Only it wasn’t exaggerated. The page showed two photos, side by side. The first was a professional shot of Nelle on the red carpet in clean, bright white. The other was a grainy image of her standing in the ambulance bay, the same outfit stained with his blood, an absolutely shell-shocked expression on her face.
Pale. Like he’d never seen her. Blank. Which she wasn’t.
Nelle’s feet sounded on the stairs and Bran pushed the phone deep into the couch cushion, where he’d hidden the painkiller she’d given him earlier.
She helped him out of his shirt and straddled his lap. He watched her face carefully as she peeled the old bandage off his chest. She didn’t look anything like the Nelle who’d come out of that ambulance. Her amber eyes were focused, her lips resting slightly apart as she applied a thin layer of lotion to his left pec. She traced the top of the tattoo, spreading the ointment over the ring’s crown, the heart below and the hands bracketing it. Following the loop down she swiped her thumb across the inside of the band, where her name was inscribed on his skin.
Antonella.
He hoped for some clue as to what she felt seeing her name inked above his heart. No reaction. Maybe she’d had one the first time she saw it, but he’d been unconscious or doped up and couldn’t recall.
Bran had spilled himself open on Sunday night—and that was all before the psycho with the bat had interrupted them. And Nelle had gone blank, closed up, revealing nothing.
Nelle yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Did you sleep?”
She didn’t answer, dedicating her focus to his tattoo, which was distractingly itchy.
“You were up early. What were you listening to?” He tried to suppress the discomfort and ended up shuddering.
She stopped. “Does that hurt?”
Bran ran his palms up her yoga pants, his calluses zipping over the star-patterned spandex. Ordinarily he’d consider it a good sign that she slept in his bed, sat in his lap, took such care of him. But her sweetness made him ache, like he was already missing it. There was so much that needed to be said—that she was clearly avoiding—that made him doubt the motives behind her touch. Besides, the physical stuff had always been easy between them. It was the truth they had trouble with.
“It itches. Can’t you just—” He scratched at her thighs.
“No.” She smoothed her thumb over her name again. “I don’t want to mess it up.”
Did that mean she liked it? Bran angled his head, ignoring the flash of pain at his neck, the searing burn that accompanied the quick stretch of skin. They’d had to dig around in his shoulder to remove all the glass.
“You don’t need an infection on top of the blood loss and head trauma.”
They both winced at the sound of a pan lid falling in the kitchen.
“Remind me why they’re here?” he asked.
“They wanted to see you home.”
“Didn’t they see me at the hospital? I seem to remember Arlo hitting on the doctor.”
“That was you, actually.”
“Was it?”
“You were very flirty after a liter of blood and some morphine.”
Bran frowned. “I didn’t say anything—”
“No. You kept it very charming, telling them all how impressed you were by their medical brilliance.” She leaned in a bit to whisper, “Competence porn.” And then sat back. “Anyway. Cormac has everyone helping with Thanksgiving prep.”
“They’ll be here tomorrow too?” He dropped his head against the cushions. His eyes closed against the glare of sunlight on the ceiling. When he opened them Nelle was watching his chest rise and fall. She skimmed her fingertips up the rounded muscles of his arms and curled them under at his neck so she could brush her knuckles up his jaw.
“But they won’t be here tonight.”
He fit the curves of his hands into the joints at her hips. “Or the next night?”
She considered that a moment. “Or the next night.”
“Or the next night?” He couldn’t help pushing it as he pulled her closer.
All the nights, he wanted her to agree. Not just one at a time. All of them, lined up and strung together. There were words lodged in his throat that the bat hadn’t been able to knock out of him. Words he’d been harboring when he reached for the red box he’d kept in that guitar case since getting home from Chicago. Permanent, possessive, primal words. Words like forever and mine.
Nelle nodded. “Or the next night.”
He surged up to capture her mouth and the little moan she made as he held her hips against his. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, sliding his lips against hers and parting them with his tongue, but the strain on the stitches across his back brought another searing flash of pain, cutting him off with a gasp.
“Bran?”
He ignored the concern in her voice. His grip tightened and he tried again, only for her to lean out of reach. “Bran, stop.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face. “Maybe I shouldn’t stay—if it hurts you to—” She climbed off of him, shaking her head.
He was up after her, spinning around her so he stood between her and the arch to the hall. “No, stay. Please stay. We need to talk and—”
“Are you two going to help or what?”
How Bran would have liked to turn and glare at his former drummer, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Nelle. There was a tension in her face he couldn’t account for. She was taking care of him. She was kissing him. But she didn’t want to talk. Or she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. And it was pretty clear what he wanted to say.
“We’re coming.” Nelle brushed past Bran, leaving him to follow her lead.
They entered the kitchen as Cormac returned to the stove. Nelle’s friend Benj chopped celery behind the island, while Arlo snagged a piece that dropped off the cutting board.
Nelle inhaled. “Onions and butter—is there a better smell?”
“Crushed peonies, cinnamon, citrus,” Bran listed.
“Sex,” Cormac countered.
Bran’s gaze stuck on a bowl in the center of the island, piled high with clementines. He put his hand in his jogger pockets to reduce the noticeability of how stirring he found them. “Like I said.”
