Page 38 of Stuck with Me

Nico clears his throat and I glance up. He’s standing near me holding something in his hands. “I made this. For your wrist.”

It feels as if a stone has dropped in my stomach. I give him an incredulous stare. Nico made something forme? But why?

“Why?” I say, questioning his shift in kindness.

“What the hell do ya meanwhy? Because you need a splint, and you can’t get to the doctor anytime soon with that storm happening.”

“Yeah, I get that. But again, why?”

“Shit. Just forget it, ya ungrateful woman.” He turns around and stomps away. “This is what I get for trying to be nice,” he mutters.

“Nico,” I call, his name sounding strange. “Just because we fucked doesn’t mean you have to take care of me.”

He whips around to face me, a bit of fire in his eyes. Enough that it heats my skin. “I ain’t trying to take care of you, Kit-Kat. You made it very clear you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.” He walks backward, his expression stony and his jaw ticking.

At first, my mind goes to the bathroom earlier when I had my fingers deep in my pussy and he didn’t seem to mind watching. But I don’t think that’s what he was referring to. It’s obvious to everyone I’m independent. It’s something I’m unable to hide. Not even from a stranger.

“Is this Nico being agood guy,” I over-enunciate the last words, “Or is this genuine?”

“Fucking hell. Use the splint, or don’t. I don’t give a shit.” He tosses the homemade splint onto the island and disappears down the hall.

My gaze falls onto it and a bit of guilt pinches in my stomach. He did this thing, this sweet thing, and I went and pissed all over it. This is the normal for me. This is what I do. I have a wall built up and I’ll push anyone down before they can climb over it.

People like Cammie and Jones, even Maverick and Designated Dean have forced their way through my wall. But that took some of them years. With Nico, I just don’t see it ever happening. Especially not in a week.

This kindness feels like a trick. Like maybe he’s just trying to be nice and then he’s going to blindside me at the end of the week. And be a dick again and try to steal the cabin when my guard is down.

I pick up the “splint”. It’s made of cardboard, a washcloth, and medical tape. It’s actually smart. I set my wrist in it, wrapping the tape around it until it’s secure. Testing it out, I try twisting my arm and some of the pressure relieves. It feels ten thousand times better.

Dammit.

Now I’m going to have to tell Nico thank you. I throw my head back and grumble under my breath. But since he’s not out here and I’m in no hurry, I go into the living room to finish hanging the white screen on the wall.

It’s nearly dark outside making it dim inside the cabin. I flip on a lamp and then plug in the Christmas tree lights. Standing back, I take a moment to admire the tree all decorated and lit up. My stomach does this weird flip-flop, and the sensation makes me a little queasy.

I knew this first Christmas without Gigi would be hard. Fuck that. I knew it would be impossible.

But as I stand here, gazing at the white twinkling lights and the unmatched ornaments, a bolt of pain shoots through my chest. It reaches my heart and I set my hand over it, massaging there to relieve the pressure. It does little to console me.

The hurt over losing Gigi so suddenly hits me so hard in this moment. It’s cruel and unfair. I never even had the chance to say goodbye. It was the same way with my parents. They died instantly that day in the car accident. In the morning they were there and by evening—gone. Both of them.

For months I felt like I was drowning, like I was standing in quicksand. Like Princess Buttercup in The Princess Bride. I didn’t think I’d ever not feel like I was drowning. I didn’t think I’d ever get over that kind of loss. That I’d ever work through that kind of grief. But Gigi was there. Every step of the way.

When I lost her, it was like being back in that pit of quicksand again. Friends, meditation, and grief groups, can only help so much. I needed Gigi.

Tears prick my eyes. A rustling sound comes from down the hall, and I’m reminded I’m not here alone. The last thing I want is Nico to catch me crying. I sniff and swipe the sleeve of my sweater over my eyes.

Nico.

I groan and go into the kitchen to pour two more glasses of whiskey. Grieving with alcohol helps. It will also help to tell Nico thank you.

Shuffling down the hall, I balance the two glasses in one hand. Gigi’s bedroom door is open so I can only assume it’s safe for me to enter. I announce my arrival anyway with a light knock on the open door with my knuckles on my injured hand.

My feet freeze midway into the room. Nico is sitting on the bed, hunched over his knees slightly and if his shoulders weren’t shaking, I’d worry he’d died on me too. But maybe he’s laughing?

“Truce?” I hold a glass out to him.

Slowly he lifts his head and I gasp. With tears welled up in his eyes, the look he gives me is haunting. My heart picks up speed and my throat constricts. My initial response is to set the glass on the nightstand and dip. I don’t care about this guy or his feelings. I don’t owe him anything.

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