Things We Hide from the Light: Chapter 26

Nash Morgan no longer existed to me.

That was the mantra I chanted as I powered my way through the last set of back squats. I could focus entirely on my workout and not the sweat-slicked chief of police who, from the tingle at the base of my spine, hadn’t stopped glaring at me since he got here.

The physical pull of the man was overwhelming and quite frankly pissed me the hell off.

“Drop that booty lower,” Vernon barked, bringing me back to my present suffering.

“You…drop…your…booty,” I wheezed as I dug deep, preparing to exploit the last remaining molecules of energy in my legs.

“Bring it home, Solavita,” Nolan called from the weight bench behind me. Apparently he and Nash had reached some sort of peace accord and were working out together now.

I managed to raise both middle fingers off the bar and then muscle my way back to standing.

The whoops of approval from my elderly workout buddies echoed in my ears as I parked the bar back on the rack and hinged at the waist to catch my breath.

Unfortunately, I forgot to close my eyes and caught a glimpse of the Man Who Didn’t Exist full-on staring hungrily at my ass.

Knox, sweaty and grumpy from his morning workout, walked up to his brother, noticed the direction of Nash’s gaze, and slammed an elbow into his gut.

They both had fading bruises on their faces, but I was so over Nash, I had zero interest in finding out what happened.

Okay, maybe, like, ten percent interest. Fine. Forty percent tops.

Not that I’d ask either one of them. Knox and I had maintained our tentative truce as long as neither of us brought up Nash. And Nash seemed to have finally gotten the message that he didn’t exist. After three days of me refusing to answer my door or my phone, he’d stopped knocking and calling.

It was better this way. We’d proved on multiple occasions that we couldn’t be trusted in any kind of proximity to each other.

It wasn’t cowardly of me to time my own comings and goings to make sure we didn’t run into each other on the stairs. I was not a big, giant chicken for tiptoeing past his door. For once, I was making the safe, smart decision.

I straightened and took a long hit from my water bottle, pretending I couldn’t physically feel Nash’s attention on me.

Just like I chose to ignore the low-level buzz of awareness that sparked in my veins when I knew he was next door, only one wall away.

Well, I still found myself straining to hear the sound of his shower.

But I was only human, okay?

I was committed to the new and improved, healthier, slightly more boring but definitely in a better head space Lina. I’d cut back on caffeine and alcohol, upped my vegetables, and was on a four-day meditation streak. My PVCs had stopped for the most part. And now there was nothing else distracting me from the investigation.

I’d left three more messages on Grim’s weird answering service but had yet to get a response.

Thankfully, my research team had come through for me. Morgan managed to work her nerd magic and identify the two henchmen from Tina’s vague descriptions. Face Tattoo Guy was Stewie Crabb, a two-time felon with a dagger tattooed under his left eye. Chubby Goatee was Wendell Baker, a beefy white guy with a shaved head and a Fu Manchu mustache that connected to a goatee. He had only done time once for an assault charge.

Both had been in Anthony Hugo’s employ since they were teenagers thanks to their friendship with Duncan. Morgan hadn’t had any luck identifying the mysterious Burner Phone Guy yet, but at least I had leads on Crabb and Baker.

I’d set aside my property search in favor of surveillance. Unfortunately for me, watching low-level criminal henchmen who knew the feds were probably keeping an eye on them mostly involved sitting in a lot of strip club parking lots.

“Nice job,” Stef wheezed. His T-shirt was soaked from neck to hem and his black hair was spiked down the middle in a sweaty faux hawk.

“Thanks,” I said, sucking down more water. “I keep waiting for it to get easier, but every time I still feel like I’m going to die.”

Stef grunted.

“So are you ever going to tell me how your date went Sunday after you abandoned me with the tipsy twins?”

He closed his eyes and doused himself with water, but I still caught the curve of his lips.

“It was…fine.”

“Fine?” I repeated.

“Nice.” The curve was becoming more pronounced despite his best efforts. “I didn’t have a horrible time.”

I elbowed him. “You liiiiiike him. You wanna make ooooout with him.”

“Don’t be a third grader.”

“Did you end up in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g?” I teased.

“He did the hand on the lower back thing when we walked into the restaurant.”

