15
Nick wedged his phone between his ear and his shoulder and then tugged the refrigerator door open, pulling out the tzatziki sauce he’d made an hour before. “You took him to his appointment? He actually went this time?”
His brother, Alex, let out an exasperated chuckle, his frustration clear even over the phone. “Yeah. He clearly can’t be trusted to go on his own.” Their father had been dealing with chest pains, shortness of breath, and back pain for almost a year now, but after finally getting him to go see the doctor, he’d skipped out on his referral appointment with the cardiologist a few months ago. This time, Alex had gone with him to make sure the wily bastard actually showed up.
Nick spooned the tzatziki, a Greek yogurt and cucumber sauce, into a small dish and set it on the kitchen table. “How did it go?” A pang of guilt sliced through him that he wasn’t there with his family. Alex had been taking on extra shifts at the restaurant on evenings and weekends, working around his full-time job as an IT analyst at a large insurance company, picking up Nick’s slack and trying to give their stubborn father time to rest. He had the sudden realization that moving halfway across the country to pursue his dream was inherently and undeniably selfish. He was putting fighting before his family.
Maybe he wasn’t as different from Craig Darcy as he’d thought. And shit if that didn’t send a wisp of fear curling through him.
“It was okay. They did blood work, a chest X-ray, and an EKG. It showed that his heartbeat was irregular, so he has to wear this portable device thing for the next three days and then go back.”
“Shit. His heartbeat was irregular?”
“Yeah.”
“So what now?”
“They’ll get the results from the monitor and go from there. Could be treatable with meds.” Alex paused and then sighed, and when he continued, Nick could hear the worry in his brother’s voice. “He might need heart surgery, though.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“How’s Mom?”
“She’s worried. I think we have enough baklava to last into next year.”
Nick swallowed and closed his eyes, picturing his mother in their kitchen, her favorite yellow apron over her clothes, flour strewn on the countertops. Whenever she was upset, she baked. Ravani meant she was sad. Ekmek kataifi meant she was angry. Yiaourtopita meant she was disappointed. And baklava? It meant she was worried. A whole language of emotions, conveyed in pastries.
He checked on the chicken souvlaki skewers on the small countertop grill and then wiped his hands on the kitchen towel. “Keep me posted. I can come home if you need me to.” He was only older than Alex by sixteen months, but Nick was still the older brother. He felt like shit that he wasn’t there, handling things for his family.
“I’ve got it covered, man.”
Nick knew there was no point in arguing with Alex, and he shook his head as he realized that even if he wanted to go home right now, he couldn’t. Between training and the media campaign, his schedule was booked. The tournament was fast approaching, and he needed to keep his head in the game. No distractions.
Fuck. He was thinking of his family as a distraction. And God, that made him feel like an asshole.
“Okay. Thanks, Alex.”
“Yeah. So what’s new with you? How’s everything going?”
“Good. Really good, actually,” he said, and started filling Alex in on his training, on the WFC campaign, on living in Vegas. Nick had a feeling that Alex was as grateful for the change in topic as he was. “And I’m seeing someone,” he said, retrieving the salad he’d thrown together earlier from the fridge. He smiled as he thought of Jules. They’d only been officially back together for a couple of days, but they’d quickly settled into a comfortable routine, spending their days working and their evenings curled up at his place. Usually in bed, making up for lost time.
“Oh yeah? Lemme guess. Dancer? No, stripper?”
Nick laughed, but then paused before he answered. He wasn’t sure what kind of answer he was expecting from Alex when he shared his news. “Do you remember Jules Darcy?”
Silence. Nick pulled the phone away from his ear and glanced at the screen, checking to see if he’d lost the connection, but the call was still active.
Finally, Alex replied. “Yeah, I remember her.”
“She works for the WFC.” Nick rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, feeling suddenly uneasy.
“And you guys are back together?” Alex’s voice was flat.
“Uh, yeah.”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, Nico. This girl wrecked you.” He could practically taste the disapproval in Alex’s voice.
