Anything Between Us (Starving Artists Book 3)

by Mila Ferrera

“Don’t distract me. That sounds dangerous.”

  “Well, I wasn’t suggesting that I give you a blowjob as you speed down the highway,” she says.

  “Great. Now I am distracted,” I say with a laugh.

  “It’s okay. We’ll save it for later.”

  I groan and lean back in my seat. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  I reach over and take her hand. “You are helpful.”

  “But …” She squeezes my fingers. “I sense a but.”

  And she’s right. I’ve been avoiding this for days. “But I wish you would let me help you in the same way.”

  “You help me all the time.” She pulls her hand from mine and looks out the window, where the trees are shedding red and gold leaves and the sun gives it all a golden sort of glow. “You’ve been great.”

  Frustration twists inside me. “It seems like something’s bothering you.”

  “What would be bothering me? The last few weeks have been amazing.” She strokes my arm. Usually her touch is pure pleasure, but at the moment, it feels patronizing. Another brush-off.

  Then she chuckles and says, “I’ve never had so many orgasms in such a brief period of time.”

  “That’s not all this is for me,” I blurt out. My mouth snaps shut. My fingers are clenched over the steering wheel. The words have been stirring inside of me for a while now, drifting away when I let myself believe it’s all fine, roaring back when I realize it’s not. And now they’re out there, and I can’t take them back. “I mean—it feels like more than just sex. For me.”

  She’s quiet long enough to make me feel sick to my stomach. But then she says, really quietly, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to make you feel like this was only a physical thing. But that has been pretty profound.”

  I can’t disagree. When I’m inside her, it feels like everything else drops away, and there isn’t anything between us, no worries, nobody else, only skin on skin and one shared heartbeat. “What’s going on, though? You used to let me in—was that just to draw me out and get me to talk? Because it worked. But it doesn’t go both ways.”

  “I told you I was worried about the thing with Yelena.” Now she sounds defensive. “She’s not backing down—she says that if she can’t sell my pieces in her Etsy shop, it might not be worth it to her to carry them in her store.”

  “Bitch,” I mutter. Some of the artists in the co-op make a lot of their money online, but Yelena’s decided that she wants to be the exclusive dealer for Sasha’s stuff because it sells pretty well. She’s leaning on Sasha to fold her shop into the boutique’s, which means Yelena would get a cut off all Sasha’s work. “Maybe you should just tell her to go to hell.”

  “I might,” she says. “I’m trying to negotiate right now, especially because the holidays are coming up, and it’s a huge time for online sales. We’ll see.” She turns to me. “I met your mom at Daniel’s party, by the way. I’ve got some pieces set aside, if you want to take a look and pick something for her.”

  My fingers loosen, as does the knot in my gut. “She’d love that, I think. Thank you.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s doing another round of chemo. Daniel says it could be bad. Mom’s brushing it off. And my dad … It’s hard to tell. He likes to stay busy. Lots of cooking and cleaning on top of his full-time job. He says he does it so Mom doesn’t have to, but I think he feels like he’ll go nuts if he doesn’t keep moving.”

  Sasha makes a little noise in her throat. “I totally get that. And you?”

  “Me, what?”

  “How are you dealing with it?”

  “I’m a little like my dad. So is Daniel. We all slink around her like she’s made of glass, just trying to be helpful. She tells us all we’re annoying.”

  “I think I like your mom,” she says, smiling.

  “Do you want to meet them? Again, I mean.” My heart speeds. I hang out with Tom regularly these days, but that’s different. He has no idea who I am, and he won’t remember if I disappear. My parents, though …

  “Did you tell them about me?”

  “No,” I admit. “I’ve sort of kept this to myself. Although Daniel’s pretty merciless when he decides to tease me about it.”

  “You want me to talk to him?” she asks, her voice stern but with an edge of humor. “I could set him straight.”

  “Fuck no,” I say. “All I need is my girlfriend defending me to my older brother. I would never live that down.”

  “Girlfriend,” she says quietly. “Wow.”