“That’s hot.”

“So hot,” he said, taking a swig of water. The ghost of a smile still played on his mouth.

“Are you going to see him again?”

“Maybe,” he said smugly.

“So that little barstool therapy session was actually meant for you, not me.”

Stef shot the scowling police chief a glance. “I figured one of us had to man up and take the leap.”

“Excuse me, jerk. The man pulled me over, yelled at me, and gave me a speeding ticket for doing my job.”

“I’m sure you were driving the speed limit.”

“That’s not the point.”

Stef looked at Nash again, then back to me. He smirked. “Like it or not, there’s something volcanic between you two. And I can’t wait to see which one of you explodes first.”

“You went on one date. You don’t get to pull the smug committed relationship thing on me.”

“Two dates. We had lunch yesterday. I’d love to stay here while you pretend you aren’t dying to get in Nash Morgan’s pants, but I’m meeting Jer for coffee. Don’t fight it too long. You might miss out on something pretty great.”

“Bite me, heart eyes.”

He headed off to the locker room and left me brooding by myself.

“Yo, BFFF!” Mrs. Tweedy sauntered up to me, a sweat towel slung around her neck. “Your face looks better.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly. My black eye was slowly fading to a sickly yellow green. In a few more days, I wouldn’t have to cover it with makeup anymore.

“You’re takin’ me grocery shopping today,” Mrs. Tweedy announced.

“I am?”

“Yep! Be ready in ten.” She slid the towel off her neck and snapped me in the butt with it.

Rubbing my abused ass cheek, I gathered my things. It was a good thing bad guys didn’t bother getting out of bed before noon, I supposed.

“Lina.” Nolan gave a head jerk, signaling for me to swing by.

I gave Nash a wide berth and joined Nolan in front of the mirror.

“What’s up?”

Nash walked past me to rerack his dumbbells, and I felt the disturbance of his proximity.

Our eyes met in the mirror and I deliberately looked away, not wanting to see what those troubled blue eyes held.

“Wanna go for a drink tonight after I put the kid to bed?” He hooked his thumb in Nash’s direction.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether a drink is just a drink, seeing as how you just took my friend on a date.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not trying to get in your pants, Solavita.”

A drink with a friend who was a guy sounded like the only kind of social interaction I was up for. That meant no talking about feelings. No dealing with sexual tension. And no drunken gal pals to babysit.

“Then I’ll see you tonight.”

“It’s a date,” he said, then smirked.

“You’re such an ass,” I said with affection.

The temperature in the gym suddenly dropped twenty degrees. I realized that it wasn’t a problem with the HVAC. It was Nash standing next to me. We didn’t look at each other, didn’t touch, but my brain was sending out danger warnings like I’d just stumbled into the gorilla enclosure at the zoo.

“You gonna work something besides that mouth today?” he asked Nolan.

“Look, pal. You don’t need to get all pissy because I kicked your ass in the shoulder press,” Nolan said.

I had better things to do with my time than watch a bromance bloom. Like take an elderly bodybuilder to the grocery store.

“I’ll see you around,” I said to Nolan, pointedly ignoring Nash.

I made it all the way to the water fountain before I again felt the dark presence of Chief Nashhole. “You can’t ignore me forever,” he said, stepping in front of me. I stopped short so as not to plow into his sweaty chest. I couldn’t afford the fantasies.

“I don’t have to ignore you forever,” I said sweetly. “Once I wrap this investigation, we’ll never have to see each other again.”

“What about the wedding?”

Crap. The wedding.

“I can’t speak for you, but I’m an adult. Just because the sight of you makes me want to hit you in the face with a folding chair doesn’t mean I can’t pretend to tolerate you for one day.”

He bared his teeth and I wondered if I imagined the low, dangerous growl. “You just keep pushing my buttons.”

“And you just keep pissing me off.” The stare down lasted a good thirty seconds before I finally asked, “What happened to your face?”

“It ran into my fists. Repeatedly,” Knox said as he stomped past us on his way to the water fountain.

“Seriously? When are you two gonna outgrow that?”

“Never,” they said together.

I didn’t know which one of us had edged closer, but Nash and I were now standing toe-to-toe. I was close enough to reach out and trail my fingers over his sweaty torso, a thought that should have been revolting. But of course it wasn’t. I was starting to think there was something very, very wrong with me.