“Yeah. She did.” Alex would know, since he’d been the one to pick up the pieces after Jules had shattered him.
“So what are you doing? She’s poison, man.”
Nick rubbed a hand over his chest, a hollow memory of the ache Jules had caused, and he regretted telling Alex about getting back together with her. Not that he liked lying to his brother either. And if he and Jules had a future—and Nick hoped like hell they did—Alex would’ve found out eventually. “She had her reasons. I didn’t understand at the time, but I do now. It was complicated, and we’re trying again.”
“I don’t know how you can trust her. I don’t get it.”
Nick shoved away that ever-present wisp of fear, trying to ignore it. This was a fresh start, and they couldn’t move forward if he held the past against her. She’d said she was sorry, and she’d been the one to say yes to giving them a second chance. Things were different this time, even though they had to keep their relationship a secret from her father. He understood why—the nonfraternization clause, her concerns about her father’s reaction—but a part of him felt like while he was jumping in with both feet, she was keeping at least one toe out.
“You don’t have to get it. Just be happy for me.” He didn’t want to argue with Alex, and he knew that nothing either of them said would help the situation. He could almost see his mother shaking her head, admonishing her “stubborn Giannakis men.”
Alex sighed again, jumbling up Nick’s emotions even further. The guilt over not being there for his family, the fear that he and Jules couldn’t make this work, that he would hurt her the way her father had, or that she’d hurt him again, the homesickness—all of it washed over him, and he leaned against the counter, steadying himself. “Fine. Whatever. It’s your life. I’ll call you if there are any updates about Dad, okay?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Yep.”
“Seriously, man. I appreciate everything you’re doing.”
“Don’t sweat it. Talk to you soon.”
They hung up and Nick checked the time on his phone. Almost seven. Jules had originally said she’d be by around five thirty, but had texted him to push it to six thirty, and now she was nearly half an hour late. He started to text her, but stopped at the soft knock on his door.
“It’s open,” he called, and Jules walked in, looking sexy as hell in her tight gray pencil skirt and light blue blouse. She dropped her purse and laptop bag by the front door and kicked off her heels.
“Oh my God, it smells amazing in here,” she said as she walked over. She stopped in front of him, and without another word, fisted her hand in his T-shirt and pulled his mouth to hers. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him. Her tongue slid against his, slow and soft, and he felt the guilt, the fear, the worry left over from his conversation with Alex evaporate. Jules was here, kissing him, sweetly and softly, and they were together.
“Hi,” she whispered against his lips, and he smiled, pressing his forehead to hers.
“Hi.” He kissed her again, longer and deeper this time, and she moaned softly against his lips. Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she broke the kiss, laughing.
“Sorry. I didn’t get lunch today. Crazy day.”
He backed away and began plating the food. The memory of cooking for her in Chicago the night she’d left swooped in, picking at him like a vulture. He shoved it away. Fresh start. New memories.
“Yeah, I was about to text you when you came in. Stuck at work?”
She sighed and rolled her neck from side to side. “Yeah. Organizing the press conference, responding to media inquiries, setting up a few more interviews for you, dealing with cranky billboard vendors. I’m drowning.”
Nick set their plates on the table and poured them each a glass of wine. As she approached the table, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. Because he wanted to and he could.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he said.
She smiled up at him, genuine warmth and happiness lighting up her face. “Me too.”
He let her go and pulled her chair out for her. Her hair was pulled up into an elegant twist, and unable to help himself, he bent and kissed the nape of her neck. “Mmm. Food isn’t the only thing that smells good.”
She released a soft little moan and her head fell forward. He brought his hands to her shoulders and started working on the tension knotted in her muscles while he trailed kisses up and down her neck.
“I found out today that Dad’s hiring someone to help me.”
“That’s great. Sounds like you could use a hand.”
“It’s Ashlynn.” He felt her shoulders tense beneath his hands. He crouched down beside her chair and tipped her face toward his.
“Are you jealous?”
She bit her lip and then flashed him a half smile. “Yes.”
