3
Hitmen need love too.
The click-clack sound of the wooden staffs slamming against each other echoed in the open space of the training room. Sweat trickled down the side of Killian’s face as he grunted and gnashed his teeth with the force of each swing to block the next strike. His grip on the stick tightened as it whistled through the air and landed on his sparring opponent’s shoulder, sneaking in another hit before blocking the next swing.
“Will you at least let me win for once,” Dex yelled over the sound of the wood sticks connecting with a crack. He quickly retreated, taking a few deep breaths to recover before bouncing forward on the balls of his feet to resume their training session.
Killian tightened his grip on his practice weapon. He blocked each blow with swift movements, to the right then left, ducking when Dex tried to land a cheap head shot.
They cycled through several disciplines and techniques each week, honing their skills with each routine. Dex had insisted on martial arts today, itching to try some new moves he had seen on some streaming video channel. He should have known better than to think an online video would offer up anything new. But that was Dex. Hard-headed and as persistent as a pit bull.
Killian had taken a sabbatical ages ago, taking the time to learn techniques from senseis in their native lands then continued with certified trainers several years after. He made it a point of researching and learning suggested strike moves, perfecting his skills, and blending in other styles and disciplines to mix things up in order to keep his opponents on their toes. His survival demanded he stay up-to-date and practice countermoves. He had watched each of those same videos Dex had claimed were “cutting edge.” Killian mentally scoffed at the thought. Ridiculous amateur videos with elementary tactics, demonstrating the most basic strike moves with clumsy coordination that made them appear as if they had birthed some new style. He had nicknamed the twitchy moves jerky-jujitsu. It was a miracle the people in those uploaded phone videos hadn’t broken a bone. Or worse.
But Dex didn’t need to know that.
Determined to wrap up their workout for the day, Killian twisted his body into a crouch and swept the wooden stick along the floor, striking Dex’s feet and knocking him on his ass.
“Fuck!” Dex blinked a few times, raising his eyebrows and opening his eyes wide. He lifted his upper body off the mat and rested his weight on his elbows, delivering a resentful scowl that made Killian’s lip twitch. “Give a guy some warning the next time.”
“That defeats the purpose.” Killian extended a helping hand, pulling Dex off the mat and onto his feet.
Dex bent forward and grabbed his knees, his body heaving with each breath. “How’s the hand?”
“I’m a fast healer.” Killian extended his hand to inspect Nick’s stitchwork. The wound had already closed, but he couldn’t bring himself to remove the stitches yet. A silly reminder of the man who invaded his thoughts more than he cared to admit. He glanced over at his friend and business partner. The man was a sloppy fighter but an expert at cleaning up sites after an assignment. He had strength and power, but he was no match for the time and effort Killian had taken over the years to shape his mind and body for the job. Dex was more like an adolescent, bull-sized puppy with the nervous energy of a terrier. But he was reliable and always had Killian’s back. “You doing all right over there?”
“Fuck you, you old fart.” Dex grabbed his midsection and glared up at him.
Killian lowered his brow. He bent enough to be at eye level with Dex. His heart beat hard and fast in his chest from their dueling session, but he refused to show how tired he was or how his muscles quaked with the strain. “This old fart kicked your ass. Remember that.” He planted the tip of his index finger on Dex’s forehead and shoved him hard, dropping his partner back on his ass onto the mat again.
“Dammit! I was kidding!” Dex rolled on the padded mat and swung his body to the side, finally standing but managing to keep his distance. “Why do you get so damn sensitive about the age thing? These twenty-somethings are no match for you. I try to kick your ass every time and you barely break a sweat.”
Killian clenched his jaw, biting back the aching protest of his muscles. He walked over to the long, narrow table along the side wall and grabbed his bottle of water, taking a few deep pulls hoping to cool his body.
He sensed Dex’s approach.
The man’s stealth skills royally sucked. Killian instantly snapped his arm back, extending the baton’s wooden tip to the center of Dex’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. He slowly turned around and caught the light-colored gaze staring back at him with wonder.
“You’re like a ninja. It’s not normal.” Dex slowly wrapped his hand around the practice stick pointed at his chest and tugged it out of Killian’s grip. “Have you given retirement any more thought?”
Killian frowned. It was no wonder the man had pulled away his weapon. Killian wanted to kick his ass again. First old fart and now retirement?
Dex pitched the stick to the side of the room and raised his hands in surrender. “My question has nothing to do with your age. We’ve talked about stepping back before our ticket is up, then the convo stalled a couple of months ago.”