“We need to talk,” Nash said. His glare was giving me a sunburn.

“Sorry, Chief. I’m all talked out. You’re just going to have to find someone else to piss off.”

“Goddammit, Angelina.”

This time I very definitely did not imagine the growl. Or the hot, hard hand that splayed across my stomach and backed me into the dark, empty studio. It smelled like sweat and industrial disinfectant.

“What are you doing?” I hissed as he shut the door behind him and stood in front of it.

There were weapons in here, five-pound dumbbells and large exercise balls. Both could be bounced off thick skulls.

“Stop giving me the cold shoulder,” he ordered.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting but it sure as hell hadn’t been that. I was definitely going for the dumbbells.

Temper burned like fire under my skin. “You have two options. Cold shoulder or hellfire. And let me tell you, Chief, I would be so happy if you chose hellfire.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” he demanded. “You take advantage of my trust, betray me, and I’m just supposed to be fine with it?”

This time, it was me who closed the distance between us. “Are you even listening to yourself? I took advantage of you? I betrayed you? We barely know each other. Certainly not well enough for me to do either of those things. And much as it pains me to admit, you’re not dumb enough to let someone you just met take advantage of you. You came with that baggage packed and you were itching to unload it on me. Well, guess what, assface? I was more honest with you than I had been with anybody and you made me immediately regret it.”

I slapped a hand to his sweaty chest and gave a shove. He didn’t budge. Not even an inch. But his hand clamped over my wrist and then he was yanking me into him.

He was a wall of heat and muscle and anger. My own fury melded with his and everything went molten inside me.

“I hate how much I still want to be near you.” His voice was a low, angry rasp, like the bite of gravel on bare feet. Just what every girl dreamed of hearing.

“And I hate that I ever opened up to you,” I hissed.

It was the truth. I hated that I’d shared any part of myself with him. That he now owned a piece of my story. One that I hadn’t trusted anyone with in a very long time. I hated that as angry as I was, as hurt as I was, I still just wanted him to touch me. It was like my lactose-intolerant roommate in college who had a toxic relationship with cheesecake.

We were both panting, breathing the same air, inhaling the same anger, fueling the same blaze. The music and cacophony of gym sounds seemed so far away.

I wanted to punch him. To kiss him. To bite his lip until he lost control.

He dipped his head, then stopped just shy of my mouth, his nose brushing my cheek.

His hands circled my biceps and slid all the way down to my wrists. “Then why does it feel so right to touch you?” he rasped.

I almost melted against him. Almost threw every principle out the window and jumped into his spiteful arms. I didn’t understand it any better than he did. There was a flaw in my DNA that made his touch feel like home.

My heart was pounding against my ribs. Fight or flight. I wanted to choose fight. I wanted to give myself over to the anger and let it come spilling out. I wanted to see what would happen if we erupted together.

But that wasn’t who I wanted to be anymore.

As much as my body wanted the seething, angry man before me, my head knew it was a mistake.

“Stay away from me, Nash,” I said, mustering the frost of Antarctica in my tone.

“I’ve tried.” The admission was like an illicit caress.

“Try harder.” I yanked my hands free. In a moment of petty spite that felt damn good, I shoulder checked him on my way out the door.

“Couldn’t help but notice you and Nash haven’t been enjoying any sleepovers lately,” Mrs. Tweedy announced as she tossed a box of wine into the cart next to the value pack of canned tuna and the baker’s dozen of almost expired donuts.

You could tell a lot about a person by the contents of their grocery cart. Mrs. Tweedy’s cart screamed “chaos.”

“You certainly see a lot from that peephole,” I said. I was still feeling hot, bothered, and ragey from my run-in with Nash at the gym. I wasn’t sure five minutes in the ice cream freezer would be enough to cool me off.

“Don’t dodge me. My nose is already fully invested in your business. Y’all stand next to each other in a room and suddenly it feels like something’s about to explode. In a sexy way.” She added a six-pack of light beer to her grocery haul.

“Yeah, well. We’re not the kind of people who should even dabble at being together,” I said. We couldn’t even stand next to each other without it spiraling out of control.

