Page 85 of Map of Pain
“When you found me in the junkyard,”Nick’s hand moved restlessly, unconscious fidgeting,“what did you think? Like, first impression?”
He pulled out his phone, considering how to answer honestly without revealing too much.
Thought you were hurt. Alone. Reminded me of Matteo when he was bad.
Nick read the message twice, something complicated crossing his face.“And that made you want to help?”
Made me want to understand. Then want to protect.
“Even though I tried to kill you?”
Luka’s response came without hesitation:
Especially because you tried to kill me. Meant youwerestill fighting.
Nick stared at the phone screen for a long moment, processing. Then, with the same impulsive energy that drove most of his affectionate gestures, he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Luka’s cheek.
The contactwasbrief, almost shy, but it sent warmth flooding through Luka’s entire being. Nick pulled back, color high in his face, but he didn’t apologize or ask to pretend ithadn’thappened.
Progress.
“I should get back to this,”Nick said, gesturing at his notebooks.“Marcus wants everything I can remember about Society safe houses and communication protocols. Might take a while.”
Luka nodded understanding and started to get up, but Nick’s hand shot out, catching his wrist with careful pressure.
“Stay?”The word came out smaller than Nick probably intended.“I mean, if you’re not busy. It’s... easier when you’re here.”
The admission cost him something—Luka could read it in the way his scent shifted, vulnerability bleeding through the careful control.
Luka settled back into the couch cushions and pointed to his own chest, then to Nick, then made a small encompassing gesture that took in the apartment, the scattered papers, the quiet intimacy of shared space.This is where I want to be.
Relief flooded Nick’s expression, followed quickly by something that looked like wonder. As if he still couldn’t quite believe someone might choose to stay with him without coercion or obligation.
“Okay,” Nick said softly. “Good.”
Outside, afternoon light shifted across the apartment floor, marking the passage of hours in companionable silence. Nick worked, occasionally sharing memories or insights that emerged from his systematic documentation. Luka listened, offering support without judgment, presence without pressure.
Itwasn’thealing—that would take time, patience, probably with setbacks along the way—it felt more like the first bricks in a foundation that would hold as long as they built it together.
Chapter thirty-three
I'm not letting go again...
Nick
The knock on the door came at exactly three o’clock in the morning , and Nick’s stomach knotted with anxiety. He’d been expecting this visit since Luka mentioned it yesterday, but knowing Vincent Bellenger was coming and being ready for it were two very different things.
“Vincent,”Nick said, proud that his voice came out steady.
“Nick.” Vincent’s response was equally measured. “You look better.”
Better than what?Nick thought but didn’t ask. Better than catatonic, probably.
Adam, meanwhile, made himself comfortable at the kitchen table andwasunpacking what looked like enough Chinese takeout to feed a small army.“Figured you might be tired of whatever you’ve been living on. You picked the wrong twin for culinary skills.”
Nick watched Luka clutch his chest in mock wounded drama, whichwasridiculous enough to make him smile despitehis nerves.“He makes decent eggs,”Nick offered, somewhat surprisedby how normal the words sounded coming out of his mouth.
The next hour felt like a carefully choreographed dance. Adam drew him into conversation about safe topics—the apartment’s ancient air conditioning, the questionable takeout options in the neighborhood, how Illinois summers made everything sticky and miserable. Nick found himself relaxing despite Vincent’s presence, Adam’s easy chatter filling the spaces where awkward silence might otherwise settle.
