Page 103 of Hold Me Today

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“I promised you a fire.”

Lifting my chin from the bed, I fix my gaze on Nick kneeling before the fireplace, stoking the tiny flames. We opted against another night of shenanigans, and instead picked up dinner from the B&B’s onsite restaurant and ate in our room.

Whether the food was any good is beyond me—I spent most of my time trying to win my hand at UNO against Nick, who doesnotplay fair. No sooner would he drop a Draw Two on me before slapping me with a Draw Four. By the end of the game, I had two stacks of cards because I couldn’t hold them all at once.

I prop my chin on top of my fist. “I’m glad we came this weekend.”

“Couldn’t have survived it without you, that’s for sure.”

His words make my pulse launch into a sprint even as they make my heart fill with dread—because under the teasing glint is a whole lot of hope, and I can’t get my mom’s words out of my head. They weigh me down like a sack of too-heavy barbells.

My parents’ relationship has always been so one-sided, and hearing her tell me that I need a man to take care of me—to keep me propped up like some rag doll who can’t handle her own business—sparks the restless panic within me. Are Nick and I lopsided? Are we balanced like Sarah and Effie or like his mom and dad? Or are we like my own parents, who, more often than not, are nothing but two souls coexisting in the same house?

Softly, I ask, “Do you think Dom will get over Savannah Rose?”

Lowering onto his butt, Nick uses the fire poker to shift around the logs. The light from the flames flickers across his face, casting his handsome features in a haunting, red shadow. “He will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s what he’s done his entire life.” Nick puts the poker back in its wrought-iron stand. “He’s a foster kid, Mina. Dom’s spent his entire life bouncing from one safety net to another, and then when he was in the NFL, he exchanged foster homes for teams.” He scrubs one hand over his jaw like he finds the words themselves distasteful. “One of the things they did on the show was force us to reveal one big, deep, dark secret, and that was his. It’s a TV manipulation tactic, something I didn’t really think about until they were forcing me to talk about Brynn.”

“Oh. What did you . . . what did you tell them?”

With the fire crackling, I have to strain my ears to hear the low pitch of Nick’s voice when he speaks next. “Maybe you should ask me what I didn’t tell them.”

I slip off the bed, down to my knees on the thin carpet. I keep my voice as soft as his. “What didn’t you tell them?”

“That when I was laying in that bed with you, I felt nothing but relief.”

My heart skips. “Relief that you didn’t marry Brynn?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. “Relief that when I was at my lowest, I wasn’t alone. You were there. I don’t even know why you came to my room or how you knew that I needed you.”

To open up now would bare my soul in a way that I never have before—not with anyone. And I hear the words escaping me, as though my heart and mind are on two separate wavelengths, one seeking to protect me and the other to expose me. “I was leaving the ceremony when I saw you dart up the stairs.” Embarrassment clogs my throat, and I cough into a balled fist to clear it.Here goes nothing. “I followed you up to where the choir plays because I liked you. You called me out on it weeks ago, and I won’t deny it. I followed because I cared more than I should have. You didn’t cry but you looked so . . . broken.” I stare down at my hands, unable to look him in the face. “I decided that I’d go to your room later. You needed a friend and I figured that, through my friendship with Effie, I was good enough to do the job.”

A bent finger hooks under my chin and lifts, so that I have no choice but to meet Nick’s gaze. “You were more than good enough for the job. I only wish that my grandmother hadn’t busted in—I don’t even know who she had to bribe to get the key—and turned shit completely backward for you.”

I force a grin. “I’ll have you know that I once thought about selling Bad Girl Mina T-shirts. I would have made a killing.”

Nick groans, his arms reaching out to pull me against him. Burying his face in my neck, he heaves out a heavy breath. “All these years, I wasted my time lookin’ elsewhere,koukla.”

Like sludge, guilt thickens in my veins until it’s hard to draw air into my lungs. Nick thinks he knows me, but the truth is I don’t even know myself.Do genetics really make a difference? I’ve always thought so, but Nick brought up a good point. Dominic DaSilva was raised in foster care—does that make him any less of whoheis? I see a confident man who’s down for a good joke, even at his own expense. Yes, there’s a sadness to him—but who doesn’t have that?

I am who I am out of sheer will and determination to do more than what my parents ever expected of me. I’ve made mistakes, like the rest of the population, and I’ve celebrated triumphs and drowned my tears in cheap vodka. I’m no different, no worse off, than any other person combatting their own struggles.

“Can I show you something?” I voice the question into Nick’s bulky shoulder, and I mentally pat myself on the back for not sounding timid and scared.

He lifts his head. “What is it?”

“My own deep, dark secret.”

I clamber off his lap and crawl over to where I left my suitcase propped open. Sifting through my clothes, I search for my last-minute addition—my notebook from senior year of high school. I want to burn it, but I think, I need to show it to another person first.

35

Nick

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