Ellen reached for Jenny’s hand. “I can’t imagine what it feels like, Jenny. You know you owe him nothing, you need never see him if you don’t want to. But I do know you need to process it, not ignore it and let it fester.”
“I saw Nik today.”
Ellen took a quick breath. “Oh, sweetheart. It really is all happening at once, isn’t it? How was it?”
Jenny took a sip of coffee and tilted her face to the early November sunshine. She debated lying but thought better of it. “I wasn’t expecting it to still hurt.”
They sat in silence for a moment. A red cardinal hopped along the fence, and a blue jay pecked at the food in the bird feeder.
“I’ve told every child in my care to rip a Band-Aid off quickly, that it is less painful,” Ellen said carefully. “But I never actually believed it. It hurts just as much. It’s over faster, but I always believed it hurts just as deeply.” She sighed. “Well, at least it’s out of the way now. The first time is bound to hurt the most.”
“He wants to see me to talk, to have dinner with him, but I can’t do it, Ellen.”
“Only you can decide whether that is a good idea. But I will say this, Jenny. Nik has changed. He cares deeply for the rest of his brothers, has spent most of his life turning them into a family even when it wasn’t in his own best interests to do so.”
Jenny shook her head. “I’ve tried to stay away from media reports of them, but from what I’ve seen, the media makes it sound like Dred is the lynchpin of the band.”
Ellen laughed sadly. “From a business perspective, yes he has been. But it’s Nik who has brought them together and kept them together as brothers. They’ve always had their roles in their family. Elliott has been the healer. Dred is the one with the drive and perfectionism, the one who pushed them. Jordan is their soul, and if I’m honest, they’ve yet to realize just what Lennon brings because . . . well, Lennon has his own reasons. But Nik. He’s been the glue, the peacemaker, the negotiator. Without Nik, I don’t know where they would all be.”
Damn.
“That sounds a little like a view through rose-tinted glasses. Are you sure you’re being objective, Ellen?”
Ellen looked at Jenny carefully. “Probably not, sweetheart. But he is a different man now. He doesn’t do—”
“What about the sex-tapes that are all over the news?” she blurted quickly.
“What about them?” Ellen asked. “They’re years old, Jenny. Not that I wanted to see it, but I couldn’t miss that grainy image they put on the front page of the paper. Even I know he’s had a lot of tattoos added since that video was made. Was he foolish to record them? Of course. Does he regret them? You’d have to ask him.”
“He cheated on me.” Jenny could feel herself getting annoyed with Ellen. She hadn’t come here for Ellen to defend him. She’d just thought Ellen might be able to share some advice on how to handle things.
“I know he did. And I can’t make any excuses for that. But he’s a different person from the kid he was back then, Jenny. And only you can decide if you want to get to know who he is now.”
CHAPTER THREE
Nik placed his hands on the edge of the sink and studied himself in the mirror.
He wondered what Jenny had seen when she’d looked at him yesterday. Had she seen the man he’d been back when they were together, or had she paid attention to the man he was now? Was there any way for her to tell how exhausted he was or how old he felt?
He ran his hand over his chest, across the tattooed pattern of dots and lines whose meaning people always speculated about and along the eleven scars from where he’d been stabbed repeatedly.
And now he had another scar on his arm where he’d taken a bullet to protect Dred’s child, a move he would make again in a heartbeat—for Petal, or for any of the rest of the band.
Or Jenny.
Nik stepped away from the sink and turned on the shower. The spray hitting the mustard-color tiles was just pitiful. The sooner he could get cleaned up in the third-floor master bathroom, which was in the process of being fitted with as many shower heads as he could cram in it, the better. As much as he wanted to get his hands dirty on the renovation, he was also glad he’d arranged for contractors to come help, ones he knew from his previous life. Without them, the renovation could end up taking him a year. Thank God, too, that the current head of permits for renovations in Toronto had been in care at the same time as Nik.
He didn’t try to explain it to anyone, but there was a symbolism to rebuilding his own home. It made him feel like he was somehow rebuilding himself in the process—stripping himself back to the bare bones, like the walls, and seeing what he was really made of.
Once in the shower, Nik placed his hands on the wall and allowed the hot water to rain down in fits and starts on his head.
He wondered what Jenny would make of the project to renovate his home. When he was eighteen and no longer eligible to stay in care, she’d helped him turn a two-bedroom apartment into a home for him and his brothers, scouring thrift stores for treasures and spending four hours sitting on a sofa that had been dumped on the sidewalk on a bitterly cold February morning until he could find a friend with a van to go collect it.
His goals had been so simple back then:
1. Love Jenny.
2. Make enough money to hold on to an apartment for the rest of the boys and buy food.
God, that first year out of the home had been terrifying yet exciting—and somehow Jenny had made it precious. Even though she’d still been in care, she’d spent as much time with him as she could. They’d lived on ramen and leftovers Jenny had brought with her from the home while Nik had worked two jobs, one on a construction site and one in a bar at the corner of the block. She’d given him her virginity on her sixteenth birthday on a rug the owner of the Greek restaurant below them had given them the week before, and it had been the most perfect thing in the whole fucking world.
