Page 15 of Nicky

“Thank you,” I managed, my voice rough.

Markus wiped a stray tear from my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You don’t have to thank me. It takes a lot to let someone see you like this—I’m just glad you did.”

CHAPTER 9

Markus

I couldn’t stop replaying the day in my head.

At the market, Nicholas had moved through the crowd like he belonged. People called out to him by name—genuine warmth in their voices as they waved, teased, or asked about Aiden. He deflected most of it with that dry humor of his, but he had no idea how much he was adored in this town. It was in the way the baker handed him an extra loaf without charging, in the way the florist slipped a single flower into his bag. Nicholas brushed it off like it was nothing, and I doubted he believed what I saw: this town cared about him, and not just because of his mother’s memory.

Then came the café, where the conversation had turned heavier. That tightness in his jaw when he mentioned his mother—I could see the effort it took to keep himself together, the practiced way he diverted attention back to me.

And finally, Cedar Hill. I’d never forget the way his knees buckled when he let it all out. How his tears soaked through my shirt as I held him, how his body shook with years of grief and exhaustion. He didn’t push me away. And I dare to say that it was probably the first time in a while that he let someone else carry the weight.

I knew Nicholas would pull away after that. He’d retreat behind his walls, pretend like none of it had happened. And he had, but the image of him crying in my arms stayed with me, threading a knot in my chest that hadn’t loosened all day.

A knock startled me out of my thoughts. Or at least I thought there was a knock on the door. I’d just settled on the couch, a medical book in my hands and the fire crackling low. It was late, and most people didn’t drop by unannounced at this hour.

The knock sounded again, sharper this time; there was no mistaking what it was. I set the book on the armrest and crossed to the door, not sure who it could be. When I opened it, it was Nicholas.

He wasn’t dressed for the cold. Just a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers dusted with snow. His cheeks were flushed, not from embarrassment but from the chill outside. His hair was damp and curling at the ends like he hadn’t bothered drying it after a shower. And his eyes—red-rimmed and glassy, like he’d been wrestling with himself for hours before deciding to come here. His arms wrapped tightly around himself like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“Hey,” I said, my voice softening instinctively.

His lips parted, but no words came out. He looked so lost, so tired, and my first instinct was to pull him into my arms. To hold him the way I had on the hill, to tell him he didn’t have to be strong right now. But I knew better than to push. Nicholas wasn’t ready to admit how much he needed someone—not even to himself.

“Come inside.” I stepped aside, making space for him to enter.

He hesitated, his fingers twitching at his sides. “I—I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me. Come in before you freeze.”

He finally crossed the threshold, his movements tentative. The snow on his sneakers melted into puddles on the mat as he toed them off.

“Sit wherever you want,” I offered, closing the door behind him.

He hovered near the couch, his fingers twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn’t.” I gestured toward the couch. “Get comfortable. You hungry?”

His eyes flicked to mine, then away. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine. Anyone could see that, but I didn’t press. Instead, I headed to the kitchen, keeping one ear out for any movement behind me.

I put a pot on the stove and busied myself with milk, chocolate, and sugar. When I returned, he was on the couch, curled into the corner with his knees drawn up slightly. It was an unconscious thing—he probably didn’t even realize how small he’d made himself.

I set one mug in front of him, then sat in the chair across from him. “Careful. It’s hot.”

Nicholas glanced at the mug but didn’t reach for it. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

He took it without further argument, cupping it in both hands like he needed the warmth more than the drink.

The first sip made his shoulders relax, and I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “Good?”

“It’s not bad,” he muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

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