In the Likely Event(55)
“Not even a dance?” I glanced toward the crowded floor, and every muscle tensed reflexively.
“Not even a dance.” She wiggled her fingers, and I couldn’t resist her. If she wanted to go home, I’d take her home.
Our fingers twined, and I led us back through the crowd and out of the club. The brisk March air was a godsend as it hit my face, filling my lungs as I took my first full breath since walking in.
“You okay?” she asked as we started walking down the sidewalk, heading the half-dozen blocks to her apartment.
“Okay is a relative term.” I picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. The touch was innocent enough, but the scent of her perfume had my thoughts dipping into flat-out carnal territory. I wanted to stretch her out underneath me and kiss every curve she possessed until that scent was branded on my brain, replacing every bad memory I’d gained over the last few years.
“You haven’t talked about the last nine months for you,” she said, her finger flexing around mine as we started to walk again. “Even in the letters.”
I looked both ways before crossing the first street with her and fumbled for the right words, if they even existed. “Writing you was my escape. I wasn’t exactly eager to put all of that on you.”
“Even if I want to know?” She flinched. “Crap, that came out weird. I mean, even if I want to listen?”
“I know what you meant,” I replied softly, pulling her closer against the bite of the cold. She’d been against bringing a coat, but I guess it gave me an excuse to hold her. “But it’s not a conversation for birthdays.” Or ever.
“Oh.” She nodded slowly. “Right.”
We passed the rest of the blocks in an awkward silence that I loathed. Everything with Izzy had always been . . . easy, and I’d just put up a barrier. It was for the best. I didn’t want the ugliness of what went on over there to touch her in any way. But I felt that wall I’d erected like a tangible fence between us as we made our way into the apartment.
I followed her into the kitchen, and she dropped her purse on the counter, grabbing the box we’d carried home from the bakery earlier. “Cupcake?” She put the box on the counter, then braced her hands and hopped up to sit next to it, her feet swinging gently. “I always like sugar with my movies.” Flicking open the box top, she revealed the ten cupcakes we hadn’t eaten earlier.
Taking the olive branch, I leaned in to see what we had left.
“You don’t seem like a vanilla guy,” she teased, looking over the contents. “Maybe a carrot cake one?”
I shook my head, a smile tugging at my mouth. “Those were always Torres’s favorites. I swear, he had one every day for an entire year. I can’t stand the smell of them anymore.” It took me a second to realize she’d stopped breathing. “Izzy?” My gaze shot to hers.
“Torres. That’s your best friend, right?” Fear widened her eyes.
“Yeah. One of them.” I nodded, my brow furrowing at the look on her face.
“Oh, no. Did he . . . while you were gone . . .” She pressed her lips in a tight line, and the pieces clicked for me.
“No, Iz. No. He’s not dead.” I shook my head and squeezed her knee in reassurance. “He just had to give up the carrot cake cupcakes when he decided to go for Special Forces selection.” He’d spent the last few months trying to talk me into it, too, since I’d been wavering during the deployment.
Her entire body relaxed. “Okay. That’s a relief.”
“Fitz died, though.” I took the one that looked like lemon, making sure there was another just like it before lifting it from the box. Fitz would have gone for the chocolate. I breathed through the stab of pain I recognized as grief, then shoved it in the box with everything else.
“What?”
Shit. I should not have said that.
I paused in peeling the wrapper from the cake and found her staring at me. “Fitz. You met him—”
“On Tybee. I remember,” she whispered. “He . . . died?”
I nodded. “About a month in. There was a firefight—” My mouth snapped shut. Those were the things I deliberately kept separate, and here I was, shattering the only peace I had.
“Nate, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, lifting her hand to my shoulder.
“Don’t be.” I continued peeling the wrapper, concentrating on the sight of the cake and blinking away the memory of the blood pumping out of Fitz’s body. “You didn’t kill him.” The subject had to change immediately. “Which flavor is your favorite?”
Silence stretched between us.
I looked up and found her watching me with a look I’d never seen before. She looked like she didn’t know what to say or how to act, like I’d destroyed the ease between us for the second time that night. “Which is your favorite?” I asked again. “Movie time, remember?”
“Red velvet,” she answered, slowly taking one of those.
I put my cupcake down and then helped her off the counter, even though I knew she didn’t need it. Her curves slid against me as I lowered her to the ground, setting my body on fire, but the way her eyes darkened was even hotter.
We stood there for a long moment, my hands on her waist as she stared up at me, color rising in her cheeks, her chest rising and falling a little faster.