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"Not a faker. I needed the support." I arch a brow at that obvious lie, and he has the decency to look a little embarrassed. "Okay, I needed the support for a little while, at least."
"You seem to be just fine now."
He hums low in his throat, but doesn't respond. I'm hyper aware of the heat coming off of him, and the way he's studying my face. I can't take any more tonight.
"Let me go please," I say quietly. His gaze searches my face, then he slowly withdraws his arm. I back up against the far wall and stare down at my feet. Everything is upside down and backwards and I don't know what to do to make it better.
"It's not all a favor, Bree," he says quietly, watching me carefully.
I don't know what to say to that. Is he going to give me a percentage? Like sixty percent of it was a favor, but the rest of it wasn't? That idea is completely humiliating. I like Nick. I like spending time with him, maybe more than almost anyone I've ever met.
"Bree," he says, waiting for me to raise my eyes. "Declan asked me to spend more time with you. That's true. But he didn't do it to hurt you. And I'm not playing any fucking games."
"How would you feel if the situation was reversed? Knowing I was reaching out to you as a favor for someone else. That I was smiling and laughing with you, all the while, I had an ulterior motive."
To his credit, he winces, and nods, acknowledging my point. I'm not angry, not really. I just feel sad, and a little dumb. "It's fine," I say quietly. "I don't think there's any point in discussing it further."
"Too bad. I have more to say."
I want to stomp my foot. I want to punch him in the stomach. "And I'm done talking," I say, crossing my arms over my chest and giving him a dead eye stare. It's the stare I perfected working in my sister's bar. Some dudes won't listen to words, but the stare gets them every time.
Nick's apparently immune to the stare. "I like hanging with you, Bree. I had more fun tonight than I've had in a long time. I have no intention of stopping."
I shove down the little leap of happiness in my chest. Too little, too late. "Plus, my hair's all sunshine and shit, and my boobs bounce."
A little wash of red colors his cheeks. "Ah...yeah. About that. I didn't mean..."
"You didn't mean what? To comment on my boobs? To compliment me?" I shake my head and push off the rail. "It's okay, morphine makes you spout all kinds of random stuff."
Disbelief washes over his face. "So I'm off the hook, just like that?"
"Just like that," I murmur, grateful when the elevator doors open on Nick's floor. I step off the elevator, and head straight for the stairs, more than ready to be done with this night. I have a lot of thinking to do.
"Bree," Nick says, his voice stopping me with my hand on the stairwell door. "I'm really sorry I hurt you. But I'm telling you the truth. I have no intention of stopping being your friend."
"I'm not sure you are my friend," I say quietly. "I know you were just trying to help your brother, but the last...what? Few weeks? It's all been built on a lie. That seems like a pretty shitty foundation for friendship."
He makes a rough sound. "Dammit, Bree. It's...fuck. You're wrong."
I turn back to look at him, taking in the crooked ponytail and the loose hair flying around his face. He should look ridiculous. He doesn't. "Goodnight Nick. Take care of that shoulder. Take the pain meds."
His mouth tightens, eyes boring into mine. I look back, wishing everything was different, then turn and walk softly down the stairs. I push through the doors to my floor and pause in front of my door. I press my ear against it, hearing the TV. She's home. They're home. Cara and Declan. Declan and Cara. The ultimate couple.
"You lost your key?"
The scream is trapped in my throat, I manage to spin and face John, just before my whole body freezes. I'm stuck, my body betraying me, as the look on John's face morphs from mild amusement to a spectacular frown.
"For fuck's sake girl, breathe," he orders. Like it's that easy. It's not. My body won't cooperate. My lungs are frozen, nothing coming in or out. Little black spots dance in front of my eyes.
I'm aware of large hands pushing me to the floor, shoving me onto my back. Then my legs are raised. It's terrifying having a man manipulate my body, but I'm too trapped in my panic to react. I can't logic. I can't reason. I'm pure survival, right here on the lush carpeting of a luxury high rise.
One gasping breath fills my lungs. Another. Then another after that. I rub my fingers over the pile of the carpet, back and forth, back and forth. Finally, my higher brain comes back online, and I open my eyes to find John sitting against the wall, knees up with my legs cradled between his thighs and chest. His eyes are closed, his head resting on the wall like he's ready to take a nap. I stare at him, letting myself breathe, too thankful for coming out of the panic to worry about what he thinks of me.
"You back?" he asks without opening his eyes.
"Yes," I mumble, still staring at his face. "Thank you."
He shrugs, eyes still closed. "Didn't want you to fall and crack your head open. Would've ruined the carpet."