For the last two decades, Killian had accepted living this life, floating around without an address. It was a bare bones requirement to survival in his line of work. But something had shifted in the last few years and he had been compelled to outright purchase his house on twenty acres under a shell corporation’s name. Technically, it wasn’t in his name, but it was his house. Something he called his own that kept him grounded. He had immediately knocked down the wall between two of the large rooms to create the training room, something more fitting for his needs. A house with four bedrooms was overkill, but the large acreage granted him enough privacy to avoid nosy neighbors and surprises.
Maybe it was boredom. Financially, he was set and had been for years—both from his successfully completed contracts and from those completed by his father and his father before him. But deep down, there was another thought that kept nagging at him.
He wanted to live…before it was too late.
The family legacy would die with him. He had accepted that fact a while ago, knowing this life was a burden he wouldn’t dare pass along to another. Special skills were required to take a life, even when it involved those many deemed to be monsters. The skills weren’t limited to weapons. It was about survival. Each time he ended a life, he sacrificed a piece of himself. With each completed contract and another piece of himself missing, his inner darkness took an additional step forward, suffocating the positive that remained and dimming the light in his soul.
He recognized his dark side for the hideous beast it was. With each passing year, it grew stronger, and the coldness in his soul had expanded from a block of ice into a mountain-sized iceberg, taking center stage during the job and lingering for far longer than needed after completion. It became unsettling. He was a man of control, and when the dark and cold combined, his soul transformed into a barren black hole where all bets were off. He needed a change, and it was abundantly clear he needed to get out of this life before it was too late and he lost himself completely.
“You said we were done, then you took that last job. I thought that one was the deal breaker,” Dex said, pulling Killian from his thoughts.
He sighed, the fight leaving his body. “We’re not there yet.”
“Money-wise? We’ve been there for a while.”
“I want to be sure.”
“We’ve gone over the plan a million times. Then a million more times. It’s rock solid. Why the hell are you putting this off?”
Killian scrubbed his face. Because I don’t want to leave yet.
They had meticulously worked toward a plan for years, taking assignments and building a network of accounts large enough to fund a village. The finishing touch was their permanent leave of absence from this life. The Marks family, both by legend and deed, had accumulated enough enemies around the world to make it impossible to freely live as an everyday man. But he had a plan.
He always had a plan.
“Killian, what’s going on? You’re the one who wanted to get out of this.”
They were both tired of this line of work, him more so than his younger counterpart who had never taken a life.
Killian had recruited Dex more than ten years ago. The man had bitched and moaned about his career choices and how his job as a forensic pathologist had become boring after a few years. He craved excitement, an adrenaline junkie at heart.
Why Dex had chosen to work with corpses was still a mystery to Killian.
Dex’s forensics skills were a plus, his lack of rising bile when working with the dead and blood were definite perks, and his quest for an adrenaline rush all made him a great choice for a job as a cleaner. But Killian never would have imagined the man would be a natural, perfecting his craft with a precision that deserved Killian’s utmost respect.
Even though he was a sloppy fighter and a snarky little shit.
“Not. Yet.”
Dex cocked his head. “It’s something else. Something’s holding you back from making the change. What is it?”
Killian put on his best poker face. He could read people easily, his job demanded it. But Dex did have him bested in that area. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” Dex straightened to his full height and crossed his arms, staring him down. Well, up, considering he was a few inches shorter than Killian. “Do you have a job you’re working but you haven’t told me?”
“No.”
“Are you waiting on timing for some financial stuff? I’ve run the numbers we’re—”
“No.”
Dex knew of any pending and completed jobs, and his cleaner skills were used each time, offering him a percentage of each payout. He was solely responsible for cleaning up any lingering details on a job, and there was no way Killian would trust anyone else to leave a scene spotless post-contract.
“You’re…different.”
Killian straightened. “How so?”
“I don’t know,” Dex said with a shrug. “I think you’re nesting or something. Fuck if I know.”
“Nesting?” Killian asked with a raised eyebrow.
Dex opened his arms and turned a full circle. “You bought this house. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love having a room to stay in when I’m in town. But between buying this house and the changes I’ve seen in you in the last few months, you’ve got me thinking something else is going on.”
“I haven’t changed in the last few months.”
“You’ve been off your game. You normally pace yourself with contracts, but you couldn’t kill Alvarado fast enough. And this last deal for Gutierrez…” Dex shook his head. “You came too damn close. You don’t slip, you don’t make mistakes, and you don’t get distracted. I’d like it if we could retire before you totally lose your shit so I don’t have to worry about buying you a pine box or cleaning up a scene where you’re the one lying in a pool of blood.”
