Page 26 of Spicy Nick

Her eyes slide shut, and I cuddle her close once more as my thoughts drift back downstairs. To the couch. To the first time we made love there…

It had beenone of the darkest periods of my life. After twenty years, I’d found her again. But now, only days later, I’d already failed her. She’d needed me and I hadn’t been there. I’d let my fear of being hurt again blind me to the reality, to the very real danger we had both been facing, until it was nearly too late.

Now she was leaving. In a day—no. Less than that. In only a matter of hours she’d be gone, out of my life, forever.

All I had was one last night, one final opportunity to amass all the memories I could.

“Do something for me,” I begged her. “Just for tonight. Lie to me. Tell me you love me. Promise you’ll stay. I need you so much right now, and I need to hear you say it. I swear I’ll believe it, even if it isn’t true.”

“But I do,” she murmured, raining kisses over me—cheeks, and lips, and eyelids. “I will. Of course I will. Always. Always!”

And just like that,from confusion to clarity, from despair to elation; in one, single moment, with no more than a handful of words, my whole life had changed. Could it be that easy now? Was I once again letting fear hold me back and keep me silent? Had I learned nothing in the course of five years?

“So, talk to me,” I say—immediately earning myself another side-eyed glance. “what’s going on with you?”

“Nick…” Scout’s face assumes a pained expression. “Is this you being Captain Obvious again, asking questions that should be rhetorical, yet somehow aren’t? What’s going on withyoutonight?”

“I’m not talking about tonight,” I tell her. “Or at least, not just tonight. It’s been days. Ever since you got back from LA you’ve clearly been upset.”

“I told you,” she says, pulling away a little, leaving me immediately mourning the loss. “I had a?—”

“I know. I heard what you said. You had a bad dream. But there’s more to it, isn’t there? Even before your trip, you seemed different. Distant. Unhappy, maybe. And I… I need to know what it is. Is it me? Was it something I did? Or is there something I could do now—or something Ishouldbe doing, that I’m not?”

“Oh, Nick.” She throws herself back in my arms, which should be a win. But she’s crying again, sobbing, “No, no. It’s not— There’s nothing—” And that sounds like a whole lot of nothing good.

Perhaps, sometimes, those singular moments can change your life the other way, too. And still with just a handful of words.

That possibility seems even more likely to be the case when she sits up, abruptly, wipes the tears from her face and says, “Well, for starters, there was no bad dream.”

Seven

“What did you say?” I stare at her in alarm, convinced I’ve misheard her, that she hasn’t just admitted to lying to me after all.

“It wasn’t a dream.” She’s huddled on the bed, folded in upon herself. I feel a sense of foreboding settle over me as I move to sit beside her, hoping to offer support through sheer proximity, since I have no idea what else to do.

“I mean…it- it started as a dream. And I was definitely asleep for part of it. But…”

“Okay, wait. So…notjusta dream. Is that what you’re saying?” Bizarrely, I find that comforting. For once—or maybe twice—it seems like all the weird, mystic, woo-woo, magic crap that I usually hate, will be my salvation. “So what else are we talking about? A vision? A premonition? Something like that?”

“What?” she lifts her head to stare at me, and I grimace in response to the wariness in her gaze.

“Look, Scout, I’m sorry if you still feel you need to hide this stuff from me. I know I haven’t been all that great about it in the past. My attitude on magic was…” My voice fades away and I shake my head. “Well, I think you and I both know what it was.But I’ve realized my mistakes since then, and…and hopefullylearnedsomething from then. Having you do what you did to save my life was kind of an eye-opener. I kind of thought you knew that?”

“Oh, Nick.” And she’s crying again.

This time, I reach for her—instead of the other way around. I hug her tight; and I stroke her hair; and I whisper words of comfort. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “It’s okay. “ And this time, it doesn’t feel like a lie to say so.

“I don’t care what it is,” I tell her. “You can tell me. I might not always like it, but I promise I’ll listen; and I’ll try to understand. Because that’s something else I’ve figured out since the last time. All this stuff that used to bother me—none of it matters. Nothing is more important to me than you.”

She pulls away, blinking back tears, shaking her head. “Thank you. But… It’s not what you think.”

“Okay.” I shrug. “Then tell me what it is.”

She takes a deep breath. “Where do I start?” she asks rhetorically, then falls silent again, staring into space.

I try to be patient, with limited success. “Does it matter? Just start anywhere.”

“I guess you could say it began with Larry. Or with his party the other night.”

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