Fix It Up (Torus Intercession 3)

I went outside and checked on the new motion sensors being installed along the perimeter of the property, and met again with Mr. Kim to tell him that, of the choices he’d given me, I wanted Italian cypress planted where the cabana used to be, and ordered the cabana moved to the opposite side of the pool deck to be rebuilt at half its original size. With trees in its place, it would delineate the space in a more organic way and also allow a better visual. He agreed with me that Italian cypress was the best choice, though the most expensive right now, but they would add great value to the property in the long run.

Once I was back near the cactus garden, I saw Nick standing on the threshold between the house and the patio.

“What the hell is going on?” he yelled at me, and then whimpered because his ibuprofen hadn’t kicked in yet, and really, I was guessing he would have begged for a Demerol drip with how much his head hurt, if he were still in the hospital. No such luck here at home, poor bastard. “And who the fuck are you again?”

I climbed the few stairs separating us, stopping when I was a couple feet away. “Were you listening when we were in the kitchen, Mr. Madison?”

“Yeah I—I got your name I just—” He was hurting, and in his defense, he had just woken up from what had to feel like a coma. “I’m—”

“Maybe you should get some more rest. I don’t think you’re—”

“Nick, okay? Just, fuck—call me Nick.”

“Nick,” I repeated gently, starting from the beginning just to be on the safe side. “I’m Locryn Barnes, and you can call me Loc. We met first on Thursday and then again in the kitchen just now.”

“I blacked out, right? I mean on Thursday.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I black out all the time,” he said haughtily, like it was a good thing. “It’s not a party unless you’re wasted.”

I grunted.

“Judgmental much?”

“It’s because I’m a grown-up,” I assured him.

“Just—who are you?”

“Are you awake?”

“No—shit, I don’t mean your name again, I got that, but why are you here?”

“I’m here to manage your life until Mr. Cox is certain that you can manage it for yourself.”

“He can’t just—”

“Have you ever heard of a conservatorship, Nick?”

“Yeah, it’s for old people who could get scammed out of their retirement and for adults who are disabled or…the hell does that have to do with me?”

“It’s also for people like you, with a crap ton of money, who’re out of control and need someone else to hold the reins on your finances and make your life decisions for you until you can get your shit together.”

“That can’t—”

“Mr. Cox feels that you’re standing at the edge of an abyss,” I explained to him.

“Well, fuck you and fuck him!” he roared and nearly pitched forward.

I caught him, hands on his biceps, and stepped forward into him, wrapping him in my arms just like I would have done if he were six instead of twenty-six.

“It’s okay,” I soothed him, gently massaging the back of his head. “I know you’re pissed, and I know you feel like you’re being treated like a child, but I promise you this is temporary. All you need to do is dry out, feel better, more like yourself, and hopefully you can get your album done and get everything back on track.”

He didn’t pull away, which was surprising, and instead turned his head so his face was pressed into the hollow between my shoulder and neck.

“I’m here to help you, shelter you, keep you safe and build you back up. I’m not gonna go behind your back or talk to Mr. Cox about anything that we don’t discuss first. I will never ambush you.”

“But I’m a prisoner,” he murmured, arms wrapping around my waist, and I felt the tumbler that held his smoothie pressing into my back.

“You’re not,” I assured him. “We can do whatever you want. You just have to take me along and realize that it’s time to start making different choices.”

He stood there, breathing, leaning, and even though I knew this was merely the calm before the storm, I found that him wanting to be close lessened my irritation and awoke every protective instinct I had.

He was tired that evening, but he couldn’t sleep, so I gave him a choice—Lord of the Rings, Marvel movies, or Star Wars.

“What?”

I stood next to the couch, arms crossed, waiting on him.

“Oh, um,” he said, shrugging. “Lord of the Rings, I guess, since I’ve never seen those.”

My scowl was immediate.

He chuckled. “Don’t look at me like that. I was five or something when the first movie came out.”

I suddenly felt ancient. “Fine,” I grumbled at him. “Do you want popcorn or a sandwich? Tell me.”

He shook his head. “I can’t remember the last time I had so many homecooked meals,” he told me, smiling. “The popcorn sounds good, though, and I would kill for a Pepsi.”