by Aja Cole
I brace a hand against the wall when my vision blurs again, realizing that maybe it wasn’t my smartest idea to take a hot shower when I’m probably nearing dehydrated.
There’s rapid knocks on my door and I slowly put on my robe, trying not to move too rapidly.
I don’t feel good.
At all.
I look through my peephole and see a delivery guy holding a thin envelope, and I open it, using the doorjamb to support my weight.
“Yes?”
“Nova King? Need you to sign for this.”
“Quentin,” I correct, taking the stylus and signing his tablet. I turn the thick envelope over, looking for a return address, but my vision blurs again and my skin feels hot and prickly, like I never left the bathroom.
“Hey, you don’t look…” I look up and everything feels like it’s in slow motion. The delivery guy’s face goes out of focus and his voice feels like it’s coming from far down a tunnel. My heartbeat is pounding in my ears, and I know immediately that I’ve fucked up.
Sorry delivery guy, I’m going down.
The envelope falls out of my hand as my fingers go slack and my legs stop supporting me. The last thing I feel is splitting pain in my head, and then there’s nothing.
13
Nova
The first thing I notice is probably the first thing everyone notices.
That gross, super clean smell of disinfectant and fluids.
Even though I feel foggy, I don’t need to open my eyes to know that I’m in a hospital. The crook of my right arm feels sore and I know someone must’ve tried to place a needle a few times after they realized that I have shitty veins.
I remember the ambulance. I remember the delivery guy’s panicked voice. I remember talking to someone and light in my eyes, though I don’t remember who. I guess I dozed off a little between being checked out and getting to a room.
“I think she’s waking up. Did her hands just move?”
Hearing that voice makes me still and keep my eyes closed, because I don’t want to confirm.
“Darling? Can you hear me?”
Darling. What a joke. Gritting my teeth, I reluctantly open my eyes and I don’t bother to stop the grimace that comes to my face when I see my parents.
Kota Quentin hasn’t aged at all. If you ask her what her secret is, she’ll laugh gaily and say that it’s her black and Indian blood. The truth is, that very well might be a part of it but so are the very subtle cosmetic procedures she gets.
Smooth caramel brown skin, long, dark hair that’s kept bone straight, and hazel brown eyes rimmed with thick lashes and highlighted precisely.
Her nose is different, though. A little slimmer, a bit more upturned. Cuter. I wonder how long she stayed hidden at home after surgery.
Then there’s my dear old dad, James. He’s aging very well too, not a blemish on his deeper brown skin, and barely a wrinkle. He’s greying at the temples a bit, but he looks like the picture you might find next to the definition of a distinguished, black father.
“Why are you here?” My voice comes out lower than I intend it to, but my lips don’t feel dry like I imagine they should. I bring the hand without an IV in it up to my lips, and my mom smiles a little.
“I know how you don’t like your lips to be dry, so I put a bit of balm on them.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, looking for the controls to lift my bed up, and how to call the nurse. I want to know when I can leave, and confirm that I was just an idiot about adequate water and food with stress.
I don’t think I could handle it if it turned out to be something else.
“Why are you here?” I repeat, pressing the call button and raising the bed to sitting. This is much nicer than your average hospital room, which is probably their doing.
“We’re listed as your emergency contacts,” my dad says somberly.
“You didn’t have to come, I’m fine. You should’ve just given them Asher’s number.”
“I called him. I thought you would want that.” My mom sniffs, like even the thought of him offends her. “But we were worried and wanted to check on you ourselves. Actually, your father and I were talking, and we think you should come home. It’s obvious that you’re not taking care of yourself the way you should be.”
“I’ve been fine for 6 years. Don’t give me the “we’re so concerned” speech now.” My mom’s eyes narrow, and I wait to see what bitchy thing she’s going to say now. She hates it when someone undermines her authority or disrespects her.
Of course, my dad is just silent.
Where the hell is the nurse?
There’s a knock on the door and the air is filled with thick tension.
“Come in.” My mom’s voice is sharp, and I close my eyes, leaning back against the pillows.
Telling people to come into my room like she owns the place. She’s such a control freak, it’s ridiculous.
A dark, unruly head pokes in, and relief floods me when I see Asher. He zeroes in on me and beelines to the side of the bed, taking my hand and looking absolutely terrified.
“What the hell, Nova?”
“Glad to see you. Uhm, can you grab a nurse so my parents can get the hell out? I’d greatly appreciate it.” I ignore the outraged gasp that my mom makes and focus on Asher’s worried face. “Hey, I’m fine. It was just dehydration, I think.”
“Your mom said you passed out and hit your head. Does it hurt? Do you need more pain medication?” He strokes a hand down my face, and I close my eyes, feeling deep gratitude that he’s here right now.
My parents are potentially members of an organized crime syndicate, but at least there’s one steady person back in my life.
I was an idiot to pull away from him. So, so stupid and selfish and short-sighted. I can say that I wanted to do what was best for him and not burden him, but really, I was only thinking of myself.
