Page 33 of Right Next Door (Stone Family #3)

Ian

I watch Nicole drive her little Nissan into the space behind our shop and jerk to a stop.

She jumps out, her eyes scanning the area until they land on me.

I’m already walking toward her, my arms open, and she runs to me, her body crashing against mine.

I wrap her up, holding her tight as she buries her face in my neck.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur, smoothing my hand down her hair. “It’s okay.”

I’m not sure what happened, but when I heard the telltale waver in her voice, I about burst out of my skin. It was all I could do to wait for her here. I would much rather have gone to her. Protect her. Take care of her. Make sure whatever it is that she’s upset about never hurts her again.

But all I can do now is take her upstairs into my apartment.

After I close the door behind us, I point her toward the living room, where her still red-rimmed eyes take in the art on the walls, including a framed photo of my mother that Andi found a while ago and printed for all of us—Griffin, Taryn, Roman, and me.

“Never took you for someone to put up kids’ artwork on the walls,” Nicole says, nodding toward a drawing that’s probably fifteen or so years old.

A crooked and thinly drawn picture of a very tall figure with two circles on their arms that are supposed to be biceps and three more small figures all holding hands, wearing various triangles or squares of clothes and lengths of hair.

It’s us, my three kids and me, as illustrated by a young Juniper.

“That was my first Father’s Day after Heather moved away,” I explain, smiling to myself. “I loved it so much I got it tattooed.”

Nicole’s mouth pops open, eyes searching over my body. “Where?”

I pivot and pull at the back of my T-shirt, gathering the cotton in my hands until the hem is high enough to reveal the ink between my shoulder blades.

“I love that,” she says quietly, her hand brushing over it and then down, to right above my pants. “Your family is everything, aren’t they?”

I turn and nod, letting my shirt settle back into place as her eyes slowly make their way to mine, her chin tilted up. I hold it in place between my fingers, allowing myself one quick, reassuring kiss for the both of us. She’s here now, and I will take care of her.

“I’d do anything for them. My kids. My brothers and sister.”

You too , I don’t add.

“How is he?” She points to a smaller photo of Roman and me at his high school graduation with my arm thrown over his shoulders. I’m sure my mother took the photo, but at this point, my memory is hazy about that day.

I shouldn’t be surprised Nicole’s asking about my baby brother. There are probably as many stories whispered around town about him as my ex-wife, but I am much more protective of Roman.

“He’s okay.”

She steps closer to the wall to study the photo. “You two look a lot alike.”

I’d rather talk about what made her upset instead of my family issues, but I assume she’s only trying to sidestep it, so I take her hand and pull her down to the couch next to me.

“You get half an hour to decompress, and then we’re talking about you.”

With her head settled on my shoulder, she tips it back to meet my gaze. “Thank you.”

I pop a kiss on her temple then lounge against the corner of the cushions, so we’re both relaxed, her back against my chest, my arms around her middle, her head lolled against me. Then I ask, “What do you want to know?”

“What happened?”

I take a deep enough breath that she rises when my chest does. “He was still pretty young when Dad left—about two years old—and I always felt responsible for him. Mom was working so much, I was left to take care of the three kids, but especially Roman. Griffin and Taryn took care of each other.”

I smile to myself as I continue, “Griffin was born a forty-year-old. He taught himself how to make dinner when he was eight. Swear to god, the kid found one of Mom’s cookbooks one day, turned on the stove, and made a lasagna.

And Taryn, she was easy. But Roman was young, so I took care of him.

Whenever I wasn’t working, I was with him.

He started helping me fix up cars when he was, like, in first grade.

By the time he got his driver’s license, we‘d finished this gorgeous 1986 Monte Carlo.”

“That’s not the one you have now?”

“No.” I snort a rueful laugh. “That little shit banged it all up the first chance he got, so I made him fix it up before we sold it off.”

“So that’s what you did? Restored the cars and sold them?”

I hold her closer, resting my cheek against her temple. “Yeah, it was a hobby, but I don’t do it anymore. The Impala that I have, that’s the last one I did and kept it for myself.”

She skims her fingers over my arm, raising goose bumps in her wake. “When did you stop?”

It takes me a minute to do the math. “About seven or eight years ago, I guess. It’s time-consuming and costs a lot of money. I needed to put all my energy into my shop, and with everything going on with Roman, it kinda lost its luster for me.”

For a while, she’s quiet, tracing over my tattoos until she presses up to face me, one hand next to my head, the other on the center of my chest over my heart. “What’s the truth about Roman? He seems to be a mystery.”

I huff. “Yeah. Even to me.”

She lies back down, her ear against my shoulder, curled up on me like I’m her personal sofa. I idly rub my hands up and down her back, play with strands of her hair.

“Roman had a full-ride football scholarship to Penn State, which we were all ecstatic about. He played defensive end, and he could’ve made it to the NFL. His coaches were all behind him, and I think that’s where he would’ve ended up.”

Nicole tucks herself up tighter as if expecting the bad news. I deliver it quickly for her sake and mine.

“He tore his quadriceps during practice camp his junior year, so he had his surgery and was doing his rehab. He was good. Until Mom had her stroke.”

Nicole gasps quietly, and I repeatedly wind and unwind a strand of her hair around my finger, focusing on that so my mind doesn’t conjure up all those awful memories of that time.

