You Deserve Each Other(76)

His eyes are so warm with understanding that I melt. “Like the Junk Yard.”

“Yeah. I didn’t even care that the pay was crappy. Having fun makes all the difference. Melissa sucked, but I got to hang out with Brandy every day. I liked the atmosphere and … I was comfortable. It was familiar. We got to listen to whatever music we wanted. I loved arranging displays and making the store fun for nonexistent customers. Moving around Toby the raccoon. I’m never going to find a job like that again.”

He doesn’t say Yes, you will. He hugs me tight and lets me sniffle into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I never would’ve made all those cracks about work and college. Shouldn’t have made them, anyway. If there’s any way I can ever help, will you let me?”

“I don’t think there’s any way you can help.”

He heaves a deep breath. Wipes a tear away with his thumb. “I’m here, okay?” He grasps my shoulder and squeezes gently. “These aren’t platitudes. I’m right here. And I want to listen. Whenever you’re sad, I want to hear why. I want to know what you’re feeling, all the time, so I can share those feelings with you.”

I have to shy away from the emotions in his gaze, because my heart is a tight fist in my chest and Nicholas shattering my expectations by being kind and compassionate is constricting it so much that it’s like I’m wearing a corset. I can’t breathe under the heaviness of his gaze. I want to trust that he means this, but I can’t.

Right now he’s sweet and empathetic, but what about a week from now? What if I’m having a bad day and when I tell him about it, I’m not met with this sweet, empathetic variation of Nicholas but the other one? The one who turned distant when issues arose that he didn’t want to face? That Nicholas is going to come back, sooner or later, and he’s going to make me sorry for being this vulnerable with him.

I can’t forget what he’s said in the past. Naomi doesn’t need a job. Don’t punish me for being successful enough to buy a nice vehicle. His bitterness that I held him back from that job offer in Madison. He can apologize a thousand times, but I’ll always wonder if he meant what he said. If he believes in me.

“Whatever you want to do,” he tells me, “I’ll support you.”

My mind flashes to the diner in Tenmouth. The haunted house. I say nothing.

“I’m sorry about my mom.”

“Me, too.”

“And my dad.”

“I’m sorry for your dad and Beatrice.”

This gets a chuckle out of him. “Beatrice. Her favorite daughter, Mom used to call her. It’s a mystery why Heather never comes around.”

“Poor Heather.” Maybe she deserves the maid of honor role after all. I feed the errant thought into a wood chipper, because there won’t be a maid of honor. There won’t be a wedding. Nicholas and I can’t even walk down an aisle of wedding decorations, must less the aisle for our real wedding.

It’s all going to fall apart, and this truth doesn’t bring me any satisfaction at all. Right now, I don’t hate Nicholas. I can pinpoint all the qualities about him I’ll miss. But it can’t go on. It would be so much easier if he hadn’t started warming up to me again, if we hadn’t started being honest with each other, exposing what we really think and feel. I want to be able to walk away at the end of this with strong resolve and the knowledge that I’m doing what’s best for myself. For both of us.

I think Nicholas sees my confusion and inner turbulence but misconstrues it as disappointment over the craft store job, because the smile he gives me is not a smile he could put on his face if he knew I’m thinking about how I’ll have to leave him.

“There’s something I want to show you, too,” he tells me, and leads me by the hand into the drawing room. My eyes pass over the nutcracker on the mantel and my heart pangs.

He perches on the edge of his desk and motions for me to sit in his computer chair. “I want you to see what I spend most of my time on the computer doing. It’s not work-related.”

Oh god. If he’s about to click on Pornhub, I’d really rather just not. There’s sharing and then there’s oversharing.

“Relax, it’s not bad.” What he shows me wipes away all my melancholy, because I’m so astonished there isn’t room for any.

“Are you serious?” I stare up at him.

He nods solemnly.

“This.”

“That.”

I blink at the screen. He’s level 91 in a computer game called Nightjar. From what I can see of his home page, it’s a fantasy quest featuring all sorts of mythical creatures. His account name is … “It’s Al Lover?”

“Not Al lover. My name’s itsallover, smartass.” He pinches my arm. “As in it’s all over. Those are Cardale’s last words, and it launches the whole quest to find the … don’t laugh!”

I’m fighting a smile. “Sorry.” This is prime material. “Who’s Cardale?”

He frowns at me.

“I’m not teasing you.” I close my hand over his. “I’m just surprised, is all. But I want to know everything about this game. Level ninety-one? You must really love Al.”

He rolls his eyes, but says, “Okay, Cardale is this ancient wizard who was in the middle of extracting a prophecy from the Dream Realm when he was attacked. That’s how your journey as a player starts. Everyone’s on the hunt for this prophecy, because his dying words were ‘It’s all over,’ so people think something terrible is going to happen but they don’t know for sure because the prophecy’s gone. If you were familiar with the game, you’d have recognized right away what my name means—”