Killian planted his hands on his hips. He had noticed the shift in himself but thought he had disguised it well enough. He should have known he couldn’t hide a detail from Dex.
Sadly, Dex was right. Killian took great care with his due diligence, but he had let his emotions surface with the Alvarado assignment. The guy was a slimy bastard who sold snuff videos through the dark web. The man who had hired him showed him the video featuring his son, one of Alvarado’s victims and star of his top-selling video. All of Killian’s usual planning had gone out the window, and he couldn’t kill the man fast enough. “I’m not distracted.”
“You are. And you’re…feeling.”
Killian scoffed.
“I’m serious. It’s like you’re…starting to turn human…ish.” Dex gave him a watery smile and placed his hand on Killian’s chest. “It’s nice.”
He stared down at Dex’s hand on his chest. “Why are you feeling me up?”
“What you’ve done, for all those people all these years, I thought that was you trying to find some balance in this life. Trying to do ten rights to offset the one wrong. I don’t know. Like some soul accounting or something for this fucked-up life we’re in. But that’s not it.”
“You’re still touching me.”
“The big bad hitman has a heart.”
“Fuck you. And don’t call me that.” He shoved away Dex’s hand from his chest.
Dex narrowed his eyes. After a few seconds, his features relaxed and his eyes widened. “What’s his name?”
Killian’s jaw muscles twitched. “Fuck you.”
“Can I meet Mr. Fuck You?”
Killian shook his head and stepped aside, walking around Dex when he tried to block him. He stalked over to grab his towel off the bench before heading out of the room.
“Oh c’mon!” Dex ran over to him, jumping in front of him before he slipped through the doorway. “Please,” he said with a wolfish grin.
“No.”
“I want to meet the guy who’s getting a rise out of you.”
If Killian’s eyes were drills, there would be two major caves burrowed through the man right now.
Dex sobered. He returned Killian’s stare with equal intensity, assessing him with far more scrutiny than Killian deemed comfortable. “Okay. Wow. You really like this guy.”
Killian sighed and planted his hands on his hips. “I’m going to say this once. Don’t push me on this.”
“Um, no. I’m going to push. You obviously like the guy, and you suck at this type of stuff. So I’m going to push you. And I’m going to totally give you all kinds of shit about this because watching you try to hide all your squirming is fun as hell to watch. You’re not fooling me with this badass attitude. You’re just trying to scare me off and it’s not going to work.”
Killian’s jaw locked and he took a single step forward.
Dex quickly stepped back. “Okay, so maybe it’s working a little bit.” He took another step back and pursed his lips. “Have you asked him out?”
He sighed and looked to the heavens. The pit bull trait in Dex wasn’t going to let this go. “No.”
“Why?”
Killian returned his gaze to the man who was grating his last nerve. “I don’t…” He scrubbed his face with the towel, feeling the swell of frustration start to build. There was something about Nick that awakened hope in him and ignited a firestorm of desire in his body. He wanted to feel the heat that had burned his skin when Nick’s fingers had inspected each cut. But it was more than just his lean-muscled, strong, tight body. He wanted more of those subtle smiles and teasing glances. He wanted to hear the sound of his voice, unguarded, the way he’d spoken during their last encounter.
“I don’t want to bring him into this life.”
Nick hadn’t batted an eyelash when he’d spotted his two sidearms. He wondered if the man would have flinched at the other weapons he kept stashed in his boots or strapped to his calf. Maybe he thought Killian was a cop.
“Hitmen need love too.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“What?” Dex raised an eyebrow. “You want to be called a cleaner like me? ’Cause I can tell you, hitman sounds way hotter.”
He pushed Dex aside and stormed out of the workout room and down the hallway. He hated being pushed, hated not having answers, but worst of all, he hated the helplessness that consumed him, wanting to be closer to Nick yet not having a clue how to have that happen.
“Let me guess,” Dex said, running after him just to keep up. “Are you watching him closely? Doing your research?”
Killian rounded on him. “He’s not an assignment.”
“No, he’s not. He’s a guy you like. So change up your routine. Ask him out, pull him into the alley for a quickie. Whatever gets your blood rushing without a gun involved.” Dex hesitated before taking a step closer. His light-colored eyes searched, observing, assessing. An annoying habit that often made Killian’s skin crawl with the probe.
But he refused to show how much the prying irritated the hell out of him. Or Dex would do it over and over again. Every day.
Dex relaxed his stance and took a step back. The humor in his expression fading. “I’ve got a question for you, and I need an honest answer.” He paused for a moment, waiting for some gesture to proceed but chose to continue when he was met with silence. “Does he like you?”