“She collapsed outside the grocery store. She was buying a few things for me and my kids.”

A kiss is pressed to my throat when I close my eyes tight and throw my arm over my face. “She was in the hospital for a few days in a coma with brain swelling. She had a couple more minor strokes while she was there and passed a few minutes after I left her room.”

“I’m so sorry,” Nicole says, voice shaky.

It takes me a little while to swallow past the sand in my mouth and blink open my eyes from their stinging.

“Roman took it the hardest. We were all devastated, but he… He lost it. He went back to school but ended up failing out. He got real into partying, and I didn’t know at the time, but he was taking any and every pill he could get his hands on.

He moved home for a year or so and lived with me and the kids, but…

” I go back to petting Nicole’s head, soothing myself with the repetitive motion.

“He’s lived all over the place, was in Philly for a bit, then New York City, and somehow ended up in Buffalo.

He’d stop home every once in a while, and I saw him slipping away but I couldn’t do anything about it.

I gave him money, I set him up with appointments for therapists, got him into a drug and alcohol rehab, but he didn’t want it.

He just…” I blow out a big breath. “I haven’t seen him in person in a long time, and I feel like I let him down. I’m letting my mom down.”

“No. No.” Nicole stretches up, kissing my temple and cheek and mouth. “You’re not letting anyone down. You’re doing the best you can, and you have nothing to feel bad about.”

“Except that I have no idea what my brother is doing with his life. I know he’s restoring cars, but beyond that…nothing.”

She tucks her face into my neck, murmuring words about how I’m a good brother and a good man. And I want to be that for Roman and for her, but there are times when I doubt it. Though it’s reassuring to hear it from her.

That she believes I’m a good man.

Because she is the best person I know, so if she thinks I’m anywhere close to her level, I must be doing okay.

“All right, baby,” I say after a while, sitting up and taking her with me. “Your turn. You need to tell me what happened tonight.”

She nods a few times, her teeth sawing into her bottom lip as she scratches her fingers over my beard.

Then she takes a deep breath, forces her ocean eyes to me, and spills it all.

About Bryce coming home early. About how she was straightforward and honest. How she told him she wanted a divorce, and that he didn’t take it well.

Tried to turn it around on her. Called her selfish.

Pain drips from each of her words. Emotional torture she’s putting herself through because she is so afraid to hurt anyone’s feelings, she’d rather stay quiet than rock the boat.

Yet, I’m so incredibly proud of her for being open and putting herself first, because after all these years, she should.

She’s spent too long going along to get along.

It’s her turn to finally have what she wants.

To be happy.

And I have a clawing desire to drive over to her house and punch that son of bitch in his motherfucking face for all of his offenses, not the least of which being the dick who won’t make himself a goddamn sandwich because he expects her to do it.

I kiss her cheeks, catching the tears as they roll over her pink skin. “You’re not selfish, and you have nothing to feel bad about. You’re doing what’s right for you.”

“I know, but?—”

“No buts. You are doing what is right for yourself. He’s made you upset and caused you to cry for far too many years. Don’t let him take this away from you either. Be proud of yourself. You were very brave tonight.”

She sniffles, wiping the back of her hand over her face, but it’s useless.

She needs a shower and sleep, so I scoop her up and carry her to the bathroom, where I turn on the shower.

She starts to argue about doing this with Juniper here, but my daughter is out for the night with that boyfriend of hers who I’m not a huge fan of, which earns a quiet giggle from Nicole when I tell her so.

Her smile is the first sign that she’s coming down the other side of the mountain she climbed tonight, and I help her into the shower before removing all my clothes as well.

It’s a tight fit in the stall, but we make it work.

I use my soap and loofah to gently scrub all of her creamy skin until it’s covered in suds, from her shoulders to the tips of her breasts to the soft skin between her legs.

I even kneel to wash the bottoms of her feet, teasing at her arches until she laughs about being ticklish.

Then it’s her turn, giving me the same treatment as she asks about each of my tattoos, lovingly smoothing her fingers over each one.

Then we take turns massaging shampoo and conditioner into each other’s hair, joking about how I always have an extra hair tie on my wrist if she ever needs it.

After, we dry off and share a toothbrush before she excitedly finds my beard oil, saying how much she loves the scent and insists on combing it through with her fingers.

It is beyond anything I could have envisioned. Every day that started or ended this way would be perfect.

Sharing my home with this woman. Laughing and kissing and falling into bed naked.

We don’t have sex because she’s still too emotionally wrung out, and I don’t want to take advantage of her while she’s working through so much in her mind, but I do hold her close, under the covers, up late as we talk about everything and nothing special.

Like it’s another Friday night with the love of my life.

And the next morning when we wake up, we start the process in reverse. Except when she gets dressed again, I don’t let her put her underwear back on and insist she wear one of my T-shirts today.

No, I can’t officially stake my claim on her, but I’ll take my last name across her chest with the Stone Ink logo.

She tucks it into the skirt she wore yesterday and uses one of my elastics to tie her hair up.

Her face is clear of makeup, she smells like me, and it’s the most beautiful version of her.

We walk downstairs together, where I kiss her palm before we part ways, her to go to work and me to meet my kids for breakfast.

Like it’s any other morning with the love of my life.