There's a purple pajama set in Nick's dresser drawer. It's new, still in the tags, a cozy flannel blend that prioritizes comfort over sex appeal.

It's mine.

I towel dry and change into my new outfit. It's strange that he keeps buying me clothing. I'm tempted to refuse—I'm not a doll, and I don't need gifts—but there's something so Nick about all his selections. Classic, beautiful, understated.

He pulls on boxers and pajama pants. "Come on. I'll make you something to eat."

My stomach rumbles. I ran out well before I finished dinner. I nod. "You cook?"

"Yes."

He presses his palm into my lower back to lead me to the kitchen.

I lean against the counter and watch him scour the fridge. It's mostly empty. I don't imagine Nick gets many chances to cook, working from 8 AM to 8 PM every day.

I'm exhausted and I've only been doing it for a few weeks. How does he keep that up constantly?

He's seamless in the kitchen, heating a pan as he chops and dices. The smell of fresh red peppers fills the room.

"Do you cook a lot?" I ask.

He slides a row of chopped vegetables into a sizzling skillet pan. "I cooked when my mom got sick, but I've never been motivated to cook for myself."

I pour myself a glass of water and attempt to sort out my thoughts. "Did you cook for Shepard?"

"Until he left for college." Nick focuses intently on the food.

I study his expression, what I can see with him turned away from me. His lips are curled down. His shoulders are slumped. He's upset.

I press my palm into my empty glass. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"When we sit down." He cracks half a dozen eggs into a shiny silver bowl. "Do you want something to drink?"

"If we're having eggs, this is breakfast. So coffee." My gaze goes to the coffee maker on the counter. The same as the one in my apartment. "I can do it."

"Thank you."

There's a defensive edge to his voice. I bite my lip, trying to focus on my coffee-making at the expense of everything else.

One drop at a time, the carafe fills. After a few minutes, the room smells like coffee. I fix two mugs and bring them to the thick wood table in the corner.

The sky is pitch black. The only light coming through the windows is from the apartment complex next door and the streetlights lining Battery Park.

I watch the smooth current of the river as Nick brings over two plates of scrambled eggs.

And sriracha.

"Thanks for breakfast." I draw a question mark on my eggs with the hot sauce then stir them quickly enough he won't see.

"Thank you for the coffee." He looks out to the river, staring like he's deep in thought. "The truth is I don't know why Shepard is trying to sell the company. But he has every reason to hate me."

I take a bite, chewing slowly to buy myself time to think. My brain isn't working too well with the lack of sleep.

"He's always coped with excess. Drinking before Jasmine left him. Other women once she was gone. For a while he was high-functioning, but last September, I forced him into rehab."

"You can't force someone into rehab."

"I used some fine print in the Odyssey contract. He didn't want to go, but he knew how much Odyssey could be worth. He wasn't about to lose that."

"That was the problem you handled the night we met?"

"Yes. I shouldn't have started a company with my brother. Too personal. But he was good with business. Too good, actually. Our main investor is wrapped around his finger."

"Oh."

"Shepard got out of rehab last month. We didn't talk while he was in treatment. His counselor specifically asked me not to visit."

"Is that the usual policy or just for you?"

"For me."

I swallow hard.

"It would have got in the way of his treatment." Nick looks at the table. "He drank to forget his demons. Once he stopped, they came back full force."

I don't like where this is going. I take a long sip of coffee to wet my throat, but it's not any easier to talk. "Remembered what?"

"Our father left when I was about ten. My mother was broken. When she met our stepfather, it was like she came alive again. She was happy. I didn't know much about love, but I knew that she was in love with him."

I play with the handle of my mug.

"I was fourteen when they married. Shepard was eleven. He graduated high school early and did college in three years. He's only twenty-four." Nick focuses on the table. "Our stepfather, he was kind at first. My mother was so happy he took an interest. But there was too much interest. I should have realized."

Oh God. He needs to be in control. He doesn't trust anyone. It must be...

I don't want it to be true.

I offer Nick my hand. He doesn't take it. He's half here, half in that memory.

He forces the words out. "I was fifteen the first time he touched me. I wrote it off as him being drunk, confused, but he kept doing it."

My stomach drops. I reach for him. Even though his eyes are on the floor, he pulls away. Like it's a reflex.

"I was as strong as he was. I could have stopped him. I could have killed him. But even so, I was scared of him." Nick clenches his fist. "I didn't say anything. I thought that was better. It would have destroyed my mother."

I force myself not to use a euphemism. "He raped you?"

Nick nods.

I can't breathe. I bite my tongue. When people hear about my accident, they say all sorts of stupid things. I won't do that to Nick.

"I'm sorry you went through that." I fold my hands in my lap. "Is there... what happened with your brother?"

"I thought I could protect Shepard if I stayed home, but I was wrong. My brother, he was so ashamed he never told anyone. I caught him. I went to the police, but it was too late. Shep was never the same." His eyes fill with sadness.

"You're not the one who hurt your brother. It's not your fault."

"I let that monster stay in our house."

I move closer. Touching him might startle him, so I offer my hand. This time, he takes it and squeezes hard.

"I'm so sorry, Nick. No one should ever have to go through that."

"I could have protected him."

"He blames you?"

"It was my fault."

My heart breaks for him. He really believes it was his fault. No wonder he walks around like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

I bring my other hand to his arm, brushing lightly against it to test his response.

He leans in to my touch instead of flinching.

I move closer. I run my fingers over his arm, his neck, his hair. I have to comfort him the way he comforted me.

I have to help him.

It's the only thing in the world I know.

We stay like that for the better part of an hour. When we break, Nick plants a soft kiss on my lips.

He stares into my eyes. "I was in therapy a long time, but I still—"

"It's okay. I don't have to touch you."

"I want you to. I don't want that to have been the last time someone—"

"You've gone, what, eight years without a woman touching you?"

"More or less." He runs his fingertips over my cheek. "It will have to be on my terms."

I nod. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze tight. "This isn't casual anymore, is it?"

"No, it's not."

I squeeze tighter. I need to make him feel better and there's only one way to do it with words. "You think we're at business casual or all the way at black tie?"

His laugh breaks up the tension in the room. "Thank you. I needed that."

It makes me warm, his laugh. Even with all this darkness around us, it makes the world feel light.