Page 7 of The Question of Us (Fisher & Church #2)

CHAPTER THREE

Nick

“Dammit,” I growled, shoving my keyboard to the side and startling Shelby, whose lithe body lay stretched behind my monitor.

It was either that or throw the damn thing across the room and risk smashing it.

Not the result I was looking for since Davis’s keyboard always messed up my Bluetooth which meant I’d have to buy myself a new one.

I considered Shelby as she settled back into position, her presence in my office a new and quite frankly unsettling development in our relationship.

A few weeks at Mads’ place and she’d become almost domesticated.

Not my doing, for sure. Mads connected with Shelby in a way I never had, and I couldn’t even be pissed about it.

As if she’d heard, Shelby opened a critical eye, almost daring me to say the words out loud. In short order, she closed it again, clearly of the opinion that it wouldn’t be worth her effort to move.

I sighed and drummed my fingers on the desktop, searching for that elusive calm I needed to work.

As if to punish me, the memory of Mads running his fingers through my hair as I’d fussed over my laptop at his place hit me like a bolt from nowhere.

His touch often had this magical effect on my mood, lifting me from the sucking mud of uncertainty into a better place.

.. when I let it. But of course, being me, I didn’t always let it.

Sometimes all I wanted was to curl my anger and loss and fear around me like a warm blanket and hide from the world.

Hide from Mads. Hide from his caring ways.

His constant presence. Always there for me if only I’d get my head out of my arse and let him in.

I didn’t even understand the fight anymore; it had become habit as much as anything else.

He’d understand, of course. No, he already understood .

That wasn’t his issue and I fucking knew it.

Mads didn’t need me to tell him what was going on, he knew.

He simply wanted to be included in the conversation as it applied to us and not be swept to the sidelines. Go figure.

“Nice going there, arsehole,” I grumbled into the silent room, which begged the question of why I couldn’t seem to give Mads what he needed.

Because you’re scared of moving on.

Fuck me. It truly sucked when your unconscious offered up pithy solutions that reeked of an uncomfortable truth.

Was I scared? Hell yeah, I was. But not just of leaving behind what Davis and I had shared and built so quickly to make a new life together.

I was also terrified of taking that plunge and then somehow losing Mads as well.

Maybe in that ridiculous hair-brained scheme he had to follow up on Lee.

Or maybe just because I was me and I’d fuck things up as I usually did.

Davis had done his best with me. He was Teflon-coated when it came to my arseholery.

But Mads was an entirely different kettle of fish.

I was already hurting him and we hadn’t even been together that long.

If I fully opened my heart and committed to a future only to find he couldn’t deal with me any longer, what then?

I rubbed at the owl over my chest and stared at the office ceiling.

“Fuck you, Mum. Fuck you for leaving me behind. And fuck that bastard for giving you no option.” I didn’t blame her anymore, not really.

My father was a different story. Then again, he was dead.

But that didn’t mean the anger had gone, just that it didn’t have a safe home anymore.

It kind of free floated in my life, landing on anything that got in my way.

Landing on Mads.

The plaster centrepiece on the ceiling blurred and I lifted the hem of my T-shirt to wipe my eyes.

Then I dragged my keyboard back in front of the screen and prayed for that familiar clarity and peace.

Spreadsheets, data, numbers, and the hunt for fraud had always been my happy place, my path of peace. But not today, it seemed.

I’d been working on this particular client’s books since five in the morning, when I’d given up trying to sleep and headed to my office.

Three hours later and I’d managed to make more mistakes than a rookie accounting clerk on his first job.

Thank fuck it wasn’t evidentiary work for the police; I clearly wasn’t ready for that leap.

If they saw the current mess I’d got myself into, they’d rip up my contract and kick me down the road.

I reached behind the monitor to scratch Shelby’s head. “I thought cats were supposed to bring calm to the work environment.”

Shelby suffered the indignance of my affection a few seconds longer, then nipped my finger to indicate my time was up. Only Davis and now Mads could freely lay their hands on her, it seemed.