“I don’t know.”
Killian ducked his head, closing his eyes as he recalled the exchange in the restaurant bathroom almost a week ago. There wasn’t a question in his mind there was something sparking between them. He enjoyed their time together at the restaurant, the casual questions and tiny bits of information he had learned about Nick along the way, enough to give him a little insight into solving the Nick puzzle and have him realize he wanted to know even more. Nick loved to read and watch movies, mysteries were his favorites. He enjoyed listening to the rain. He hadn’t always wanted to be a server but had fallen into the role almost two years before. His love for food had led him to the restaurant. Nick had confessed he could eat breakfast three times a day but loved trying new foods. Desserts were his favorite. The sweeter the better.
Finally, after working through both Christmas and New Year’s while most of the staff spent time with family, Nick had admitted he had no ties or plans with anyone and preferred to work and stay busy.
“Bullshit.” Dex spit the word, drawing Killian’s attention. “You read people well. It’s why you’ve exceeded the usual lifespan of someone in your job. Try again.”
Nick had secrets and wore metaphorical armor. But there was something playful that occasionally peeked through for a few moments when they spoke during his visits. It had become more obvious while Nick had let his guard down and focused his attention on patching up the gash.
“I think he does.”
“Then stop over-thinking things. Finding someone who puts up with your old ass and scary vibe isn’t easy.”
Killian narrowed his eyes at the man standing before him, seriously questioning why he considered him a friend. “You put up with me.”
“I should have added ‘for free’ to my earlier comment.”
Killian pushed past Dex and headed toward the kitchen.
“I’m kidding!” Dex followed after him. “Don’t waste time. You’ll kick yourself in the ass if he hooks up with someone else.”
That stopped Killian dead in his tracks. He slowly turned, controlling the anger bubbling beneath the surface at the thought of someone—other than him—touching Nick and bringing a smile to his face.
Dex crossed his arms and looked far more serious than Killian thought possible. “You’re not a risk taker with jobs. But you yourself said he wasn’t an assignment. So you need a different approach. And that’s going to require you taking a chance.”
Killian wanted more. He just didn’t have a clue how he could have anything serious with someone if he couldn’t be honest with them about who he was and what he did.
Us. The thought had lingered in his mind endlessly since the word had escaped him and he’d witnessed the hint of joy in Nick’s expression in response.
He wasn’t ready to turn away at a chance at “us,” he just hadn’t figured out a foolproof plan to make it happen.
Yet.
═ ☼ ═
“Are we out of the house red?” Tracey asked, craning her neck to read the different labels in the wine cooler.
“Bottom shelf,” Nick said, sorting the food on his tray and double-checking the ticket. The restaurant was busier than usual and demanded greater focus. The last thing he needed was a wrong ticket that would slow things down in the kitchen.
Tracey grabbed the bottle and snatched a corkscrew from the bin, cursing when her hand shook too much to hold the corkscrew in place.
He glanced over, keeping the worry at bay. Tracey was always level-headed with a side of witty banter. But this nervous version of her was definitely something new.
“Take a breath.”
Tracey sighed with her entire body, her shoulders slumping with the effort. “I hate to ask.”
“But you’re going to anyways.” He quirked an eyebrow but let up on the teasing when Tracey didn’t bite. She seemed far too stressed out for his comfort. He turned his body toward her, prompting her to continue.
“Can you cover my tables for the rest of my shift? I’ve got one finishing off their desserts, another starting their entrees who asked for the wine, and two waiting on the check. I already cleared it with Mr. DeMatto, but he wants to make sure the tables are covered because it’s busy tonight and he’s overloaded expediting the orders and can’t deal with service issues if something comes up. I don’t trust Kat to handle the extra load, and I know it’s going to cause a problem in the kitchen if she takes on too much. Vicky’s delaying sitting down the other three tables, but I’m not sure I can focus enough to handle things.”
“It helps to breathe between sentences.” Nick tucked the ticket under one of the plates on his tray. He wasn’t used to seeing Tracey so frazzled. “What’s going on?”
She ducked her head with another sigh. “I know how you hate picking up tables midway so I was trying to manage it.” She rubbed her hands around the neck of the wine bottle.
“I’ll handle it. Are you okay?”