Did Jenny look back on those moments with the same fondness he did? They’d been the happiest times of his life. Before the money, and the fame, and the craziness. Before the boy who’d been raised on nothing, the boy who had nearly died, suddenly found himself with wealth and fame and access to just about everything except the maturity and willpower to turn any of it down.
Nik grabbed the shampoo off the shelf and poured some into his hand. He scrubbed at his hair vigorously—anything to take his mind off the events that had followed. Memories of Jenny, the way her skin had felt pressed against his, the way she’d sigh against his lips when she came, and the way she’d wrap her arms tightly around him in the moments after he’d gotten off had kept him wide awake well into the early hours of the morning. He needed to see her again. To check that she was real and not some fucked-up dream.
After he’d finished soaping himself clean while ignoring his growing erection, he turned the taps to cold.
Flowers.
He should get her something nice. Woo her. Show her that he’d learned how to treat a woman properly, despite the way the magazines made it seem.
Quickly, he finished his shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and grabbed his phone. Within a moment, he’d found a local florist and dialed the number.
“Hello, Flowers by Danni. How can I help?”
He had no clue what he was doing. Shit, what flowers did she even like now? “Erm, yeah. Can you make an arrangement quickly for me please? Something special, like unique flowers and stuff.”
“I have some fabulous white orchids and some late-blooming peonies that would be pretty special together. Do you have a budget in mind?”
“I have no idea. . . . Is two hundred bucks enough. Three hundred?”
The woman on the other end of the phone laughed. “Are you in trouble or in love?”
“Both,” Nik replied quickly.
“In that case, three hundred will make a pretty spectacular arrangement. I’ll put them in an opaque vase, surround them with some folded red ti leaves, and add some lily gr
ass.”
He had no idea what those things were, but he was more than willing to go with whatever she suggested. “I need them in half an hour. Can I give you my card details now so I don’t have to stop when I drop by?”
“Of course. I hope the flowers work.”
“So do I,” Nik said.
When he’d finished giving the florist the credit card number in the name of Monkan Inc., his shell company’s name, he wandered into the second bedroom he’d set up as a temporary closet. He hated the fact he couldn’t just give his own name for this kind of thing, but too many times in the past, people had alerted their friends or the press, or had taken photos of him to use for publicity later. So, the combination of the first half of his last name, and second half of his first was the closest he was ever going to get.
He put on a clean navy Henley, dark denim jeans, and boots and grabbed his keys, phone, and wallet. En route to the florist, his phone rang. He glanced at the car display and saw that it was Preload’s manager. “Hey, Ryan. What’s up?”
“I got a request from the CBC for you that I thought was kind of cool.”
Nik checked his rearview before changing lanes. “Let’s hear it.”
“They bought the Canadian franchise rights to a U.K. show called Who Am I? They want to know whether you would be interested in appearing.”
“I don’t know the show, what’s it about?” Nik said, turning onto the tree-lined street that would lead him straight to the Cabbagetown florist.
Ryan sighed. “It’s a show where the guest, with aid of genealogists and researchers, traces his or her family tree. They think you’ll bring a younger viewing demographic, hopefully getting them interested in the show. And your tree has two uniquely different branches, through your father’s First Nations side and your mom being born in Caledonia.”
Nik’s heart sunk in his chest. He could imagine it now. They’d play up everything traumatic. The way his grandparents had been part of the sixties sweep forcing First Nations children into abusive residential schools. They’d generalize about his life on the reserve, though he barely had any memories of that time. Phrases like “intergenerational trauma” would be littered throughout the episode like confetti. And of course, they’d be all over the fact that his mom had been murdered. Fuck. He certainly wasn’t going to regurgitate it all for the sake of entertainment.
“No,” Nik said. “Definitely not.”
“But it will show a different side of the band, Nik. Not to mention it will redirect your profile away from all the bullshit that’s going on right now with the videos. You have the capacity to be a phenomenal role model. To kids in care, to First Nations people, to the metal industry.”
Nik laughed. Since Ryan hadn’t been around in their early days, he had no idea how ironic the idea was. “For the record, the very first label interested in the band suggested replacing me because the company’s executive said, and I quote, ‘The predominantly white metal audience isn’t ready for an Indian.’”
He could see the moment clearly. They thought they’d made it. Great meeting in a glass-and-chrome office with platinum records on the walls. Then the asshole had cleared his throat and announced that he had a suggestion for them—one he hoped nobody would be offended by. While Nik had been rendered speechless, panic racing at the thought of having to leave the band, it had been Lennon who’d stood up first. He’d just looked at the record company executive, flipped him the bird, and left. The rest had quickly followed.
“Turned out the guy had been born in Quebec and was still pissed about the Oka Crisis.”
“I don’t know what that is,” Ryan said quietly.