Asher’s the only thing that I’ve always been able to count on, and I need—I want him in my life more than ever. If it has to be as friends, so fucking what. Some people don’t even get as lucky to find friends they can count on the way I always counted on him.
I sniffle, feeling warmth prick my eyes. I’m so mad at myself for wasting time, and making him think he did anything wrong.
“I was selfish,” I whisper, forgetting my parents completely. “Please don’t leave me, I’ll be a less terrible person.”
“Hey.” He grips my face between his large hands lightly, pressing his forehead to mine so I’m completely captivated by his steel colored gaze. “Forget it. Clean slate. I think we have a lot to talk about when you leave, some things I need to tell you.”
My mother clears her throat and I almost hiss at her interruption, it pisses me off so much. Her presence grates on me more than ever, especially with what I know now. How the hell can she sit there, sit with me, knowing everything she’s holding back?
How does someone do that to someone they’re supposed to love and protect and nurture?
“Nova, we need to talk about you going home with us.”
“Yeah, there’s no realm where that’s happening.” I sound like a petulant teenager, but she brings it out in me. I sit back from Asher, but grip his hand in mine.
“You can’t be alone. You’re obviously in a fragile state.” Face stoic and eyes flinty, it’s like she’s trying to mentally will me to do what she wants.
“She won’t be alone. She’ll be home, with me.” I look at him and he nods subtly, squeezing my hand.
“She should be with her family.” My father speaks finally, proving that he’s not just an automaton who my mother winds up when she needs him to speak or do something.
“And Nova will be. I am her husband, after all.”
Okay, not the direction I was expecting, but I’ll go with it.
If possible, the air in the room chills even further.
“I thought you were divorced.” Every word is forced past my mother’s perfectly shaped lips. Boy, does she hate it when so
meone deviates from what she’s decided.
“We’re not. So, while I’m sure Nova appreciates you checking on her, I’ll handle things from here on out.” He stands tall, firm and confident.
“I don’t,” I mumble, and he gives me an amused glance. My parents stand stiffly, and without another word, move towards the door. My father leaves first, and I look away, feeling a slow creep of sadness because nothing’s changed with him. He is still my mother’s lackey.
“We’re staying in Atlanta, and we will be here until you agree to speak to us civilly.” She purses her lips, adjusting her Chanel purse on her slim shoulder. “It’s time to move on from the past. We would like to be a family again. I am willing to look past your recklessness.” There’s a small crack in her calm facade before her face closes up again.
Before I can respond to that bombshell, she slips gracefully from the room, closing the door behind her.
Leave it to my mom to make it seem like she’s doing me a favor.
“Am I hallucinating?” I blink, testing my vision. No blurriness, everything’s in focus. I feel much better than I did. I don’t even know how long I’ve been here. “It hasn’t been days, right? Did I miss my birthday?”
“You did not miss your birthday.” He sits down and pulls his chair closer, turning my hand over in his and painting his fingers lightly across my palm. “You were admitted around 3pm today. Your mom waited to call me.” It’s dark outside, so it has to be after 8pm.
I suppress a shiver. I’m feeling a little hot again, and I know that it’s all Asher this time. The nonsensical patterns he’s tracing on my skin are innocent, but the thoughts they’re inspiring are everything but.
“That was good, telling them we’re still married. Gave it weight.” I take in his five o’clock shadow, the sweep of his jaw, and those damned thick, fluttery eyelashes. Bedroom eyes, he’s always had them.
He opens his mouth, then closes it, looking down at our hands before he gives me an odd look.
“So, here’s a funny story…”
14
Asher
“Does that mean that I’ve been lying on my taxes?” Nova blinks disbelieving eyes, and I burst out laughing.
“I tell you the divorce paperwork was never filed, and that’s all you’re worried about?”
“The IRS is serious, Ash. I hope they’re keeping meticulous records to corroborate that we were lied to, also. We need to check on that. Although maybe we should be fine, since we never filed jointly anyway…” The wheels are turning in her head, and I shake mine, relaxing back into the chair.
The need to look up our lawyer and wonder about the final paperwork must’ve been the universe preparing me for finding this out.
When the woman on the phone confirmed that she had the right person and dropped the bombshell that Nova and I were still married, I wasn’t surprised.
Instead, I was mainly amused, because something like this would happen.
Maybe I’d be more pissed off if I hadn’t decided just earlier that I’m ready to stop pussyfooting around and tell Nova how I feel.
Riley’s out of town, or else she’d be harassing me with I told you so’s.
“We’ll figure it out when we get home. What exactly happened, though? How’d you hit your head?”
I thought the worst when Mrs. Quentin called me. She’s not exactly someone who gives more information than she wants, so I came in here blind for the most part. I didn’t know whether I’d find her with a serious head injury or something milder.
It scared about ten years off my life. I’ve never felt that level of panic, of fear that I wouldn’t be able to speak to her before the worst happened.
I don’t want to leave her side ever again.
She shifts her eyes away from me, her face twisting. “I was just stupid,” she murmurs. “I let myself get too stressed to eat and I wasn’t paying attention to my body like I should’ve been. I remember taking a shower, opening the door for the delivery g—,” She stops, looking around the room.