Tracey shook her head. “My brother called. Mom’s in the hospital. Some idiot was driving the wrong way on the highway with his lights off and ran into her car. He said the cop told him there was no way she could have seen it coming.” She looked up at him, the fear and worry mingling in her rich brown eyes. “What if—”
Nick took the bottle of wine from her hand. “What if you leave right now and head over to the hospital to see how she’s doing rather than letting your mind race through a bunch of freak-out scenarios. Go, I’ll finish off your tables and get the rest of your section. Don’t worry about it.”
She threw her arms around his neck. “I swear, if you were straight, I would totally seduce you and chain you to the house so you wouldn’t ever be able to escape me.”
“You really need to work on your relationship proposal.” Nick chuckled and rubbed her back. “Go. Just promise you’ll be careful driving. Your brother doesn’t need to worry about both of you right now.”
She released him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you.” She dug into the pocket of her waist apron and withdrew the leather check binders. “I’ll drop the tickets off at the tables and let them know I’m leaving so they know to flag you down if they need anything. Thank you.” She squeezed his arm and gave him a weak smile before racing out of the kitchen.
Nick stretched his neck from side to side, exhaling deeply when he heard the pop. He didn’t need the extra work on the busy night, but he couldn’t refuse to help when Tracey was so obviously stressed. In the last two years, she had rarely missed a shift and often picked up the slack for others. It was the least he could do for the one person who remotely resembled a friend in his life.
He hefted the tray on his shoulder and headed out to the dining area. He scanned the entire room and memorized each face as he worked his way toward his customers, a nervous habit that had developed over the last two years. Just like other busy nights, the bar and waiting sections overflowed with couples dressed in swanky attire. But this week was especially busy with the added larger parties of families with huge smiles, staring at their kids with mortarboard caps and tassels in their hands. Some still wore their gowns from the nearby university’s graduation ceremony.
As each new large party filled the waiting area and antsy customers lined her podium, Vicky looked as if she were drowning in her hostess duties. Nick caught her attention and signaled her from the distance with their private hand gestures, letting her know he was taking over Tracey’s station so she could fill the three empty tables.
Tonight was going to be another busy night. He needed the distraction. He couldn’t stop thinking of Ian, the push and pull in his mind stealing too many hours of sleep. His thoughts whirled with those dreaded freak-out and what-if scenarios. He wanted to know what it felt like to be with Ian and have him lose that control he held so dear. He wondered if those full lips were as soft as they looked or as hard at the man’s body and character. He wanted to know how it felt to have those large hands wrapped around him, stroking him, digging into him.
He wanted to be happy. He wanted the ease of taking a break, smiling, and enjoying the wonders of life without the constant fear and worry twisting his gut.
But he was destined to be alone. Life had taught him that hard lesson.
═ ☼ ═
Killian stood with his back flush against the wall in the corner.
Fucking graduates. They were everywhere…like ants, filling up the parking lot, bar, and waiting area. If the graduate standing next to him swung that mortarboard in his direction one more time, he was going to snap his wrist and teach him a lesson on personal space. There was a reason some schools didn’t allow graduates to throw those ridiculous square hats in the air and risk stabbing someone in the eye.
The poor hostess looked like she was going to have an aneurysm. She glanced in his direction, the apology clear in her expression. He didn’t need to be a prick to the poor woman, so he gave her a small smile.
He could be nice.
Sometimes.
The extra wait time gave him a chance to go over his date pitch. Maybe dinner? But that seemed silly considering how they had met. Maybe lunch? That was still food and eating. Maybe a movie? Killian twitched. There was no way he could be surrounded by strangers in a dark room for two hours or more. Scratch that. They couldn’t go for a walk, the risk of being out in the open would be too distracting. Maybe he could convince Nick to go home with him? There, they could walk, eat, and fuck all they wanted without worry.
He scoffed at himself. If Nick had even a tiny bit of common sense, he’d run away at the offer. Go out with a grumpy old man you’ve known for the last six months yet really know nothing about. Even though you’ve seen at least two of the guns and the aftermath of an assignment, I swear I’m a nice guy…on most days.
He wouldn’t go out with himself.
Killian sighed. He was such a fool. He needed to reel in his desires and put Nick first. It was a risky deal. Getting involved and creating ties was the equivalent of putting a target on the man’s back. His stomach tightened. He couldn’t put Nick in danger.
Another swing of the graduation cap and tassel in his direction had him straightening to his full height. He leveled a warning glare at the kid’s father, the man’s eyes rounding in an instant.
“Um…c’mon…Todd. Let’s wait over here.”
“Sir,” the hostess said to Killian, catching his attention. “Your table is ready.”
“But we were here—”
Killian slowly turned, throwing around a healthy dose of visual daggers to quiet the entire waiting area. Being a semi-regular patron to this restaurant should count for something. Besides, he didn’t require the staff to pull together five tables to accommodate him.
