She put the bottle on the table then sat down on the sofa, curling up in the corner and pulling her legs into her chest. Complete relaxation would be nearly impossible, at least for a little longer.
Until Nick woke up and left.
Mike shook her head and took another swallow of the brandy, still not sure how tonight had ever happened. Talk about being a Class A fool. What had ever possessed her to have sex with Nick? Hormones, medication. Loneliness. It had been too long, and she had wanted it. Needed to feel that brief connection, if only for a few minutes. She wanted release and foolishly thought she could use Nick to get it.
Her mistake was thinking she could have casual sex with Nick then act like nothing had happened. With Nick, of all people! Sex had always been great between them, even when they were younger and didn't know what they were doing. At least, she didn't. But Nick had been right about one thing tonight—it had been more than just sex all those years ago.
Mike was very much afraid that it had been more than just sex tonight.
She didn't want more right now. Not with anyone, and certainly not with Nick. Never again with Nick. It was a disaster waiting to happen. And she had nobody to blame but herself.
"Damn," she muttered, her voice hoarse and scratchy. The word didn't come close to summing up the whole situation. The best she could do was pretend nothing had happened. Just go back to the cool detachment of the last month whenever she saw Nick.
And try to see him as little as possible.
And not think of the heat between them, or the instinctive way her body reacted whenever she was around him.
She took another sip of brandy then frowned, knowing that all of that was easier said than done.
The sound of footsteps drifted down the stairs and Mike tucked herself further into the corner. She wasn't fool enough to think that Nick wouldn't see her, despite the shadows that shrouded her. After all, he was bright enough to notice she wasn't in bed, and there weren't many other places she could go. She drained the brandy and poured another glass, then looked up when Nick finally came into the room.
He leaned against the wall, watching her, though she wasn't sure how well he could see. The night light from the kitchen dispelled enough shadow that she could see him clearly, though, and she wished she couldn't. He stood there, wearing only his jeans, which were unbuttoned and unzipped, calling attention to the one part of his anatomy that she didn't want to notice.
Not that she wanted to notice the rest of it, either. That didn't stop her from looking at him, though. Her eyes drifted up from his bare feet, paused at the opening of his jeans, then continued up. Past the ridges of his flat stomach to his broad chest, tight with muscle and firm skin, dusted with just enough dark hair to run her fingers through.
Mike swallowed, the feel of that naked chest against hers branded indelibly in her memory. She swallowed a groan, hoping he wouldn't hear it, and took another sip of brandy to distract herself from looking at his body.
"Are you okay?" His voice was soft in the darkness, husky from sleep. Mike nodded then realized he may not be able to see her.
"Yeah, fine." She cringed when the words came out as a squeak. Just her luck that Nick sounded sexy and she sounded like a mouse.
He leaned against the wall for another minute, just watching her, then slowly straightened and walked over. He hesitated, almost as if he was trying to decide something, then finally sat down. Mike let out the breath she had been holding when he chose to sit on the loveseat instead of the sofa with her. He stretched his legs out and leaned over to put on his socks and shoes; Mike watched him over the edge of the glass as she sipped, hoping the darkness hid her gaze.
Nick straightened then worked at turning his t-shirt and sweatshirt right side out. He leaned forward to put the shirts on the table then paused. A full minute went by before he straightened and stared at her, his jaw tight.
"What are you drinking?"
"What?" Mike made no effort to hide her confusion, wondering at the flatness of his voice. Before she realized what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed the bottle of brandy from the table and held it up to her.
"Are you drinking this?"
"Yeah."
"Did you take anymore medicine?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Jesus Kayla. What the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice was cold and angry, accusing. She straightened and stared at him in surprise, not understanding the reason for his sudden change, not like the defensiveness that leaped within her.
"What do you mean, what am I doing? I'm having a drink. You have a problem with that?"
"You're mixing alcohol with pain medication! I thought you were smarter than that. Are you trying to knock yourself unconscious?"
"Excuse me? One or two drinks aren't going to make much difference. It's almost five o'clock in the morning and it's not like I'm going anywhere. And what the hell business is it of yours, anyway?"
Nick stared at her, his expression hard and unreadable, then he muttered a curse she hadn't heard from him since his wild days. Bottle in hand, he turned and stormed into the kitchen. Mike almost laughed when she heard him drain the contents down the sink then throw the empty bottle into the trash. He returned a minute later and grabbed his shirt from the table, pulling it over his head with jerky movements.
"Do you feel better now?" She asked, not hiding her amusement. He mumbled something from inside his shirt, then finally poked his head through the opening and glared at her.
"Yeah, laugh. It's all one big joke to you, isn't it? And you call me a hypocrite."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about your drinking. Do you realize that every single time I've seen you these last two months, you've been drinking? Not once have I seen you with anything in your hand besides alcohol."
"Bullshit."
"Really? Think about it. Except for when you're working, you've always been drinking. Don't you think that says something?"
