Page 18 of Nicky

CHAPTER 10

Nicholas

Avoiding Markus was harder than I’d imagined. The Hollow wasn’t big enough to hide in, not with our overlapping schedules. Every shift at the senior living facility turned into a game of cat and mouse—except I wasn’t entirely sure who was chasing whom. I thought keeping my distance would quiet my mind, but even when Markus wasn’t around, his presence lingered.

It was there in the way Mrs. Powell, a seventy-seven-year-old resident, lit up when she recounted how “that nice new doctor” had taken extra time to explain her medications. It was there in the memory of his voice—steady and calm—when he told me to let go on Cedar Hill. And it was there in the faint scent of his aftershave clinging to the hoodie I couldn’t seem to take off, even though it made me feel ridiculous.

Why had I left his house so abruptly that morning? It wasn’t as simple as waking up before he did. It wasn’t even about the hoodie I couldn’t bring myself to return.

I’d felt too exposed, too seen.

Markus had looked at me like I mattered. Not because of some obligation, but just... because. It was unsettling, andterrifying, and exactly what I hadn’t realized I was craving. And that scared me more than I could admit.

The hoodie was a problem. It still smelled like him—a mix of pine and a spicy scent I couldn’t place. Every time I pulled it on, I felt wrapped in something I didn’t deserve. So I told myself I wasn’t avoiding him because I was afraid. I just needed space. Distance. A chance to clear my head.

But space was hard to come by.

Tuesday, I thought I’d managed it until I caught sight of him entering the senior home lobby. My heart jackknifed, and before I knew it, I was crouched behind the front desk, gripping a clipboard as if my life depended on it.

Terri peered over the counter, her lips twitching. “You okay down there, hon?”

“Fine!” I waved her off, my voice just a little too bright. “Dropped a pen.”

Markus’s voice drifted closer, low and casual as he exchanged pleasantries with Beverly. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out their words. The second his footsteps receded, I bolted for the side door, feeling Terri’s amused gaze burning into my back.

By Thursday, I was convinced the universe had it out for me.

I was wheeling Mr. Gaines, another resident, back to his room when I spotted Markus across the lounge. He was laughing at something Mrs. Thompson said, his smile doing things to my chest I didn’t want to analyze. I turned sharply, angling the wheelchair like a shield, praying he wouldn’t notice me.

“Nicholas?”

I froze, my stomach lurching.

Not Markus. Just Terri, clipboard in hand, her brows raised in a way that made me want to crawl under the floor. She followed my line of sight, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

“Everything okay?”

“Perfect.” I forced a smile, gripping the handles of the wheelchair. “Mr. Gaines and I have places to be.”

By Friday, I was exhausted. Not from work, but from constantly looking over my shoulder, half hoping and half dreading I’d see him again.

I was dropping off paperwork in the admin office, thinking I’d managed an entire shift without a Markus sighting. I rounded the corner and froze. Markus was there, leaning casually against a doorframe, his sleeves rolled up, laughing with one of the nurses. She reached out to touch his arm, her laugh soft and melodic.

Jealousy twisted in my gut, sharp and unrelenting. It was stupid, irrational, and completely uncalled for, but it clawed at me anyway. I turned on my heel, heading for the back exit before he could notice me.

I told myself I was being ridiculous. I had no claim on Markus. No reason to care who he talked to or how he smiled at them.

But none of that stopped the ache in my chest or the heat prickling behind my eyes.

It wasn’t just that I missed him.

I missed how I’d felt when I was with him. Like maybe I didn’t have to hold everything together on my own. Like maybe, for one night, I could let someone else see me—the real me—and they wouldn’t run away.

Which, of course, was why I had to be the one to leave.

I’d spent the whole week doing everything short of installing a Markus-detection system, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About how natural it had felt to sit in his living room, sipping hot chocolate like I belonged there. About the way his hands had brushed against mine when he tucked the blanket around me. About the way he’d seen me—really seen me—and hadn’t run in the other direction.

I shook my head, forcing the thoughts down. I didn’t need anything from Markus. I didn’t need him. Period. I’d learned a long time ago not to lean on anyone, not to expect someone to stay.

---