“What it always is. Disputed land and some developer who thought a golf course for old white men should take priority over a scared Mohawk burial ground with standing tombstones. Mohawk people versus Canadian soldiers, and nearly three months of chaos, and land claims that are still unresolved. Anyway, that shit still happens all the time. A different group of guys might have made the call to cut me loose so they could get a shot at the big time, but they didn’t, even though I offered to leave.” They’d all gone back to the Auld Spot Pub across the street from their apartment, where Dred had told him he’d rather play small venues with him for the rest of his life than big ones without him. “But, honestly, Ryan, I have no interest in putting everything that happened in my life out for everybody to dissect. If people want to get educated, they can look shit up on the internet.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. It went on so long that Nik began to wonder if they’d lost the connection.
“Think about it, Nik,” Ryan finally said. “I won’t go back to them straightaway. Until I met you, I had no clue what had happened to First Nations people. I know it’s not your job to educate, but I honestly think you could really help educate Canadians who know so little about the act you told me about. What was it, again?”
“The Indian Act,” he said, the very words making him feel ill. His ancestors had been forced to give up lands, ceremonies, and languages. His parents had been Lower Cayuga, Turtle Clan, but Nik didn’t know a single word of his traditional language because his grandparents had been beaten for speaking it in residential schools.
But no, a TV show was not the place to address the hurts. “Ask me again in a couple of days, and the answer is still going to be the same.”
“Okay. I can respect that,” Ryan said. “They’re sending me a contract though, and we have until the end of the month to respond, so let me know if you change your mind.”
Ryan hung up, and the buzz of silence filled the car.
Nik pulled to a stop outside the florist and rested his head on the steering wheel.
Too many pieces of his history were colliding, and he had no idea how to handle it. He stepped out the car and collected the flowers, which were perfect. Getting them into the low rise of his car without breaking stems was tricky, but he managed it. Driving carefully to make sure the vase didn’t tip over on the seat, he made his way to the group home, praying Jenny was actually working today.
He pulled his car up to the curb and killed the engine. His palms were sweating. Goddamn, he was as nervous as the day he’d asked her to go to his prom. The corsage he’d bought her had been cheerful, but cheap—nothing like the flowers he could afford to buy her now. He checked his reflection in the mirror and scoffed at himself. How old was he? Fucking twelve? He grabbed the flowers and walked up the pathway to knock on the door.
Someone on the other side was trying to open the door, which was obviously sticking. When it finally budged, Jenny stumbled backward. “Nik,” she gasped.
The plaid shirt she wore was practical and shouldn’t have been the slightest bit sexy. But the way it nipped in at her waist and the way the couple of open buttons at her collar revealed a hint of the breasts he’d loved to suck on when they made love had him halfway to hard.
“Hey, Jenny,” he said. “These are for you.” He handed her the vase. “I wasn’t sure what you liked now, but I thought these were pretty.”
Jenny pressed her face to them and breathed in deeply, as she always had. She’d loved the smell of flowers. “These are very heavy,” she said.
He had a long way to go to gain her trust, so he wasn’t expecting a declaration of forgiveness, but he’d hoped she’d realize that he’d remembered how much she’d loved flowers or simply say thank you.
“And extravagant. But I don’t feel right taking them,” she held them out toward him. “Go and donate them or take them to Ellen or something.”
The flowers had been meant to open to a conversation, not a disagreement. He refused to take them back. “You don’t need to read anything into them, Jenny. It’s just . . . you were on my mind. And I was so thrown by seeing you yesterday that I made a mess of it.”
Lines furrowed her brow. “So are they meant to be an apology?”
“They can say ‘Sorry.’ And ‘Hello.’ And ‘Welcome home.’ And ‘I goddamn missed yo
u.’”
Her eyes softened. “Nik . . .”
“I remember how much you loved flowers.”
“I do. I did. The ones that grew wild down by the banks of the Don River that you’d pick for me on the way home from that construction job down Lakeshore. The ones I’d put in the glass tumbler.”
Fuck. He remembered those. And that tumbler. He still had it. And the way she used to wrap her arms around him and kiss him to say thank you.
“Look. This is my place of work,” she said. “I know you like to hang out with the kids, but that needs to be the only reason you come here. It might be better if you don’t come around otherwise, because this”—she gestured between the two of them—“isn’t appropriate.”
Even though she didn’t slam the door, this time, the quiet snick of the lock did even more damage to his heart.
* * *
“You got your stuff ready for soccer this afternoon, Leon?” Jenny asked. The scent of the flowers Nik had bought her two days earlier filled the living room where Leon played on the PlayStation.
There was no answer, just a whole bunch of sound effects of a car careening around a corner in some chase.
“Leon?” she asked again, this time more intently. She waited for a moment but was interrupted by a knock on the door. “We aren’t done here,” she said and hurried to get it.
Jenny tugged the door open and made a note to take a plane to the bottom of the door herself. She could shave off the little bit of wood that was sticking.
“Hey,” Nik said. It had been a couple of days since she’d seen him with that huge bouquet, but this time he handed her the tiniest posy of wild forget-me-nots.
The handful of flowers made her stomach flip. She breathed them in deeply. She wanted to be mad but couldn’t. It was a sweet gesture, unlike the gaudy one from the other day.
Nikan Rebuilt--A steamy, emotional rockstar romance Page 5