Nelle shot him a look over her shoulder as she distanced herself, taking over the celery prep from Benj, who moved on to peeling apples.
Cormac caught it, chanting on beat and off key. “Peeling back my thick skin, give your flesh a healthy squeeze. Sticky sweet orange juice have me beggin’ yes yes please.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for someone to recognize how clever he was.
“What’s that?” Benj asked, taking the bait.
“BK2. Track eight,” Nelle answered. Her knife stuttered on the chopping block, revealing her misstep.
“That’s what you were listening to last night? On my phone?” Bran couldn’t keep the accusation out of his voice. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say, but she’d listen to his album?
“sex&secrets, huh?” The words were as cutting as the knife she drove through the celery.
Cormac intervened after a moment of rough chopping, sweeping the contents of the board into the onions and returning it to the island. The pan hissed—or maybe it was Nelle. Benj passed her a skinned apple and the blade winked at Bran as she began chopping again.
Cormac glanced Bran’s way. “I get you ripped and suddenly you don’t own a shirt?”
“I’m in my house. Everyone is in my house. I’m convalescing.” Bran threw a thumb over his shoulder to the bandage taped to his neck.
“Your homecoming aside, the rest of us are getting on track for tomorrow. I’ve got a turkey brining in the restaurant’s walk-in. If we can get the stuffing, gratin, and carrot soup done today, we’ll be able to do gravy, Brussels sprouts, and corn tomorrow.”
“What about pie?” Arlo asked.
Cormac didn’t meet Arlo’s eyes as he answered. “Aya said she wanted to handle dessert.”
Arlo hesitated. “But you’re making a backup, right?”
“Am I risking pissing off Aya by implying I didn’t trust her with pie? No, A. I am not.”
Arlo crinkled his nose and popped a chunk of apple from the counter into his mouth.
Cormac knocked the spoon against the pan’s rim. “Don’t worry, I sanitized the whole island before we started because I didn’t know if you two had a Cleffy night repeat—”
Bran huffed. “I’ve been in the hospital.”
“What happened on Cleffy night?” Benj looked to Nelle. “Have you been holding out on me?”
A gleeful smile crossed Cormac’s face. “You don’t know about Cleffy night?”
“The onions are burning. You should add the sausage,” Nelle told him.
“Is that what you’d do, Shower Girl?” Cormac shot back.
Bran tensed, but before his estranged wife could escalate things, a crash sounded from the ice machine. Nelle, standing closest to the fridge, jumped back. The knife dropped from her hand, clattering against the cement with a steel clang. It bounced to the floor, narrowly missing her bare feet. Her face paled and for an instant Bran recognized the Nelle from the photo. Not blank, but flat with loss.
Bran rounded the island in three strides. “It’s just the stupid fucking ice. I should have fixed it,” he whispered, smoothing down her hair and kissing the side of her head. Aya had already had someone in about replacing the broken door. He should have remembered the machine.
She gripped his elbows, her racing pulse beating through her fingertips. They stood like that until her breath settled and her color returned. Bran tuned back into the sounds of the kitchen. The sausage sizzled. There was a rhythmic scrape of the peeler as Arlo took over the apples. And a pop from Benj opening a bottle of wine followed by the quiet tap of a glass set on the counter.
An urge spurred his gut, directing him to step away from Nelle. He wasn’t supposed to touch her like this, not in front of people. But as long as she was holding on to him, he wasn’t letting go.
The front door opened with a blast of noise, reporters shouting from behind the gate. Nelle immediately released his elbow. He still couldn’t bring himself to step back.
“It just startled me.” Nelle tucked her hair behind her ears. “I wasn’t expecting it.”
Determined steps marched down the hall and Aya appeared in the kitchen, Mina right behind her.
Returning to the island, Nelle lifted the wine to her lips. Cormac scooped up the knife and held it out to her. Bran leaned against the counter behind them as Nelle squared her shoulders, set down the wine, and took the peace offering from his friend.
“Ready for business?” Aya asked, appraising the room. Benj had begun tearing bread into chunks, Nelle was chopping again to keep up with Arlo’s peeling, and Cormac manned the stove.
Bran kicked the fridge with his heel. “Yeah. The ice machine—”
“Freezer repairman will be here between 3 and 5 p.m. Until the melee outside clears, make sure you notify Steve ten minutes before you plan to have anyone come in or out of the gate.”
“Albi is on standby,” Mina added to Nelle.
While the others ripped, chopped, peeled, and stirred Bran could only stare unproductively at Nelle. Right in front of him, close but just out of reach. She was wearing his old baseball shirt, tied at the back. He fixed on the knot as Aya kept going down her list.
“‘All For You’ is available on all platforms—Fei is a dream to work with, by the way. Let’s keep her. And I’m not going to say getting stabbed and having Nelle papped covered in your blood was good marketing, but. The single is doing exceptionally well.”
