left, you’d never lied to me. And you’re not lying right now. I can tell,” I admitted.
His entire body seemed to release its tension. “Thank you, Zora. I know you’re afraid to trust, what with all that happened. So thank you for believing me in this instance.”
We were silent for several beats in the space of our concession, each of us looking elsewhere before he suddenly asked, “Did you know your father paid our mortgage?”
Startled, I frowned at him. “What?”
“Your dad. The last year my mother and I were here, he paid our mortgage. Every month. I guess he knew my mother had trouble getting another job after she lost hers . . .” He shook his head. He didn’t have to remind me what had happened. We both remembered how his mother’s access to medication on the hospital floor had ultimately been too much of a temptation. “I had to figure it out. I knew she wasn’t paying it, and I’d learned the hard way, before I’d started paying the utilities, that there was no peace in assuming everything was okay. So I went to your father and asked him.” His jaw clenched. “And he said—”
“Let me guess. Something about it being grown folks’ business?”
A ghost of a smile quirked his lips upward. “He said exactly that. As grateful as I was, as I am still, I hated it. Hated that I couldn’t take care of what we needed, she needed. I hated every time someone walked by us and whispered about my mother, and I hated how the town discussed her buying drugs from the Iron Wraiths, long before I even realized it.”
Instinctively, I grabbed hold of his hand. “But Nick. You were in high school. You were working two part-time jobs, taking classes at the community college toward your associates degree. No one expected you to take on the responsibility for—”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. My whole life, I was terrified of being my father. Terrified I’d wake up one day and find myself solving conflicts with my fists, drowning my troubles in beer. Leaving behind the people who were dependent on me.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“I had something to prove to myself. Not just you. I had to prove I could make something of myself, that I could trust myself, that I was better than my father. I told myself I wouldn’t come back, not until I had something to offer you. That gave me the fuel, the fight I needed to accomplish all I did those first two years—”
“Nick.” I squeezed his hand even harder. “All I’d wanted was you, that was it. That’s all I needed to be happy. If we’d lived in a leaky tin shack with only a bucket to sit on and a single can of Vienna sausages to split between us . . . I would have been overjoyed. Because I would have been with you.”
“You deserved better than that.”
“So, why are you back now? What, you figure you deserve me now? Because you have money?”
He leaned in, pulling my hand further into the heat of his body. His gaze moved over my face and lost its intensity, softened. “Zora, I’ll never deserve you. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight like hell to get you back, though. I just needed to know I had something to offer you, show you I could take care of you—”
“Have I ever given you the impression that I wanted or needed you to take care of me?”
“Of course not.”
“All I wanted was for us to have a future where we could take care of each other.” I met his gaze square on. “But that time has passed for us.”
He didn’t blink. “It hasn’t. And this has absolutely nothing to do with Jackson James.”
“You’re right, it’s not his decision. It’s mine.”
“Can you really look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel this, what’s between us?” His voice lowered, but his tone was biting. Urgent. “You’re going to tell me there’s nothing here?”
“It doesn’t matter what I feel or don’t feel. I’ve changed, too. I don’t let my heart do the driving anymore.”
“I did what I had to do to keep you safe, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“Well, this looks intense.”
We both jumped, glancing over to find to Walker standing at our table. He frowned down at us in open appraisal.
“Walker.” Nick stood.
It was jarring to see the two men standing together after all these years. Walker