Fuck ’em. They could wait.
He took a deep breath and followed the hostess, thankful his preferred corner booth was vacant.
“Will you be needing a menu this evening?” she asked.
He shook his head, taking a seat, and dismissing her with a “thanks.”
He unrolled the silverware as he surveyed the room, laying the napkin flat on his lap and the utensils to the side. He cataloged the usual staff as they zipped through the dining area much faster and more efficiently than usual. He had already spotted Nick earlier, but it was odd that he hadn’t instantly stopped by Killian’s table.
It was a habit Nick had to greet customers the moment they sat. He’d introduce himself and offer to start them off with a drink while they reviewed the menu so they never felt pressured to rush their order. But not today. Killian had already been sitting for two minutes.
Killian glanced over to his right and saw Nick tending to a table in a different section, and then stopped by another, giving the couple a smile before walking back to the kitchen. Nick appeared overloaded and covering for someone.
Maybe tonight wasn’t a good night to take more of his time than necessary. You’re coming up with excuses already. He heard Dex’s voice in his head. Killian absently spun the silverware in his hand, sighing when the weight of it all started sinking in.
He didn’t need to pull anyone into this fucked-up life. Nick was a good man. It became growingly obvious with each visit. Maybe his eagerness to explore this spark between them had spiked when Nick had taken the time to stitch him up. No one had cared for him in so long, it was almost foreign. But certainly welcomed.
A frown pulled at his features when he realized he had absently grabbed the knife and was turning it in his hand. He hadn’t reached for either the fork or spoon. It was so ingrained in him, every thought, action, and plan revolved around what he did and who he was and always having a ready weapon.
This was a tough life. He knew of other contract killers with bloodlust who craved their next target. For him, it wasn’t about the kill, it was about justice—sans badge and standard rules. Too often, political correctness and fear delayed things or warped reality to the point where evil was set free while innocents were victimized. And even worse were those instances where evil had such influence in the underworld they bypassed justice, proving nothing could pierce their iron bubble. The system didn’t always work. And when it failed, he was the reliable answer to fix that problem.
But underneath it all, he was just a man. A man with wants, needs, and desires. Random hookups had lost their appeal years ago. He craved a connection. He wanted to be with someone and let his guard down. He wasn’t a good man, but he damn sure tried to do the best he could with the hand he had been dealt.
He glanced up and spotted Nick weaving his way through the crowd toward his table, a bottle of water in his hand and a tired smile on his face. “Hi, Ian. Sorry it took me a few minutes to stop by.”
Killian cocked his head. “You’re busy tonight.”
Nick nodded and looked around, probably taking note of his tables to see if anyone flagged him down. “Graduation week is always busy.”
“You have more tables than usual. You’re covering for Tracey,” he said more than asked.
Nick’s eyebrows twitched. “She’ll be flattered you know her name. She had to leave. How’s the cut?”
Killian flattened his hand on the table, palm side down. “All better. Thank you.”
“You’re a quick healer.”
I have to be. He remained silent, opting to respond with a half smile.
“Do you know what you’d like to have this evening?”
“You.” Killian froze but kept his external facade in place. He couldn’t believe he had voiced the thought, but figured it was best to get it out there before he had more time to over-think.
“I’m not on the menu.” The edge of Nick’s mouth curled up. “How about the salmon? We had a delivery this afternoon.”
“Is that your way of saying ‘not tonight’ or ‘not a chance in hell’?”
Nick’s lips thinned to a straight line. He remained silent for a few moments, a range of emotions playing across his features before he spoke in a strangled whisper. “Can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?” Nick ducked his head and took a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
Killian couldn’t argue that point. It was the reason he had gone back and forth a million times and had come up with a billion different excuses why he shouldn’t pursue the man.
Nick stood by the table, trying to appear calm, but his body language screamed in protest. His hands were fisted at his side and he tried to hide the heave of his chest with each breath. His gaze was steady, staring right at Killian without uttering a single word. Anyone watching them from a distance probably thought they were having a telepathic conversation.
But there, hidden under the controlled facade, Killian saw a range of undecipherable emotions flickering in the green pools of Nick’s eyes. But one familiar emotion stood out, one that had stared back at him for the better part of his life.
Fear.
Nick didn’t fear him. He had told him that point blank the other night. So there was something else standing between them. And whatever it was, it had enough of a hold to drive his choices and piss all over Killian’s chances.