Mike laughed and took a swallow of brandy, then shook her head. "Yeah, Nick, sure. And except for the few meetings we've had, you've seen me what—five times? Six? That really says a lot, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, I think it does. Especially when one of those times, you threw up on me." His voice was flat and calm but Mike could feel the tension oozing from him, so strong that it wrapped around her, suffocating. She stared up at him, honestly confused. Why was he making such a big deal about nothing? He was starting to sound like Jay and the rest of the guys at work. And she was getting a little tired of everyone commenting on her drinking.
"Knock it off, Nick. Just because I've been drinking the few times you've seen me doesn't mean that's all I do. There's nothing wrong with a drink here and there. I'm sure you even have one now and then."
"No, I don't. I told you, I don't drink anymore."
"Yeah, that's what you keep telling me. Excuse me if I have trouble believing that."
Nick lowered his head and rubbed his hands over his face, then let out a long sigh. He looked back up at her, his expression serious. "I'm an alcoholic, Kayla."
His admission hung between them, as loud as if he had shouted it in the silence of the room. Mike stared at him, understanding the words, but not quite grasping their meaning. Nick, an alcoholic? She had trouble putting the image together with the man sitting just a few feet away from her. He watched her expectantly and she realized he was waiting for her to say something. Mike cleared her throat and searched her mind for something, anything, but came up blank.
"Um, okay."
Nick sighed and shook his head, then flopped back against the cushions. Mike took another sip of the brandy and watched him, still having trouble believing him. She stretched her legs in front of her and shifted into a more comfortable position, resting her head against the overstuffed cushion. She had the feeling that there was a specific reason he had made his confession to her, but her thinking was becoming blessedly numb thanks to the medication and brandy.
&
nbsp; Unless that was why he had said it. Did he think that she—? She straightened and narrowed her eyes at Nick. "Are you saying you think I'm an alcoholic?"
"What?" Nick raised his head and leveled a cool glare at her.
"I said—"
"I know what you said. And no, that's not what I'm saying. Do I think you drink too much? Yeah. Do I think you could cross that line? Absolutely. But—"
"How dare you! Where do you get off—"
"Forget it, forget I said anything!" Nick yelled, jumping from the loveseat and grabbing his sweatshirt. He didn't even bother putting it on, just tossed it over his shoulder while he searched for his coat. "No matter what I say, you're going to take it the wrong way, so forget it."
Mike slowly stood, swaying slightly with the motion. "Then tell me how else I'm supposed to take that! First you make a comment about my drinking, then you tell me you're an alcoholic. What am I supposed to think?"
Nick found his coat and thrust his arms into the sleeves, the movements short and jerky as he turned to face Mike. Even in the dim light from the kitchen, she could see the flush spreading across his face, see the way he was clenching his jaw. He ran a hand through his hair then exhaled loudly. "That's not why I told you, Kayla."
Mike fought against her own anger, trying to control it like Nick was obviously trying to control his. Except she didn't have his self-control. She stepped around the furniture, steadying herself on the back of the loveseat, then leaned against it, folding her arms across her chest. "Then why, Nick? For sympathy? Hell, it's not like you need sympathy points anymore. You already got what you came for!"
She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. It had been a spiteful thing to say, completely uncalled for and totally out of line. And so far from the truth. Mike bit down on her lower lip, hard, before taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, that wasn't—"
Nick stepped back as if she had slapped him. He held out a rigid hand to stop her, taking another step away from her. The air between them thickened, becoming so heavy that Mike thought it would suffocate her, and still he didn't speak. He just stood there, watching her, his expression hooded and blank. Time stretched, and Mike's nerves stretched right along with it. She pushed away from the loveseat and took a step closer to Nick, wanting to close the distance between them. She reached a hand in his direction then let her arm drop to her side when he remained still.
"Nick, I didn't mean—"
"You know what Kayla? I don't care. Say whatever you want, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what you say, or what you think, or what you feel. Yeah, there's a ton of baggage between us, but that—that was uncalled for and one hell of a lot more than I think I deserve." He paused, his steady gaze holding hers for a long minute before he looked away and buttoned his coat with jerky movements. Mike's breath caught in her chest when he looked back at her, unguarded emotion clear in his dark eyes.
She took another step toward him, trying to think of something to say, anything to stop him from saying what she knew was coming next. Because she didn't want him to say goodbye and she knew that's what he was going to do. After everything that had happened between them—all those years ago, the last month, tonight—the bad history didn't matter because she still couldn't bear to hear him say goodbye. But she knew it was coming, could see it in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his head. And for some inexplicable reason, she knew this would hurt a hundred times more than when he had disappeared from her life without a word ten years ago. "Nick, please, I didn't—"
"I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself, Kayla. Yeah, I might be responsible for some of it, probably more than I want to admit, but I can't watch it. I had thought...well, I guess it doesn't matter what I thought, now does it?" He paused, watching her for a long minute, then took a deep breath and reached behind him for the door knob. "I'll see you around Kayla."
The door opened, letting in a soft blast of cold damp air, then quietly shut behind him when he walked out. Mike stared at the empty space where Nick had been standing just a second earlier, not really understanding what he had just said, not believing what had just happened.