“I opened the door for a delivery guy,” she says to herself, brow wrinkling.
“And…” I push, leaning forward.
“Then I passed out, and I guess I hit my head.” She reaches up to touch the left side of her head. “Can’t feel anything, though. Maybe they gave me drugs.” She looks up at the IV bag that’s hanging.
“Miss Quentin? I’m Macy. Glad to see you’re awake.” We both turn to the door and see the cheery nurse, garbed in purple and blue scrubs. “You feelin’ okay?”
“Yes.” Nova clears her throat. “Do I have to spend the night?”
“Well, you have a low-grade concussion, but no serious brain injury. You were dehydrated, showing signs of exhaustion, so we put you on some fluids. Other than that, if you have someone to monitor you, we can get you discharged if you promise to be a little better to yourself,” Macy admonishes, and Nova nods, chagrined.
“She’ll be home with me, and I know what to watch for with concussions.”
“Oh?” Macy checks the vital monitors next to Nova’s bed.
“Unfortunately. Football player,” I explain, and she laughs lightly.
“Got it. Yeah, you boys can do a helluva lot of damage out there. But okay, we can go over the checklist just for my peace of mind so I know I sent you home with good information. The doc will be in to check a few things and once she gives the okay, I’ll just get you to sign the discharge papers. Sound good?”
“Sounds good. Thank you.” I take Nova’s hand between mine again as she answers the nurse, relieved that she’s okay.
So damn relieved.
Eventually, the doctor comes in and talks to us, then the nurse goes over what I need to watch for, and rids Nova of her IV and monitors.
I get my car while they wait on a wheelchair, even though Nova keeps insisting she’s fine, but it’s apparently hospital policy. I wonder if it has to do with this upgraded room, too.
When she’s secure inside my car with her things, and we’re headed to my place, it hits me even more that something could’ve gone seriously wrong and I would’ve wasted so much time.
The first thing I’m going to do is get her comfortable and settled, and then I’ll pour my heart out and hope to God that it doesn’t drive her away.
“Nope.” I slip her phone out of her hand and her mouth drops.
“Give that back.”
“No texting, no computers, no TV—at least for a few days.” I tuck her phone in my pocket, going back to the kitchen.
“What the hell am I supposed to do, then?” I can just imagine the frustration on her face.
“Hang out with me, duh.” I take out the burger meat I’d mixed earlier, heating up my cast iron grill pan. “It’ll be like old times.”
“I have a job, you know.”
“Your job and my job right now is to make sure you’re okay. They’ll understand. You can even let me be your eyes and hands, and I’ll respond to anything important.”
“I’m not an invalid, Asher. I can take care of myself.”
I pause in forming burgers, not saying anything. Her words piss me off. I finish patting up the meat and put them on the stove, then set up my air fryer and take out the sweet potatoes I cut up.
When I feel reasonably confident that I can talk to her without snapping, I sit next to her on the couch.
“It was taking care of yourself to not eat for two days?” I grind my jaw, rubbing a hand over it.
“It was taking care of yourself to stress out so much that you put your health in jeopardy? Do you know how much worse your concussion could’ve been? What would’ve happened if you’d fainted and hit your head on a glass table or a sharp edge? Don’t fucking tell me you can take care of yourself, because this is a damned poor example.”
She stares at me, eyes round and wary. Then she looks down, wringing her fingers together.
“Okay. I deserved that,” she admits quietly, and I immediately feel bad. Even if it was warranted,
it’s not how we interact. I don’t…say things like that.
“Nova I’m sorry, I didn’t m—”
She puts a hand up, a small smile tipping her lips. “Don’t ruin it. We promised to be honest this time around, remember? Don’t baby me.”
There’s an opening if I’ve ever seen one.
“Let me flip these burgers, and then we can talk about that honesty.”
“Ash?” She leans closer, and my eyes drop to her lips. Full, soft, the slightest dip of a cupid’s bow.
“Yeah?” Her hand settles on my thigh, and even that small touch sends blood rushing straight to my dick.
“Can I—”
I kiss her.
15
Nova
He takes me by surprise, but pulling away doesn’t cross my mind.
Since I was 14 and Ash and I talked our way out of not playing spin the bottle, with the excuses that we were sick, I’ve thought about this.
What it would be like to touch him this way, intimately, to feel him.
He doesn’t disappoint.
He never does.
The kiss is tentative at first, two people taking a step away from everything we’ve known, that we’ve understood between each other. That invisible line that we’ve never crossed, barely ever gotten close to.
Then it’s exploring, lips parting and tongues seeking warmth, teasing and greeting each other in a way that’s only been in my dreams. It’s sweet, it’s innocent…until it’s not.
I don’t know what changes for him, but I feel the moment that his control takes a steep dive. It’s in the way he slides firm fingers through my hair, the way his other hand wraps possessively around my waist, the way his lips open mine wider for his purposes, relentless.
His pine sweet smell, his body heat, his strength—Asher surrounds me and I don’t think it’s the concussion muddling my thoughts.