Killian bit back the question forming in his mind. His pulse sped, wanting to demand an answer. Wanting to know what or who stood in the way. He took a few calming breaths, his gaze never straying from the green eyes staring back at him as another emotion quickly flickered by. Is that regret?
Nick was obviously struggling to control himself. And Killian knew better than to push right now.
“The salmon is fine.”
Nick released a breath and nodded, stepping away and heading toward another party in the neighboring section.
Killian rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. Technically, Nick hadn’t said no. It wasn’t an invitation to continue his pursuit, but it wasn’t a formal request to stop. Killian might be a lot of things, but quitter wasn’t one of them.
He glanced over his shoulder, watching Nick as he wove his way through the other section of the dining area. The man had a way of effortlessly managing stress and order with masculine grace. He was strong and steady. Definitely not arrogant, but even-tempered with a quiet confidence that drew attention. Classy, almost regal in the way he carried himself while revealing a certain degree of mystery and street-level smarts during their conversations that had surprised Killian. It was another unexpected side of Nick he found appealing. He imagined Nick would give as much as he’d take and still find a way to demand more. A chill traveled Killian’s body as a vision of Nick writhing under him raced through his mind.
Killian frowned when the reality came crashing in.
Something had rattled Nick. Killian wondered who or what could have a hold like this on someone. He’d seen enough in his life to keep his mind endlessly busy with different scenarios, none of which boded well for the man who captivated him.
Nick smiled at one of the couples.
Killian wanted that smile aimed at him. And he wanted to erase that fear in Nick’s eyes.
He just needed a plan to make it happen.
═ ☼ ═
Nick collected another billfold and settled the check, finally retreating to the kitchen for a slight breather. He leaned back against the wall, away from the kitchen staff and swinging door, willing the tension to leave his body. Tonight was busy as hell. He tried to focus on each task, thankful for the extra tables to keep him distracted from Ian’s words. But nothing helped.
He clutched the talisman around his neck beneath his uniform, his breathing almost immediately settling at the comfort the hard metal always offered.
He wanted Ian. More than he had ever wanted anything or anyone in his life.
And Nick had pushed him away.
Closing his eyes, he let the regret wash through him. He just wanted peace and a good night’s sleep. That was something he hadn’t had in a few years. He had mastered fueling his body on, roughly, three hours of light sleep each night and far too much caffeine.
He watched as Eddie prepared the salad for his next two tables, carefully supervising every tiny sprinkle and addition into each bowl, almost as if his life depended on it. He trusted the kitchen staff but knew that trust didn’t necessarily carry over for Ian. He imagined the caution the man took with his drink extended to his food preparation as well. The trust Ian had in him sent a tiny thrill through his body.
“Salads are ready,” Eddie said, pushing the bowls on the line.
Nick steeled himself, needing to focus. He grabbed the seven bowls and three baskets of bread, arranging them on the tray. He raised the food tray and rested it on his shoulder. After taking a deep breath, he pushed his ass against the swinging door and headed out into the dining area. He plastered on his best smile as he set the bowls in front of each customer at the large table and answered questions about the various menu items.
With a promise to return to take their order, he raised his tray again and made his way toward Ian.
He set the tray on the stand and grabbed the bowl and basket, trying to still the shake in his hands as he approached Ian’s booth. He wanted to look at him, he wanted to lose himself in those pale blue eyes. But the regret swirling in his head and twisting his heart made it too difficult. He’d cave. And he couldn’t take that risk.
“I’m sorry,” Ian whispered.
Nick’s gaze snapped to him. “Why are you sorry?”
Ian winced. “I screwed this up. You can’t even look at me. This…” He shook his head, as if wiping away the thought that almost escaped his lips. “I don’t know. Whatever this is. It’s…important to me.”
“It’s important to me too,” Nick said, barely audibly, before he could stop the words from spilling. His breath caught in his throat when Ian looked up at him, his gaze both cautious and worried.
“I won’t push anymore. I’ve learned the art of patience over the years.” Ian scoffed at himself, as if there were more to his words. He glanced up at Nick again, a solemn expression on his face. “I need you to know that there’s nothing you can say to me that would scare me away from this. Nothing.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
A hint of a smile played on Ian’s lips. “Try me.”
Nick swallowed heavily. He wanted to be open and honest. Even with the pair of guns likely tucked under his designer jacket, there was no way Nick was putting this man at risk. “I thought you weren’t going to push anymore?”
Ian pursed his lips and nodded. “You’re right. And I’m a man of my word.” He reached for the fork and speared his salad.
