was why I tried not to.
We left the laundry room and found Nixon and Mom spreading out the freshly delivered boxes of pizza on the kitchen counter. He looked so…domestic, even with the tattoos spreading from under his collar and wrists.
“You two about done in there?” Mom asked over her shoulder.
“We are!” Naomi answered with a grin as the side door flew open.
“I win!” Ashley scurried in with a mile-wide grin, throwing her hands into the air, as Levi scrambled after her. “Zoe! You’re here!”
“Oomph!” I grunted as she hit me with the full force of her hug. “Ashley, you’re so tall! What are you now? A senior?” I ruffled her thick blond curls and sighed with a healthy dose of hair envy.
“Ha! I’m in third grade!”
“Well, you’ve grown at least a foot since I saw you last. Are you hungry?”
“Yes!” She bounced on her toes.
“Zoe. Zoe. Zoe. Zoe,” Levi chanted at my feet, his arms raised.
“Levi, Levi, Levi, Levi,” I replied with a smile, hefting him up to my hip. This right here was the benefit of Nixon not hauling me back to Seattle and going on his merry way, as Naomi had put it. I guided Ashley toward the counter, where Nixon was opening the line of boxes. “Ashley, this is my friend, Nixon. He’s a rock star.”
Her eyes widened. “Like…a real one?”
“Depends on your definition of real.” Nixon’s shoulders shook slightly as he pivoted, tossing a smile at the little girl. That smile froze, then disappeared entirely as he stared down at her.
He looked…stricken.
“He’s real enough,” I promised, ushering her to the first pizza on the counter and turning her over to Mom. “Take Levi?” I asked Naomi.
“Of course.” She took her son and smacked a kiss on his cheek.
Nixon stood off to the side, watching Mom help Ashley with her pizza.
“You okay?” I asked him quietly.
“Fine.” The answer was gruff as he jerked his gaze to the wall behind my head.
“Are you sure?” Something was off. Way off.
“I said I’m fine,” he snapped, just quiet enough that my family didn’t hear him.
“Four words,” I muttered. “Okay, then. Pizza?” Keep it professional. I needed my lines back. My borders. My defenses. The problem was that I didn’t want them—not when it came to Nixon. More specifically, I didn’t want to need them.
He nodded once, and we made our way through the kitchen-counter buffet. I snagged a piece of cheese and one with ham and pineapple.
“Admit it, Zoe, you miss Steve’s, don’t you?” Jeremiah asked with a hip check. “You might have all the pizza you want up there in Seattle, but it’s not Steve’s.”
“It’s not Steve’s,” I admitted. “You know I only come back for the pizza, right? You’re just a bonus.”
Jeremiah took two pieces of sausage ahead of me. “Yeah, why do you think I married your best friend. It was the only way I was guaranteed to get to see you.”
“Whatever.” I hip-checked him back, then headed for the table, Nixon coming up beside me.
He wasn’t just tense. He was guarded.
“So, you chose the clarinet?” Mom asked Ashley.
“Yep! I wanted the guitar, but Mrs. Caster said they don’t have guitars in band, which doesn’t make any sense.” Ashley shook her head as we rounded the end of the table.
“Well, I know Nixon plays guitar very well,” Mom whispered conspiratorially, tossing a wink at Nixon.
Ashley’s head whipped in our direction. “Yeah? Can you teach me to play?” Her eyes lit up.
Nixon’s plate hit the floor and shattered.
Every head swung his way.
I glanced briefly at the mess, but it was the horrified look on his face that kept my attention. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll clean it up.”
My family jumped into action, but Nixon didn’t move. His body was here, but he wasn’t—just like that time in the diner.
“Nixon?” I touched his arm.
He startled, then noticed the mess and dropped down to pick it up. “I’m so sorry.” He started to brush the broken shards of pottery into his hand.
“No!” I grasped his wrists. “Your hands.”
He slowly brought his gaze to mine, and the utter devastation there would have knocked me to the ground if I wasn’t already on it. He looked so lost that my heart physically hurt for him.
“Just give me a second,” I said softly, rising to my feet.
He followed my lead, and my father swept in with the broom.
“Dad, I can—”
“I’ve got it,” Dad assured me.
“Don’t you worry about a thing.” Mom tsked and joined in on the cleanup.
“I can’t be here,” Nixon whispered.
“Okay.”