She waited for Bran to react. He should be excited. But all he could think about was Nelle, how she was so much twisted into one knot. The Nelle outside this house, outside a hotel room, or a car, she was so put together, so completely composed. And then there was this side of her, undone in his old loose clothes. She was fierce and soft and kind and wild and what would he do, if she was trying to let him down easy? Waiting for him to be better before she finished walking away?
Aya moved on. “Okay. Well. There’s also the photo shoot. I told them we’d reschedule when the stitches come out but that was before I knew about the—” she glared at Bran’s red chest “—other complication. I think it’s best if we cancel.”
“Couldn’t they airbrush it?” Arlo asked.
“Airbrush the part of his body that’s going to get the most attention for their product? They could. But they won’t.”
“Are you ready for that conversation?” Mina rapped her knuckles on the counter to get Nelle’s attention. “People want to know why you were here on Sunday night.”
Cormac scoffed. “Are people stupid? They heard the song, didn’t they? Isn’t it obvious?”
“The media want a comment,” Aya clarified.
“We could say...” Mina glanced sideways at Aya like a lawyer hesitant to discuss her client’s defense in front of the opposition. “We could say it isn’t what it looks like. You two were just trying to bury the hatchet in private before the after-parties. But Nelle can’t be seen coming in and out of here. We would need to go now.”
And not come back.
The message was clear: they couldn’t continue like they had, not under this scrutiny. Bran gripped the counter behind him. Nelle had been clear in her message too: they had to stop.
Everyone waited for Nelle to answer. Bran imagined her nodding, walking around the island to stand by Mina’s side. He’d have to get used to seeing her from across the room.
“Tell Albi to stand down until Saturday,” Nelle said, staying where she was. Integrity, that was her thing, and she’d agreed to three nights with him. “And don’t tell them anything. Just don’t comment.”
Bran exhaled. His head had begun to throb while he held his breath. The cut on his back smarted. But he couldn’t afford to take the pain pills and be fuzzy for this conversation. Not when it was his whole life they were discussing. His world he was trying to hold together.
The room settled back into motion. Rip, chop, peel, stir. From the outside it would have looked like a casual scene. A group of friends gathered around the kitchen island. But reality thrummed with tension.
Mina locked her jaw and Aya took the lead again. “Anything else?”
Benj slid Nelle a look. “Yeah, what happened on Cleffy night? And why am I out of the loop?”
Nelle brought the knife down hard, halving an apple clean. “Yes, Bran, why does everyone know about Cleffy night?”
“Nobody knows about Cleffy night—not really.” Bran’s point was undercut by Cormac whistling “Domino.” “C, you are not helping.”
Cormac motioned to the rest of them, working on tomorrow’s dinner. “No, you’re not helping.”
Nelle raised the knife again. “If only you were as good at keeping secrets as you are at selling them.”
A two-toned chime sounded before Bran could manage a response.
Trying to place the sound, Cormac’s forehead wrinkled. “You have a doorbell?”
“Turns out,” Bran replied.
Aya disappeared to the front hall. There was another burst of noise from outside, and when she returned to the kitchen, Moony trailed in after her.
Benj looked him up and down. “Lawyer?”
Arlo nodded. “He probably smelled the blood.”
“You know I represent your interests, right?” The round metal feet of Moony’s briefcase clicked against the island’s polished counter. “And I’m here with some good news, at least. The police found a suspect matching the description from your man Steve and recovered the stolen item.”
“How?” Arlo
asked. “Steve said they lost him in the hills. They only found the bat.”
“It’s not as easy as you might think to fence a seventeen-carat Cartier ring.”
Arlo swore. “Seventeen. Jesus, B.”
Bran tore his gaze away from the back of Nelle’s head. “It was symbolic.”
“Of what? Two million dollars?” Cormac knocked the pan’s rim again.
Nelle had run out of apples to chop, but she kept herself facing forward and Bran was sure it was to avoid his eyes.
“I owed it to her anyway.”
“So they found it?” Aya said, trying to get them back on track.
“Yes. The police should be returning it to you shortly. You can do—” Moony flicked his gaze to Nelle and back to Bran “—whatever you want with it.”
A heavy silence followed that statement as everyone quietly digested what Bran might have wanted to do when he held a seventeen-carat diamond engagement ring out to the woman whose name he’d also emblazoned on his chest and played a song for on live television.
“Now the bad news,” Moony said after a moment. “You didn’t get a look at the guy?”
“No. He hit me in the back.”
Moony tapped his teeth together. “That’s the thing. There were no prints on the bat. And Steve only got a look at his clothes, not his face.”
“But they caught him?”
“And the guy they caught is probably the guy. But the description is generic and he’s saying he found the box. There’s nothing to tie that man here, unless you got a good look at him.”
“I saw him.” Everyone looked at Nelle when she spoke. “I talked to him.”
With a sigh Moony agreed. “You did.” He hit her with a look he’d had on ice, one he’d been saving just for her. Bran’s hands balled. “But you also lied to the police.”
“Excuse me?”
She had been so still, but now Nelle’s fingers drummed the counter in a move Bran knew all too well.
“You lied to the police. At best you were confused—and I can’t use the testimony of an unreliable witness—at worst, you manipulated your way into an ambulance.”
All the Best Nights Page 27