Page 8 of The Question of Us
I ignored him. “Why?”
Gazza’s eyes shimmered in the dappled light from the skylights above. “I think you know why. What happened... it all feels... unfinished. I can’t move on until—” He hesitated. “Honestly, I don’t know untilwhat, only that I need to find out as much as I can, like you.”
There was a desperation to his tone that I’d never heard. But it was also the most animated I’d seen him since before it all happened.
“Fine,” I reluctantly agreed and ignored Nick’s groan of disbelief. “IfI go, you can come. But no going off on some tangent while we’re there, okay? We stick together. These guys aren’t to be messed with. Deal?”
Gazza nodded. “Deal.” He shot a concerned glance Nick’s way, then skedaddled to the studio.
The second he was gone, Nick circled the island to stand next to me. He put his back to the granite and folded his arms. If I were being honest, he looked not only angry but... frightened. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I take it you won’t be accompanying us, then?” I turned to the refrigerator, putting my back to him. “Scrambled, poached, or omelette?” I opened the door and grabbed goat cheese and eggs, then kicked the door shut and put them on the island, along with a chopping board, bowl, salt and pepper, and a grater.
“Fried.” Nick grabbed a frying pan from the drawer and set it none-too-lightly on the gas range before reaching for some butter. “Now answer the question. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I returned the stick of butter to the cupboard and replaced it with a spray oil. “We’ve eaten too many fried things this week. I’ll make us an omelette.”
Nick snarled, “I don’t want an omelette.” He reached for the butter again. “I want two fried eggs between a simple carbohydrate sandwich of unhealthy white toast. I might even add a slab of bacon if I feel in the mood.”
I leaned on the countertop, took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly. Then I lifted my eyes to his. “Whatever. You’re a grown man. Your arteries are yours to fuck up. My kitchen is your kitchen. Knock yourself out.” I popped a slice of whole-wheat bread into the toaster, then cracked three eggs into the bowl and whipped them with a frenzied action that bordered on unhinged.
I glanced Nick’s way. “So that’s it? Nothing more to say?”
He stood at the cooker, his arms folded across his chest, and said nothing.
I gave a weighty sigh. “I guess not.”
Nick’s gaze burned two holes in the side of my face, but I didn’t dare look again for fear I might need to do something about that disapproving scowl I knew he wore. Instead, I sliced some goat cheese and set another non-stick pan alongside his. I added a spray of oil and turned on the heat.
“Excuse me.” I nudged him with my elbow and he wordlessly moved over to give me room. I poured the egg mix into the pan, swirled it to cover the base, and reduced the heat. This was beyond fucking ridiculous.
“What are we? Twelve?” I spoke without looking up from the pan. “If this is how you like to argue and discuss differences, then I’m not a fan. I stopped giving people the silent treatment back in my thirties. It’s petulant at the very least. Passive-aggressive and deliberately provocative at its worst. I’m long done playing these games. Waste of everyone’s fucking time.”
Again, Nick said nothing.
I shook my head, tears pricking my eyes. “Jesus Christ, Nick. You’re really something, you know that?” I used my spatula to move the cooked egg to the centre so the raw egg could take its place and sprinkled over the goat cheese. When it began to melt into a deliciously gooey mess, I folded over the sides and let it cook a few seconds longer. I was about to lift it from the hob when the flame died and two arms snaked around my waist.
“I’m sorry.” Nick’s chin landed on my shoulder and warmth ran the length of my back. He kissed my neck and pulled me against him. “I’ve been worried that you might want to do something like this, and I don’t want you to go.”
I spun in his arms, breakfast forgotten. “You made that perfectly clear.”
To his credit, Nick looked a little sheepish. “I wish you’d talked to me about it first.”
I tucked a lock of hair behind his ears. “And I wish you’d talked to me about Lee and your doubts and a lot of other stuff.”
He winced and then sighed. “Fair comment. I guess I didn’t because I was worried this was where you were heading.”
My eyebrows popped. “You wereworriedthat I might, in fact, have an entirely different but equally valid opinion on the matter to you? And that I might actually voice said opinion? Or is it that you think my opinion is worth less than your so-calledobjectiveone? Or maybe you just want to be the only one who makes the decisions?”
Nick flinched. “Ouch.”
“Deserved and not sorry,” I said flatly.
He let that settle. “A little dramatic, just saying.”
“Fuck off.”
He smiled weakly. “All I’m saying is that maybe it would be best to leave any investigating to the authorities. These are the men responsible for Davis’s death, and Justin’s, and likely others. Leave it to people who know what they’re doing.”