“On me too, Shelby girl. Me too.” The pit in my stomach widened at the memory of waking to Mads watching me from the doorway. Had that only been yesterday? Shelby wasn’t the only one missing his presence.

And whose fault is that?

I scowled at the spreadsheet for another minute, then closed the file and pushed my chair back.

If I didn’t find some focus, I’d never finish the job.

My feet carried me to my bedroom, where I stared at the bed I hadn’t slept in more than a couple of nights in the previous three weeks.

I sank onto Davis’s side of the mattress and ran a hand over his pillow.

“Hey there,” I whispered, lowering my head onto its downy softness. “Long time no see.” Davis had always loved his pricey linens and bedroom accoutrements, and while I grumbled about the cost, I secretly relished his insistence on treating ourselves. I should have told him that more often.

I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, my hands rubbing small circles over the cover.

“I’m not doing so great at the moment, as you probably know.

I fucked up. I feel... stuck. Like I’m running in circles.

And I’m hurting the one person who is bringing light into my world right now. ”

Talking to Davis wasn’t something I did often.

It was always a crapshoot, emotionally speaking.

Even though I knew it was cathartic, it usually screwed me for the rest of the day.

I waited for the tears, but only a bone-deep sadness drifted through my body to settle in my heart.

A sigh broke my lips. Nothing stayed the same, not even grief.

I thought of Mads and the warm feel of him in my arms, the impossible perfection of it, and I knew I wanted more. A lot more.

“I think you’d like him,” I whispered into the silence of the room.

“He’s honest and funny, always says what he feels, no sugar coating anything.

Blunt is the word he uses. Cute is the term I prefer.

But he’s as stubborn as me and it drives me crazy.

” I chuckled. “Yeah, I figured you’d love that part. ”

As I lay in the quiet again, Mads’ words from the previous morning came back to me.

I thought on them for a moment. “He also reminded me that he isn’t you.

I’d told him that you handled my prickly personality by mostly ignoring my rudeness and using humour to snap me out of my control mode.

You were remarkably immune to my jabs and my like it or lump it manner.

But now I’m wondering if that was such a good thing. ”

I pictured Davis folding his arms, one eyebrow cocked as he said, Go on, I’m listening .

All righty then . “I get no free passes with Mads, not like the ones you handed me way too often. It’s made me realise that I should’ve been better with you, and I’m sorry about that. I should’ve tried harder. You were too easy on me.”

I rolled onto my side and dragged a pillow into my open arms. “I still miss you so fucking much and I always will. I’ll always love you and what we had, so how can I hold on to that and move on with someone else at the same time? How can I still love you and begin to love him too?”

And there it was.

If I’d expected an answer, I’d have been disappointed.

There wasn’t, and I wasn’t. I threw the pillow to the side and rolled off the bed, staring at the indentation in the mattress like I could somehow see his body in the dips and rolls.

The memory of him still so strong in my head was beginning to slip on the outside.

I saw him less. Heard his voice in my head less.

Even though I knew it was a natural part of the process, it still felt disloyal.

I hated the way our world, the one with him in it, the one I’d thought would last until we both tapped out from old age was already beginning to blur around the edges.

The threads were quietly unravelling and would continue to do that until the pattern was gone and a new one appeared in its place.

I knew it would happen.

I just thought I’d have more time.

With my fingers trailing along the furniture and walls, I left the bedroom and made my way into Davis’s study.

I sat in his chair and took a long look around the small room.

It was a nice space, warm and inviting, much like the man himself.

The walls were loaded with overflowing bookshelves, his desk messy with notepads and reminders.

A jam jar held his collection of psychedelic pencils, and across the room the expensive speaker I’d bought him one Christmas stared back at me, and wrapped around the base were his headphones, exactly as he’d left them that day.

I considered them for a long moment. I knew every band he loved, every song on his playlists. I knew the concerts he’d been to and the ones on his bucket list. I knew him to his soul, and I’d known I belonged there as well. I’d felt safe, understood, and for the first time, truly loved.