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“Nope. I’m good. Mar–er, Purdy offered me a spot on his couch.”
“Okay. That’s good,” Silas said with evident relief. “But, you know, if something changes, let me or Liam know.”
“Sure thing.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “I should get back to helping Purdy clean up.”
Liam clapped him on the back. “Everything is gonna work out, I promise.”
Nick rolled his eyes; Liam’s sunny optimism was hard to take on the best days, and today was not one of those.
“I’ll talk to you later.”
The mile-long walk back home felt to Nick like some kind of kinky walk of shame, and every ten feet he had to hitch up the borrowed running pants. Nick didn’t want to apologize or be nice; he just wanted tobe. Instead, he was going to have to do both: apologize and be nice. The fucking world was coming to an end.
Martin and Magnus, of all people, were busy cutting up the tree trunk when Nick returned from Liam’s. In truth, Rufus was supervising while Magnus and Martin did the work. Nick spotted Wanda Stone coming from the other direction, carrying a thermos and a small cooler. The town was out helping each other.
That was nice, he grudgingly supposed. Happy thoughts, bah.
Spotting Nick, Magnus cut the saw’s motor, setting it down on the thick tree trunk.
“Nick, you are one lucky bastard.”
“Keep telling me and I might start to believe it one day.”
Magnus stared at him, his eyebrows rising almost to his hairline. “You survived being shot. Now you’ve survived a tree falling literally feet from where you were sleeping. You are damn lucky. You’re going to have townsfolk lining up to walk across the street next to you.”
“Lucky would have been not being in the line of fire in the first place,” Nick argued. There was nothing lucky at all about a gunshot wound.
“Nope,” Magnus disagreed. Martin stood next to Magnus, an amused expression on his face, as if he knew exactly what was going through Nick’s head. Which was impossible because Martin hardly knew Nick. “Nope,” Magnus repeated. “You’re just thinking about things all backward.” Reaching out a long arm, Magnus clapped Nick on the shoulder hard enough he had to take a step forward or risk falling on his face. “You’ll figure it out.”
“What is today?” Nick wondered aloud. “National Improve Nick Waugh Day?”
“That would be an international holiday,” Martin muttered. Magnus snorted.
Gaping at his landlord for a hot second, Nick lifted one hand and raised his middle finger in both men’s direction. It was meant in a friendly sort of way. Kind of.
Hours later, they’d finished cleaning up what they could. There was now a stack of firewood that would get Martin through several chilly winters. Magnus, Rufus, and Wanda had moved on to the next towny who needed hot coffee, snacks, and a big-ass chainsaw to get through the day. Nick heard that Vincent Barone was working his magic on the other end of town, along with Xavier, Liam probably had joined them.
Exhausted and irritated, Nick followed Martin back to his place and into his tiny kitchen, where Martin made tea for them both. Kitten—he needed a name for her—mewed and hopped down off the couch at the sight of him. Nick scooped her up and cuddled her little body. Martin said nothing about Nick staying somewhere else. Nick was thankful for that; he didn’t think he could handle outright kindness from his landlord. Acceptance of his presence was all he needed.
“Sorry for being a dick earlier,” Nick said finally, hoping Martin understood that “earlier” meantallthe times Nick had been a jerk.
Martin nodded. “No offense taken.”
The clothes he’d had to wash were clean and dry now. Nick grabbed out some jeans, a t-shirt, and underwear, taking them with him to change in the bathroom while Martin made dinner and muttered something about needing carbs. Folding up the track pants, Nick tiptoed into Martin’s bedroom and set them on top of the colorful comforter spread across the mattress. Martin was obviously the kind of person who made his bed every morning regardless of circumstances.
The mattress was huge and took up all the room except for a few feet at the end along one side. It was one of those kings with extra inches, and Martin was right. It was big enough for both of them. But no way was he sharing Martin’s bed. No matter how much he wanted to.
No way. Not going to happen.
He’d get an air mattress and sleep on the living room floor before he’d share with Martin Purdy. Something told him if he caved on this point, the rest of his protests about Martin would fall like dominoes.
Martin called out, “Do you have any allergies?”
“No,” Nick answered, irrationally irritated—again—that Martin was thoughtful.
“You like crime shows?” Martin asked randomly. “When I’m kind of wound up, I like to watch old episodes ofLaw and Order. Wouldn’t mind watching a few tonight.”
MARTIN - TWO WEEKS LATER