Maybe it was petty, or unevolved, but her jealousy fed something raw and primal deep inside him. Her simple admission was significant, because it meant she was in. He could’ve laughed at himself and his earlier fears. He’d let Alex get to him. Idiot.
She cupped his cheek and met his eyes. “Did you sleep with her? I need to know.”
He laid a hand over hers and shook his head. “No. Not even a kiss. And you know why?”
It was her turn to shake her head. “Why?”
“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. While we ate. While I drove her home. While I fell asleep. It was you, and only you.”
She kissed him, chasing away everything bad. Her mouth was warm and sweet against his, and he drank it in, savoring it. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss—their food was getting cold, and they were both hungry.
He sat down and took a sip of his wine, watching her as she bit into a piece of chicken and chewed enthusiastically. “Honestly, Jules, I think it’s kinda cute that you’re jealous.”
She took a sip of her own wine and shook her head slowly. “No, it’s not. It’s petty.”
He studied her over the rim of his glass. “Well, either way, it’s completely unnecessary.”
She let out a little laugh. “I’m not sure if you know this, but you’re a very good-looking man.”
“This might not be news to me.”
She laughed. “And I can be . . . territorial.” She met his eyes. “Especially when it comes to you.”
“I promise, you have nothing to worry about. It was one date, and we parted friends, nothing more.”
She took a sip of wine and nodded. “Okay. I can handle that.” She met his eyes. “Although I have to admit, I’m glad you didn’t sleep with her.”
They settled back into their meal, talking about their lives over the past year. Their families. He told her about his father’s heart problems. How focused he was on his training. They talked about her work. The big things and the small things, wanting to share it all.
About halfway through the meal, a comfortable silence fell between them, and their eyes met. As though it were preplanned, they smiled in unison, something beyond the need for words passing between them.
“Are you free on Friday night?” she asked, spearing the last of her souvlaki onto her fork.
“For you, I’m always free.”
She smiled at him with so much warmth and goodness that he felt it like sunshine. “Do you maybe want to meet my best friend, Megan? We could have dinner.”
She’d mentioned Megan a couple of times, but the fact that she wanted him to meet her was a new step. A good step. She was letting him into her world, and damn, that was satisfying.
He took her hand and laced their fingers together, tracing his thumb over her knuckles. “That sounds great.”
She smiled again and rose from the table, coming around behind him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She trailed her lips over his neck. “Mmm. Time for dessert?”
He turned and caught her lips with his. “You read my mind.” Before she could move, he rose and slung her over his shoulder, her laughter filling his ears as he marched them both into his bedroom.
A jazz quartet played an understated melody that floated from the main dining room. It was soft enough to allow for conversation while still giving the restaurant a pleasant, upscale ambience. Megan had suggested the off-Strip restaurant that the menu proclaimed an “Old Vegas favorite.” Black-and-white photos of Hollywood legends graced the exposed-brick walls, while flickering candles and white tablecloths lent the place an aura of elegance.
Jules settled back into the soft brown leather of the half-circle booth, a giant smile curving her lips as she listened to Nick and Megan talk. They sat on either side of her, facing each other. Nick’s longish hair was tucked back behind his ear, and he wore a navy button-down shirt that emphasized his broad chest and shoulders.
“The main thing that separates MMA from other combat sports is that there are several basic disciplines, and each fighter uses a combination of all of them. Striking, submission, and wrestling.” Nick ticked them off on his fingers as he pushed the plate bearing the remnants of his Chilean sea bass to the side. “And even those are multidisciplinary. For example, striking incorporates techniques like Muay Thai and boxing.”
“Karate?” Megan asked, leaning forward with her elbows on the table and her fingers around the stem of her wineglass, her half-finished steak salad forgotten.
“Yeah, exactly.” Nick nodded.
“Then what’s the difference between submission and wrestling?”