  My stomach drops. “I mean—”

  “No,” she murmurs, taking my hand. “No, it’s okay.” Her voice has turned husky, and it silences me. I have no idea what she’s thinking, but this feels like it could break apart with the slightest push.

  Her fingers entwine with mine, and I stare straight ahead. Understanding dawns mile by mile—she’s done it again. Turned it all around on me. I tried to talk to her, and she made it about me, my mom, my family, my worries. I fell for it, and she’s still behind her wall, keeping me out.

  I know she cares about me. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t. And I know it’s more than physical for her, too—the way she holds onto me at night when she thinks I’m asleep, the way she finds me in the dark and curls against my body like I’m the only safe thing in the entire world. I know I’ve gotten to her. But maybe it’s not enough for her. Maybe I’m not enough.

  I turn my thoughts to what lies ahead of me, because as terrifying and exhausting as I know it’ll be, it still seems safer than the space between me and the woman in the passenger seat.

  The one who—I realize in a flash of painful truth—I’m falling in love with.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sasha

  Nate is quiet as we finish the drive into Elkhart, a small Indiana town a few miles away from South Bend. We listen to his phone’s GPS calmly telling us where to turn, the sound in stark contrast to the mounting tension emanating from the man next to me.

  He’s unhappy, I know. He’s figured me out. Sort of. I’m guessing he thinks I don’t like him as much as he likes me, or I don’t open up to him as much as he does to me. The latter is true. The former, highly doubtful. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s huge and scary and wondrous.

  My appointment with the Ann Arbor team is tomorrow: I’ll finally have an answer. For the last few weeks, I’ve been in limbo, falling deeper and deeper for Nate while my future hangs in the balance, the sword over my head. Pumped up by Cathy’s confidence and optimism, I sailed through the counseling and information sessions, the tests, the blood work. I felt like I was telling the truth when I said I was stable and mentally healthy and able to weather the results, no matter what they are.

  But with every day that’s passed, I feel a little less certain, and a bit more afraid of losing what I have, including Nate. Okay, especially Nate.

  So many times, I’ve wanted to tell him. But I know he would look at me differently, and I love how he looks at me now. Like a goddess. Like the sun. Not like I’m fragile and breakable and damaged—like I’m untouchable, immortal, and perfect. When we’re together, I feel that way. Like nothing can touch me or take me down. If tomorrow goes how I hope, he’ll never know. He’ll never have to worry about it. We can move on, with nothing standing in our way.

  In the meantime, I’ve tried to show him how I feel, but it’s obviously not enough. Obviously not what he needs or deserves. So I do the best I can. I sit next to him and hold his hand as he pulls up in front of a ranch house with a big yard and a yellow ribbon tied around the mailbox out front. When Nate sees that, he sighs. “I should probably go in there alone,” he says, flashing a brittle smile. “I’m supposed to do this without a distraction or comfort strategy, and you’re both.”

  “I’m going to go for a walk. Just text me when you’re all set. Take as much time as you need.”

  He gets out of the car and looks up and down the str
eet like he’s scanning for threats. His nostrils flare as he takes a breath. So badly, I want to wrap my arms around his waist and hug him. Instead, I give him a friendly wave and insert my earbuds. He nods at me and strides up the walk toward the house, where I can already see a curvy young woman with long brown hair opening the door. Her somber gaze flits to me and then to Nate.

  I pull up my playlist and walk the other way with a lump in my throat. Not even a year ago, Jen—that has to be who that was—lost the man she loved. They were planning a future together. Kids, maybe. A life. Then, a few days after New Year’s, someone showed up at her door to tell her that future was gone. Destroyed in an instant. And I know, because Nate’s anguished voice has carved the words into my brain, that Sam died in a dusty courtyard in Afghanistan, his eyes staring at the sky as his body surrendered his soul.

  It could have been Nate. The bullet that passed through Sam probably missed him by inches, maybe less. I might never have met Nate—and meeting him has changed everything for me.