She leaned against the loveseat and continued staring at the door, grateful for the final numbness brought on by the pain medication. And the alcohol.
Mike blinked her eyes hard several times then pushed away from the loveseat, at a momentary loss for what to do. Her gaze drifted toward the stairs, then over to the kitchen. To the empty bottle of brandy sitting in the trashcan.
She stared at it, frowning. Thinking. Then she shook her head and finally turned toward the steps, slowly climbing the stairs. Returning to her cold, empty bed.
Chapter Twenty
"What the fuck, Mike? What the hell did you do this time?"
Jay's loud voice bounced off the kitchen walls, raking down her spine and echoing in her head. Mike turned from the bulletin board she was cleaning off and stared at him, her eyes widened in shock at his unusual outburst. She looked around, thinking he was yelling at someone else. But no, he had yelled her name, nobody else's. And she was the only one left in the kitchen.
"What are you talking about?" Her voice was calmer than she expected, considering Jay's tone had automatically put her on the defensive.
"This. Have you seen it yet?" He advanced on her, a sheet of paper clenched in his fist. Mike threw the yellowed notice she was holding into the trash, wiped her hands along her pants, then took the paper from him, studying him for a brief second before looking down at it. She scanned it quickly, then went back and read it more slowly, a knot of apprehension fisting in her stomach at the words.
"Oh shit, I am so completely fucked," she mumbled. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath, trying to come up with an explanation or excuse that would save her hide. Her mind was disgustingly blank.
"Make that doubly fucked when Captain Nelson sees it, especially after that stupid letter you wrote." Jay sat in one of the wooden seats and leaned over the table, watching her carefully. She returned his gaze then sat down herself and rested her head on her folded arms with a groan.
The 'stupid letter' Jay mentioned had been the rough draft, get-it-out-of-her-system, not-intended-for-anyone-to-see venting letter explaining why she could no longer participate in the awareness program at Buckley High, detailing conflict of interest and personal reasons—including animosity between the school's liaison and herself. The letter had been on the bottom of the pile of papers she had tossed on the captain's desk two tricks ago, right before that rescue where she had been clobbered. The only thing that had saved her on that one had been Jay's quick thinking and fancy explanations.
Mike lifted her head and scanned the new letter, her stomach literally turning in fear and apprehension. She was so screwed, it wasn't even funny. She might as well clean out her locker now, because there was no doubt Captain Nelson would have her transferred after this.
Because the letter in her hand was from one Mr. Nick Lansing, politely inquiring if other personnel were available to assist with the awareness program, citing his inability to work with her.
Due to personal reasons and conflict of interest.
An image of her instructional certifications being ripped from her and sucked into a vortex flashed through her mind. She didn't even want to think of the hell Captain Nelson would inflict on her. Fear gripped her again at the thought of being transferred. There was no doubt he'd try. Could he really make that happen? She didn't know but she wouldn't put it past him. He was next on the Chief's list and wouldn't appreciate anything that might mar his reputation—real or imagined. No, he wouldn't put up with this, no matter what she said to refute it.
And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't think of one single thing to explain away the letter, not when it so closely mirrored hers.
"So what happened? Why would he suddenly write this?" Jay asked, his voice a little calmer. Good for him, since she was anything but calm. Mike looked up at him and laughed, the sound s
hort and brittle.
"I slept with him, then he told me he was an alcoholic."
Jay's eyes widened, surprise clear on his face. He looked away and cleared his throat, then shifted in the chair. A minute went by, filled with more throat clearing, before he looked at her again. "Well, okay. Yeah. That makes a lot of sense."
He looked so flustered that Mike almost wanted to laugh. Almost. Unfortunately, the situation had drained even her warped sense of humor. She leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling, wishing the aging tiles would crumble and fall on top of her. Maybe it would injure her enough that she would be placed off duty until this entire farce was over.
Minutes went by and she knew that all the wishful thinking in the world wasn't going to help. It was too late for that. She mumbled a curse and shook her head, unable to shake the feeling of doom that had grabbed her when she first read the letter.
"Um, Mikey, I don't mean to make things worse, but what you said makes absolutely no sense at all."
"It makes as much sense as the relationship between Nick and me has ever made," she muttered, mostly to herself. She had known he was upset when he left that night, but she never thought he'd do this.
"So when did this, um, you know, um—"
"When did I screw him?"
Jay winced at her bluntness, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks as he nodded, quickly adding, "I don't want the details."
"Three days after the rescue. He came by because we missed the meeting and he wanted to know what was going on. We started talking, he helped me upstairs, one thing led to another and we, well, you can use your imagination."
"No thank you, I think I'll pass on that one." Jay slid the letter across the table and read it to himself, then sat back. "So then what happened? I don't get that part about him telling you he was an alcoholic."
Mike shifted uncomfortably in her chair, unable to face Jay. She took a deep breath for courage, then let the confession tumble out. "Later, I went downstairs for some more medicine, and decided to have a drink. He told me he was an alcoholic and I asked him if he was accusing me of being one. When he said no, I asked why he bothered to tell me because he didn't need sympathy points since we'd already had sex."
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