the rustle of sheets dragged him out of the pit of longing he'd tumbled into.
His aunt nudged him, but Nathan was already watching his father stir and climb toward consciousness.
The older man gazed past Nathan, and then focused on him. A scowl set in. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Nathan clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t overreact. The man was sick. Dying. Of course he’d be cranky.
“I thought you might want to make amends, so I called him.” Christine’s voice was tiny, and a tremor ran through it.
His father glared. “Are you still a faggot?”
Nathan squeezed his fist so hard his knuckles ached. Last time they had this conversation, he was a timid teenager who withdrew at the cruel slur, and stammered a meaningless response. He wasn’t that person anymore. “Am I still openly expressing my attraction to both genders, regardless of what people think? Yes.”
“Did you bring him here to remind me of what a failure I am?” A low growl ran through his father’s question.
Christine studied her fingers. Her, no was barely audible.
Fury spilled through Nathan’s veins. This was bullshit. He might be here to set things right, but he refused to be insulted. He’d risked a bigger divide between himself and the woman he loved to make this trip. He wouldn’t be berated for living his life as his own. “A failure?” He kept his tone low and even. “I assume you mean for being a shitty father. For shunning your own child because I embraced who I am.”
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