  I close my eyes and turn my face to the sky as a stiff fall breeze tugs at my hair and buffets my body. The sun is starting to sink to the west, and the temperature’s dropping. I feel the chill along my skin and inside my bones.

  My thoughts are both here and somewhere else, stringing memories and fears and hopes together like beads. But one idea stands out from all the others: I don’t want to lose this. Please. This knowledge, this awareness, these memories. My hands, the things they can create, the magic they can summon from inanimate lumps of earth. My mind, the dreams it conjures, the images it births. My voice, my words, myself. Please don’t take these things from me.

  Tears start in my eyes. And it’s stupid, I know. I’m not even sure I believe in God, so who am I begging for mercy? I wipe the drops from my cheeks and walk. And walk. And walk. After a while, I text Aunt Cathy. How’s he doing?

  When she doesn’t answer quickly, I assume she’s busy getting Dad dinner. It’s about that time. I continue my walk along the town’s main thoroughfare and through a park next to a winding river. I spend some time in a cemetery as the sun sinks below the horizon. I’m sitting on a bench next to a war memorial when Nate texts that he’s done.

  As I walk up the street, I see Nate and a few people out in front of the house. All of them look a little haggard in the porch’s light, the shadows of grief collecting beneath their eyes and in the hollows of Nate’s cheeks. Jen meets me halfway across the yard. “Sasha?”

  I hold out my hand, and we shake. “He said you’d come with him,” she says. “You could have come in.”

  “He needed to do this himself,” I tell her. “And I figured you didn’t need a stranger sitting there as you talked about what happened.”

  She nods. “I’m grateful to you. For supporting him so he could make it down here.”

  “He always wanted to. He loved Sam. He was determined to get strong enough to do this.”

  Her face crumples. “I know. I’ll never forget what he said tonight, about Sam saving his life. I didn’t know that part.”

  I glance at Nate, who is talking to Sam’s parents. I’m so proud of Nate right now, for so many reasons. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I tell Jen, my voice cracking. “Sam must have been an amazing person.”

  “He was the love of my life,” she says. “I’m still trying to figure out what to do without him. Some days are easier, and some days, I feel so lost.” Her gaze settles on me with a stark intensity. “Be grateful for what you have, okay?” Her eyes slide to Nate, who is shaking hands with Sam’s father. “Don’t ever take it for granted.”

  My chest aching, I promise her I won’t. We embrace briefly before Nate and I get in his car. Our ride out of town is so quiet that both of us flinch when my phone chimes with a text.

  It’s Cathy: It’s been a rough night. When will you be home?

  “Shit,” I say, and I tell Nate about the text. He tells me it’ll be an hour and a half, but I feel him accelerating as I reply, letting her know our ETA. What’s going on?

  He’s safe now, so we’ll talk when you get here. Sorry to do this to you the night before your appointment.

  Fear blooms cold and poisonous across my chest. “Something happened with my dad,” I say to Nate. “She said he’s safe now, but that means he wasn’t before.”

  “We’ll deal with it when we get you home,” he says. “He’s okay, so no panicking, right?” He notches up the speed a little more.

  “I’m trying,” I mutter. But of course, I churn with worry the whole way, even as Nate tries to distract me by asking me questions about the Yelena situation. When he pulls up at my house, I’m out of the car like a shot, with him on my heels.

  Cathy rises from the sofa as we come in the door, putting her finger to her lips to indicate we should be quiet. Sure enough, I hear Dad’s snores rolling from his bedroom. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” she says softly.

  “What happened?” Nate asks.

  She grimaces. “I was cooking dinner and he was watching the TV, but when I came out to get him, he was gone.”

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. “You had to bring him back?”

  She gives me an apologetic look. “I couldn’t find him. I had to call the police. It was them who brought him back. He was walking up the road toward town, apparently.”

  “That’s a busy road with no sidewalk,” I snap before I think better of it.

  Cathy draws back. “I did my best.”

  Nate takes my hand. “Maybe I could put a lock on the inside of the door,” he suggests. “Like a safety lock you could use when you can’t be right there with him.”

