Fix It Up (Torus Intercession 3)

“What were you scared of?” I asked, trying to figure out what the threat could be.

“That I couldn’t write anymore,” he confessed. “I was telling everyone but you that I could do it whenever I wanted, and you, because I couldn’t lie to you, I wasn’t saying anything at all.”

“Oh.”

“I was so scared that I didn’t have it in me to write anymore. Like maybe talking about things and letting go of what hurt would take other things away too.”

“Like the pain was where your creativity came from?”

He nodded.

“And now what?”

His smile was warm as he stared at my mouth. “Now I know that the music isn’t going anywhere. It’s part of me, just like you.”

“The music is you, unlike me,” I corrected. “Whether I’m here or not, you’ll still be you.”

His gaze lifted and locked with mine. “I know,” he agreed. “I don’t need you to keep me on the straight and narrow or remind me who I am.”

I sighed deeply because he sounded so good, so healthy, and I’d helped him get there.

“I realize I don’t need you,” he said, leaning in close again.

It hurt to hear, and I could own that. There was something primal about being needed, about being the savior, about riding to the rescue that gave me a high I was guessing was as good as any drug. But seeing him able to stand on his own feet, that too was amazing. Nick was good now, and I could walk away and truly not worry. He would be all right when I left him. I’d been worrying about that since the day I first walked into his home.

“Loc.”

I realized I had left him there, in the present, and drifted forward to the future, one where I was gone, and his voice, husky and low, called me back to the now.

“Got your bags all packed in your head.”

It was true; it was useless to try and deny it.

He nodded and closed the space between us down to a sliver, his lips hovering over mine. “Here’s the rest of it, though, before you get a cab for the airport and leave me here.”

“Listen, I was upset last night, but we sorted that all out. I’m not gonna leave until we get back to––”

“I want you, Locryn Barnes,” he husked, and I heard the shaky breath he took. “It’s not a need, because it’s not basic; it’s big and wide and covers from right here, right now, to as far into the future as I can see.”

“Nick––”

“You and your heart…I’m keeping,” he murmured before he kissed me.

It was strange, because all his kisses were claiming and possessive, but this one felt different. It felt solid and weighted and…normal. As though this was how I’d always be kissed because I belonged to him, and him to me. When he eased back, his expression wasn’t heated, the kiss wasn’t sensual, more matter-of-fact, and he was squinting at me almost like he was irritated.

“What?” I groused at him.

“Yeah, you know what,” he grumbled, sitting up, leaning over to take a sip of his coffee. “I’m done being threatened.”

“Who’s threatening you?” I asked, trying to sit up, but my angle was awkward with how he was wedged between my legs, his right hand, the one not holding his coffee cup, stroking over my thigh.

“You,” he said flatly. “If you insist on going back to Chicago, that’s fine, but like I told you before, I’m going along, so good luck doing your whole fixer thing with me and my entourage and the paparazzi right there with you. I’m sure you’ll get a lot done.”

I shook my head.

“Oh yes, and if you just stop for a second, you’ll know this was a done deal the second you hugged me on that Saturday.”

“What’re you––”

“You comforted me,” he said with a sigh. “You took me in your arms and said you were there to help me and that you were on my side. I have never felt safer in my whole life than I did at that moment.”

“Yeah, but––”

“And it’s not gratitude, and I’m not making more of it than it was; it’s nothing other than you being the only one who could get through to me.”

It was the strangest thing, but I felt something changing at that very second. On that couch, in that ordinary room, with his golden-brown eyes on me, I suddenly felt like I wanted to go home, but home wasn’t where it had been. It was like my North Star had moved, and now home was with him. It could be in Chicago or in California, the where hardly mattered; it was the who that meant something.

“I’m sorry it took a bit to figure out that it was you all along.”

And I knew it too, the same thing, because I’d shared all those pieces of myself with him that no one else had ever seen, that no one else would have ever even guessed at.