Nick tucked the tray under his arm and retracted the stand, setting it aside in the slot by the corner nook. He stood by Ian’s table again, not wanting to leave the comfort of his proximity. Ian glanced up at him, slowly chewing the mouthful of salad.
“Thank you,” Nick said. “I was…worried I had screwed this up between us.”
There it was again. Us. The word slammed into his heart and sped his pulse. He screwed his eyes shut, kicking himself for prolonging this ache. He should have walked away and taken the escape route Ian had kindly offered. Yet, there he was, pushing the boundaries he had clearly defined.
“Nick?”
His eyes snapped open, focused on the ice-blue eyes staring back at him holding far more understanding than he deserved.
“We’re fine. I promise.”
The tension gripping his body lessened. He offered a weak smile before stepping away and retreating to the kitchen to check on the orders from Tracey’s section.
He circled the tables, ticking boxes off service items from his mental checklist. He had to focus on work and not let his mind wander. Ian kept to his word for the rest of the evening, offering a half smile and nothing more when his dinner arrived.
Each table had cycled twice, except for Ian’s. He paced his dinner far more than his norm, punctuating his patient nature. Nick didn’t mind at all. It wasn’t about the insanely large tip Ian always left, it was the comfort and peace that always came with his presence that Nick relished most. Everyone else could wait or sit elsewhere.
Tonight, he needed Ian’s presence.
The crowd thinned and the loud chatter lessened. He offered Ian a dessert which he quickly accepted. It pained him to have nothing more to offer that would extend Ian’s stay.
After ten more minutes, and an almost empty restaurant, he walked over to Ian’s table with the leather billfold in his hand. Something about today made it especially difficult to end their time together.
Ian saw him approach and slid out of the booth, pulling at the cuff of his shirt and straightening his suit as he stood. “Sorry I took your table for most of the night.”
Nick quietly chuckled. “Never apologize for that. I enjoy your company.” He extended the billfold, swallowing heavily when Ian’s hand grazed his own. He barely had a chance to recover before Ian slid two bills inside and handed the billfold back to him, without taking the time to review the ticket.
“Goodnight, Nick,” Ian said, refusing to release the billfold.
Something crackled between them, charging the air around them. Nick had to look away, ducking his head as he took a steadying breath. His gaze slowly slid from the strong hand still gripping the billfold up to Ian’s shoulders, and then his face. The desire staring back at him spiked Nick’s pulse and seized the breath in his lungs. He couldn’t hear anything through the buzzing in his ears and his pounding heart. “Goodnight, Ian.”
They stood still, neither making a move to break their connection. An invisible tether linked them, but a mountain of hurdles stood between them. Only inches away, but they seemed miles apart.
And something deep inside him wailed.
A lump grew in Nick’s throat when Ian’s thumb grazed his fingers before he finally dropped his hand to his side.
Nick wanted to throw himself at Ian’s body. He wanted to feel the heat of that embrace surround him, enveloped in the safety he knew he’d find there. The constant struggle of wanting to be with him while trying to keep him at a safe distance had him balancing on a tightrope of sanity.
Ian gave him a small smile then turned to walk away.
The hole in Nick’s heart grew with each step the man took. The fear he might have permanently pushed this man away, squeezed his heart.
“Ian,” he choked out in a strangled whisper, surprised when the man heard him and instantly halted.
Ian turned and quickly took the few steps needed to stand before him, scanning his features as his chest heaved under his suit with each controlled breath. His gaze piercing, as if anxiously awaiting the words to slip from Nick’s lips.
“I…” A storm of thoughts brewed in Nick’s mind, jumbling any chance at a coherent sentence. He didn’t want to break this fragile connection. Red flags were raised and waving in his head, demanding he keep his distance, but his heart and body waged war in protest. “I wish I could say yes.”
“I’ll wait. Maybe one day you will.” A slow smile spread across Ian’s face, softening the perpetual tension of his features. That smile. In the back of his mind, Nick knew few people experienced seeing that rare gift.
They stared at each other for a few moments, the silence between them laced with obvious want. Ian subtly nodded, turned, and walked through the waiting area and out of the restaurant.
Nick stood there for a few moments, afraid of taking a single step and breaking the spell. Ian had proven he was a patient man, but all the time in the world still wasn’t enough to chase away Nick’s demons. He reached up and gripped the talisman under his shirt, closing his eyes at its comforting weight.
A series of snapshots raced in his mind, of what a future could be like with Ian. He wondered if his laugh was deep or loud and how much of that rigid control he could peel away.
Nick slowly opened his eyes, feeling a deep ache in his chest, wishing life would grant him enough of a reprieve to take that chance.