  I pull my hand from his, irritation warming the chill on my skin. “Thanks for watching him,” I say to Cathy. “It was really nice of you. I’ve been asking for too much lately, though.” I’m being such a bitch. She’s probably regretting volunteering as my support person tomorrow.

  “A safety lock might be called for,” Cathy says to Nate before turning to me. “But ultimately, he might be safer in a twenty-four-hour facility. You have to sleep, Sasha. You can’t be on all the time.”

  I walk to the door and hold it open for her, working to soften my tone. “Like I’ve told you before, we’re fine. He’s healthy, and we’re getting a walker for him next week. The aide’s with him during the day. I have plenty of help, and I can do the rest.”

  Cathy gives Nate a pleading look that almost sends me over the edge. Like she’s silently begging him to make me see reason. I grit my teeth. “You know,” I say to both of them, “I’m really tired. I think I’m going to bed.”

  Nate’s brow furrows. He was planning to stay tonight, and I know because I had invited him to. But right now, I can’t. Tomorrow looms over me like the blade of a guillotine, and I can’t hold it together for anyone, even him. I gesture them both out the door.

  Cathy gives me a reproachful look and goes first, mercifully keeping silent about the appointment tomorrow. I had asked her to keep it between us so that I could maintain my privacy, and so far, she’s held to that promise.

  Nate lingers after she pulls out of the driveway. “Sasha,” he says. “What’s going on?”

  “I told you. I’m tired.” And I am. Suddenly, I’m so weary that I want to sink to the floor.

  “Don’t do this,” he says. “Whatever’s going on—”

  “I’m not doing anything, Nate. I went with you to Elkhart. I’m glad I could be there for you. But now I need some time to myself.”

  His jaw clenches. “I know you’re upset about your dad, but—”

  “You don’t know, Nate. You can’t know. You’ve got your shit to deal with, and this is mine, okay? And I’m dealing with it.”

  “Yeah, I get that. But why won’t you let me help? You want to be there for me, but what about you?”

  I step into his arms and hug him, and he instantly enfolds me like I knew he would. Because he’s amazing and good, and Jen was right, I shouldn’t take this for granted. I shouldn’t
take him for granted. But he makes me want things I don’t know if I can have, and what happened with Dad tonight is a vicious reminder of that. Safety locks. A walker.

  For my father, who is only fifty-nine.

  I shove away the thought that follows, the one that’s been stalking me for the last several years. Someday, that could be you.

  I shiver and pull away from Nate’s embrace. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  Hurt flashes in his blue eyes right before he bows his head. “No problem. Do you want to get lunch?”

  “I can’t. I’ve got a thing.”

  “Oh. Okay.” He steps back. “I guess I’ll see you when I see you, then.”

  “You definitely will.” I force my tone into that bright, friendly zone, but even to me, it sounds fake. I take his face in my hands and kiss him, and that, at least, is real and true and honest, and I hope he feels it. He presses his forehead to mine as we part, and I know he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.

  You’re ruining this, my thoughts whisper as I watch him turn away and walk to his car.

  Tomorrow, I think. Tomorrow, I’ll know. Tomorrow, I’ll have peace of mind, just like Cathy said. It’s going to be fine, and I’ll fix this thing with Nate then.

  With that promise fixed firmly in my mind, I head upstairs for what I know will be a sleepless night.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nate

  She texts me before the sun is even up: I’m sorry about last night. I wish you’d stayed.

  I don’t even know what to say to that. My sleep was crap last night, but not because of nightmares—those have subsided, the more I take control of the memory of Sam and how he died. I think about it now with purpose, going over each horrific detail with a clinical kind of precision, just like Dr. Harper told me. I’ve done it and done it and done it, and somehow, even though I didn’t think it could possibly work, it has. I grieve for my friend. He deserved to live and love and go on and on, like I get to do. I owe him my life. I will never forget. It will always own a piece of me. An important one. But what happened doesn’t own all of me anymore.