Page 92 of Part & Parcel

Nick sat on the lounger next to him, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His expression was solemn, his forehead deeply lined and his mouth turned down in a thoughtful frown.

“You okay?” Kelly asked.

“Yeah.”

Somehow, Kelly didn’t believe him.

“I got some supplies,” Nick went on, either ignoring Kelly’s trepidation or oblivious to it.

“Supplies for what?”

Nick took a deep breath, and when he blew it out, he seemed relieved somehow. He tore his eyes away from the horizon, and met Kelly’s with a wistful smile. “It’s time to put theFiddlerback together. She served her time. She deserves to be made whole.”

Kelly sat up and swung his feet to the warm deck, reaching for Nick’s hand. It trembled in Kelly’s fingers, and Kelly squeezed it gently. Either Nick hadn’t taken his medication . . . or he was taking too much.

“Will you help me?” Nick asked him.

Kelly nodded. “Of course.”

They spent the next weeks taking their time with theFiddler, putting back every piece of her that had been torn apart over the last few years of gun battles, fighting, and physical and emotional turmoil. There was one bullet hole that Nick wouldn’t let Kelly fill, though. Nick didn’t seem to know why, but he said he needed it to stay there.

So Kelly left the bullet hole as it was, and slowly but surely the rest of the yacht was put back together. The door and the salon walls that had been shot apart by CIA agents and Nick’s shotgun were replaced with decorative teak pieces that fit seamlessly into the original panels.

The doors to both cabins—the guest cabin that Zane Garrett had practically ripped off its hinges, and the main cabin that he’d obliterated with that same shotgun—were both replaced with doors straight from the shipbuilders. Kelly was relieved to be able to shut the door to their cabin again; it meant feeling safer as he slept, and not having to quiet themselves when guests stayed on the yacht.

And finally the bunk room, which had originally hosted two oversized single bunks and a small closet space, was made whole again. At first Nick had suggested making it a space for Kelly. But after some thought, Kelly realized that having the two bunks there meant space for the other Sidewinder boys when they set sail, and that was all Kelly could ask of theFiddler.

Kelly and Nick sank into a glorious rhythm, almost the same level of comfort they’d enjoyed before they’d become a couple. Kelly knew the peace wouldn’t hold, but he was willing to take it as it came. The only thing bothering him, three weeks after they returned to Boston from their Great Sanchez Trek of 2013, was that Nick disappeared once every day for about half an hour.

Kelly hadn’t noticed it at first because Nick was pretty good about casually going off on errands and returning without being suspicious. But Kelly soon picked up on it, mostly because Nick grew increasingly anxious as the weeks marched on. It was the first week of July when they finished theFiddler’s rehabilitation, and they were sitting on the deck enjoying the feeling of accomplishment when Nick announced that he was going to head out for more beer before the stores all closed for the Fourth of July holiday.

“You have to go now?” Kelly asked him, too tired and buzzed and sunburnt to get up.

“The packie’s going to close, we’ll go the Fourth without beer!”

Kelly narrowed his eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” Nick insisted, and he headed inside before Kelly could protest more.

Kelly scowled as he watched him go. What the hell was Nick doing every day that he had to hide it from him?

He lounged on the deck, worrying about it for the next twenty minutes, but true to his word, Nick was back with an armload full of alcohol and groceries. He came out to the deck and sat on the lounger next to Kelly, his expression unusually solemn.

Kelly raised his head when Nick rested his elbows on his knees and frowned at him. “You okay?” Kelly asked. A feeling of dread settled in his belly. He couldn’t make himself sit up, though. Somehow fighting against the sun made it seem easier to face what had to have been bad news, if Nick was making that face.

Nick’s fingertips played over his bare finger, where the tan line left behind by his absent claddagh ring was beginning to fade. He chewed on his lip for a second, then nodded in answer. “Kels,” he started, and he took a deep breath, like he was steadying himself. “I need the ring back.”

Kelly blinked at him, and Nick must have taken it as confusion, because he held his hand up and wagged the ring finger where his claddagh ring usually sat. “Oh,” Kelly managed to get out. His mouth was dry as he twisted the ring off his finger. He was proud of himself for keeping his hand steady when he wordlessly handed the ring to Nick.

Nick plucked the ring out of his palm. “Thank you,” he whispered. He smiled gently as he reached in his pocket, and when he held his hand out again, a little ring box was in his palm. “It finally came in the mail.”

Kelly stared at it.

Nick’s grin widened. “I thought it was time you had your own to wear.”

“Really?” Kelly blurted, his voice breaking as he sat up and swung his legs over, bumping Nick’s knee. “Is that where you’ve been disappearing to? The post office?”

Nick nodded. “I hope you don’t mind I picked it out. If you don’t like it, we can find something else. But this just . . . it felt like you.”

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