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“No, she’s pissed about having her underwear stolen.” It’s more complicated, but I’m not going to try to explain it to Nic. I’m not sure I understand either. That influencer could’ve launched her brand big time, and Mina didn’t want it.
“I paid for those thongs this morning,” Nic lifts the bottle to his lips again but stops to change the subject. “Your mom wants me to ask how the job search is going.”
“I’m not chaining myself to some desk.” I’ll become a chaos gremlin and get fired within a week, if not on the first day. “And it would be nice if you stopped doing her dirty work for her—you’re already her favorite and she’s been on my back since I woke up from surgery.”
Nic shrugs. “Doesn’t have to be a desk job.”
I take a bigger drink of whiskey. So far, I’ve been sipping it. Taking alcohol slowly, like yesterday, to see how it affects me. Head injuries and alcohol do not mix, and while I’m recovered, I’m not willing to get unexpectedly hammered. “Mina’s looking at a lease in Connecticut.”
“She is?”
“She wants to expand her business—she’s talked about it for years.”
Nic frowns. “Thongs?”
“Yeah, among other styles.” I turn my glass and it makes an obnoxious noise on the glass tabletop. “I’m not interested in looking for a job out here because if she goes, I’m going with her.”
The whiskey bottle slams onto the table, hard enough to make my jaw clench.
“You fucking asshole,” Nic spits.
Yeah, he’s not going to take this well. “Thank you?”
Nic doesn’t explode often, but when he does…whoa, boy. And right now, he’s about to blow. All I can do is hold on to my ass and wait for him to be reasonable.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to come out here, but I did because you wanted to become the greatest stuntman in the history of ever. And now what? You’re leaving because you couldn’t do it?”
Ouch, I’m going to be the bigger person and let that slide.
Nope. Can’t do it. “Listen, you prick. I love her. If Mina wants to live in Antarctica, I will take her there and learn everything I can about penguins or whatever. This is about following her, not running away. And no one asked you to come out here with me. You made choices too, and now you’re the face of a huge franchise. You’re the Second Hottest man in America. You’re doing great. You don’t need me to hold your hand.”
He snatches the bottle again, dark eyes sweeping away from me. “I hate it here.”
“That’s the divorce talking.”
Nic glares at me as he downs another gulp.
“Maybe go easy on the whiskey,” I suggest. “I’m not holding your hair back while you puke.”
He runs a hand through his short hair, and his glare intensifies. After a minute, he asks, “You don’t really want to go home, do you?” It’s more of a plea than a question. “We came to LA to get away and have adventures. Let’s do that again. We’re not too old yet.”
“Again, the divorce talking.”
“This is your head injury talking,” he snaps back. “I get you’re hurt and upset about it, but this is a big decision to make, especially right now. You have a life here.”
“Not without Mina.”
A look crosses his face. Hurt and anger. Fear.
I take a sip and quietly say, “She hasn’t decided to move yet, it might be nothing.”
Nic grumbles something, but the pizza arrives. I go to get it, and when I come back, he’s staring out at his pool. At the hot tub with the gas fire pit in the center of it. At the lounge chairs and closely cut brilliantly green grass. All of it Addison’s choice.
“Know why I married Addison?” he asks in a flat voice.
He’s drunk if he’s the one bringing this up. I glance at the bottle and yeah. He must have pounded it while I went to get the pizza. “Because you were scared?” I venture.
“Because I was scared.” He pauses, eyes narrowed at his own words as a scowl takes over his face. “No. Because I’ve got nothing.”