Nick smiled, clearly pleased to find an eager audience for one of his favorite subjects. “Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu is about submission. You try to choke out your opponent or get them in a hold that’s painful enough that it makes them tap, often by trapping their arm or leg. You can even win on your back if your technique is good enough. Wrestling, though, is all about staying off your back, but it’s useful for take downs, which can lead to a submission. If you want to be successful, you can’t just rely on one or the other. You have to master both, and know when to use them in a fight.”
Megan asked some follow-up questions while Jules debated pinching herself because the night was going so well. Really well. They’d spent the first part of the meal talking about how she and Megan had met at boarding school. Megan had gone into some of their more hilarious—and at times disastrous—attempts to sneak off campus. There’d been absolutely no awkwardness between Megan and Nick, not that she’d expected any. She simply hadn’t realized how tense she’d been about them meeting. The fact that the two people she’d picked to be in her life were hitting it off meant . . . well, it meant everything. It meant happiness and acceptance and about a million other good things. Things she wasn’t used to but that were wholly, entirely welcome.
A fuzzy feeling of contentment spread through her as she watched them. She’d spent about a minute worrying that someone might see her with Nick, but then she’d decided she didn’t care. They’d try to be discreet for now—they’d stay away from some of the more popular spots around town and no personal stuff at work—but they wouldn’t hide from the world. She couldn’t wait for the day when everyone knew that Nick was hers and she was his. It was torture to not talk about him all day to anyone who would listen.
Nick had moved on from mechanics to the reigning champions of the WFC, and their strengths and weaknesses. Jules could almost see Megan’s mind churning as she asked questions, working to turn this information into a potential article.
And that’s when it hit her. This was her family. This was what a family dinner was supposed to be. People talking to each other about their experiences, their fears, and their dreams. It wasn’t supposed to be bitter accusations, arguments, and awkward silences like she’d grown up with.
Needing some contact with him, she reached for Nick’s thigh under the table. He glanced at her and smiled as he laced his fingers with hers and gave her hand a squeeze. Emotion welled up in her chest. Happiness and a strange and bitter sadness all tangled up together. The sadness was because of all the time they’d wasted apart, and she forced down that negativity, stomping on it with every ounce of strength she could muster. There was only room for happiness and the future now. Pretty soon all the new, good memories would outweigh the bad ones and make it easier to forget the past.
“Is your brother a fighter too?” Megan asked.
Nick shook his head. “We trained together a little back in college when I first started in the sport, but it wasn’t for him.”
“He’s cute and I think he’s still single, if you’re interested,” Jules said, wiggling her eyebrows as she shot Megan a smile.
Nick laughed and Megan grinned. “I can find my own dates, thank you very much.”
The waiter came to top off their wineglasses and offer them a dessert menu, taking their plates away when he left. An easy silence fell over the table as they studied the menu, but Jules had already planned to forgo anything sweet. Nick was watching everything he ate—he’d even opted for water instead of wine with dinner—to cut weight for the tournament, and she didn’t want to tempt him with anything. She figured it was the least she could do to throw her support his way.
But the second his fight was over? Chocolate cake was totally happening.
“You two look really good together.” Megan sipped her wine as she sat back to study them. “Happy.”
A blush warmed Jules’ cheeks as she met Nick’s gaze over the menu. He gave her a lopsided smile and squeezed her hand again, his palm warm and reassuring against hers. “We are happy,” he said.
They were. In the short time they’d been together, everything had been perfect. All the mind-blowing orgasms she could handle with a man who rubbed her feet at night. She was still unsure what would happen with them professionally, but she pushed those fears aside because she knew they’d face it together.
“By the way, Jules, I’ve been meaning to ask you how your mom’s doing,” Megan said.
Jules’ shoulders stiffened and she glanced at Nick. “Uh, she’s fine.”
“Is there something going on with your mom?” Nick’s tone wasn’t accusatory, but there was a tiny glimmer of pain in his dark eyes.