The physical draw I felt to Nash was like a gravitational field. Inevitable. It had the power to overcome all the very excellent reasons why I should stay away from him, the number one reason being he was an order-giving, emotionally damaged dick.

“What’s not to like? He’s got a good head on his shoulders, he can shoot like a cowboy, he rescues dogs, and he’s got a butt that don’t quit in those uniform pants. My pal Gladys drops her purse every time she sees him just so he’ll bend down to pick it up.”

“He also sees everything in black and white, acts like he has the right to tell me what to do, and manhandles me.”

“I know this is not politically correct, but I love me a good consensual manhandling,” Mrs. Tweedy said with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Okay, I didn’t hate it either. If anyone other than Nash had dragged me into that room at the gym, they’d be breathing through a straw in the waiting room of a plastic surgeon. But I didn’t feel like thinking about that. Instead, I grabbed a jar of peanut butter and threw it into the cart.

“He’s also got that whole broody thing going right now. Like the man’s got storm clouds in his head and he’s just lookin’ for a little sunshine.”

“Yeah, well, he can go find his vitamin D someplace else.”

And so would I. Ha. Solid inner monologue dick joke.

My elderly shopping partner tut-tutted. “Two people who keep gettin’ drawn together like magnets can’t be wrong. It’s a law of nature.”

“Nature made a mistake this time around,” I assured her and added a carton of sparkling water to our cart.

Mrs. Tweedy shook her head. “You’re looking at it all wrong. Sometimes the body recognizes what the head and heart are too stupid to see. That right there is real truth. The body don’t lie. Huh. Maybe I should put that on a bumper sticker?” she mused.

“I’d much rather trust my head than my body.” Especially since my body seemed to be set on self-destruct mode. I’d never been so attracted to a man so infuriating before.

It was disorienting, frustrating, and borderline sadomasochistic. Yet another sign that I needed to commit to changing my ways. That was the message the universe was sending me, not Hey, here’s a hot guy. Get naked with him and everything will work out.

Mrs. Tweedy snorted indelicately. “If I had your body, I’d be listening to every damn thing it said.”

“I seem to recall your body kicking my body’s ass at the gym half an hour ago,” I reminded her.

She fluffed her hair as we turned into the cereal aisle. “I do look pretty good for my age.”

There was a man at the opposite end of the aisle pushing a cart in our direction.

“If you’re dead set against Nash, how about I reel this one in for you?” Mrs. Tweedy offered.

He was a buff-looking guy in his thirties with glasses and short, dark hair.

“Don’t you dare,” I whispered out of the side of my mouth.

But it was too late. Mrs. Tweedy came to a halt in front of the marshmallow and cartoon character cereal section and made a show of stretching for the top shelf. A shelf I could have easily reached.

“Excuse me, young man. Would you mind fetching me a box of Marshmallow Munchies?” Mrs. Tweedy asked, batting her lashes at him.

I pretended to be fascinated by the lack of nutritional value in a box of Sparkle Pinkie O’s.

“No problem, ma’am,” he said.

“That is so sweet of you,” she said. “Isn’t that sweet, Lina?”

“Very,” I said through clenched teeth.

The man grabbed the box and flashed me a knowing grin.

He was close to a foot and a half taller than Mrs. Tweedy. Up close, he looked like an accountant who went to the gym a lot. According to his cart, Big Guy looked like he took his nutrition seriously. He had a rotisserie chicken, all the fixings for a couple of salads, a six-pack of protein shakes, and…a large bag of gummy candy. Well, no one was perfect.

“Are you married?” Mrs. Tweedy demanded.

“No, ma’am,” he said.

“What a coincidence. Neither is my neighbor Lina,” she said, giving me a shove forward.

“Okay, Mrs. Tweedy. Let’s leave the nice man with the long arms alone,” I said.

“Party pooper,” she muttered.

“Sorry,” I mouthed to the man as I dragged my meddling neighbor and our cart down the aisle.

“Happens all the time,” he said with a wink.

“Is there something wrong with your libido?” Mrs. Tweedy demanded when we were probably still within earshot.

I thought of waking up with Nash with his hard-on between my legs. “Very definitely. Now, come on. I need to stick my head in the ice cream cooler.”