Jules realized then that she hadn’t mentioned her mother’s most recent rehab stint to him. She’d called her mom yesterday after work to check in with her while she’d driven to Nick’s apartment. By the time she’d gotten there, she’d been so happy to see him that the conversation had slipped into the dark recesses of her mind. She shoved them in there because those conversations were too painful to deal with. They made her feel awkward and inadequate in a way she’d never been able to fully examine in the light of day. In that moment, she realized that she’d been carrying around her mom’s failure to stay sober as if it were her own. Jules couldn’t solve her mom’s problems, so she felt that she should shoulder some of the blame.
Maybe not sharing that burden with Nick had been her way of hiding how inadequate she felt. Or maybe it was just that she was being Craig Darcy’s daughter again. Never let them see you hurt. Never let anyone in.
Megan grimaced and took a small sip of her wine.
“She’s been in rehab recently. I should’ve mentioned something. I’ll work on that.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back, bringing their hands up to place a kiss on hers. And just that quickly the tiny glimmer of pain was gone.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, his face sympathetic.
Megan had looked away, but she was discreetly smiling with approval. The conversation moved on to the tournament. Nick’s family was planning to come, and Jules couldn’t help but feel a little anxious about that. Her family was such a mess and his was so loving and normal. She wondered if they’d be disappointed that he’d settled for her, and if Alex would forgive her for how she’d left his brother. She had no doubt that Nick had shared the details with him. But then Nick smiled at her again, and she thought it might be okay.
Maybe, if she was good enough, everything really could be okay.
After the check was taken care of, they walked Megan to her car and said good-bye in the dimly lit parking lot, and then walked hand in hand to Nick’s car. Instead of opening the door for her as usual, he gave her hand a tug, pulling her around to face him.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” His lighthearted mood had disappeared beneath a furrowed brow.
So she had hurt him. “Is this about my mom?”
“Yeah. Your mom, your dad.” His hands dropped to her hips and his gaze met hers as he pulled her close. “Anything.”
A shiver of pleasure moved down her spine. The heat from his body warmed her front and her palms roved up over his hard chest to rest on his shoulders. She still had trouble believing that he was hers. She only wished she could figure out how to stop hurting him. “I know that, Nick. It’s not you. It’s me. Everything in my life is so messy, sometimes I feel like I want to . . . to protect you from it.”
He laughed and pressed his forehead against hers. “I don’t need you to protect me from anything. I can handle it. Promise.”
Taking in a deep breath, she threaded her fingers through his thick hair and closed her eyes. “I know.” If she were honest, there was a healthy dose of self-preservation in the way she kept things to herself. If he didn’t know all the bad things about her life, then maybe he’d keep thinking she was good enough. “Maybe I do it to protect me too. So I don’t scare you off with all my baggage.”
“Jules, sweetheart, look at me.” When his fingers pushed the hair from her face and cupped her jaw, she opened her eyes. “One of the things I love about you is how strong and resilient you are. But you don’t have to handle everything on your own anymore. I’m here. You won’t scare me off.”
She gasped, sure her heart stopped beating for a solid minute while she processed what he’d said. He probably didn’t mean it like she wanted, but she hoped he did. As much as she’d run from the very idea of love, she wanted his love with everything she had. “I know you’re here. I’ve been alone so long, sometimes I forget.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up in a half smile and he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re not alone anymore, Jules. I’ve got you.”
She couldn’t explain why her eyes filled with tears or why a lump formed in her throat. Why was she crying when she’d gotten exactly what she’d wished for? It took her fumbling brain a second to catch up with her heart, and she realized that they were happy tears. She’d been slow to recognize them because she’d rarely had occasion for them before Nick. He was here and she wasn’t alone anymore. Whatever happened, she could trust him to help her through it.
Because she couldn’t speak, she kissed him. He groaned and pulled her tight against him, kissing her back and dropping his hands to her ass to pull her closer.
“I’ve got you,” he said again, his voice husky against her ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He buried his face in her neck and trailed soft, gentle kisses over her skin. He was hard against her belly and suddenly all she wanted to do was spend the weekend in bed with him, showing him how much she loved him.
And she could, because he was hers. Just like she was his.