And then what? I was supposed to live across the street from the guy who caved my heart in? Because—I already knew it—I was attached. Andrew meant more to me than anyone else ever had. I didn’t want to think about him dumping me.
“Does he know what you do for a living?” Nick asked as I put my groceries on the checkout belt.
Nick had Googled me, obviously. “Of course he does,” I said. “And he likes it.”
“I’ll bet,” Nick said.
I rolled my eyes. “Shame me if you want, but I happen to know you don’t have a job, either. And you never have. You’re even more useless than I am.”
“You model lingerie for a living,” he growled.
I didn’t, actually. Not anymore. I wasn’t going to take any more modeling gigs, even if they came my way, and sitting on the passenger seat of my car was the stack of papers I had to go through to apply for nursing school. I was going to do something useful, even if Andrew’s brother—and mother—thought I was a tramp. “So what?” I said to Nick.
“If Andrew is going to find someone, then he needs to find someone nice,” Nick said. “Someone who cares for him. Someone… I don’t know, selfless and giving or something. Someone who will put him first.”
I paid for the groceries and picked up my bags. Nick stepped forward to take some of them—so he wasn’t completely without manners—but I snatched them out of his hands and walked away.
I was stung. No, more than that—I was hurt. I wasn’t selfless and giving? I wasn’t nice?
And in the back of my mind was a little voice:He’s right. Andrew deserves someone better than you.
“Okay,” Nick said as he followed me across the hot parking lot. “I shouldn’t have shit on your choice of job.”
“Fuck you,” I said without looking back at him. “Some of us have to make a living, and we do it however we can.”
“Fine. You’re right. I know I can be an asshole. Believe it or not, I’m the nice brother.”
“I can’t believe someone actually married you.”
“Neither can I.”
That was kind of funny, but I was still mad. I beeped open my car and opened the hatchback, shoving grocery bags in. “Andrew told me about the suicide attempts,” I said.
“Jesus Christ. He did?”
“Yes.” In a way I could see why Nick was acting like a flu virus. He’d been with Andrew through all of the worst times and nearly lost him. If it were me who worried about Andrew day and night and some bra-model hussy came along, waving her boobs at him, I’d scratch her eyes out and I wouldn’t think twice.
“He never talks to anyone about that,” Nick said.
“I know. That’s because he never talks to people. Which isn’t exactly good for him, by the way.”
“I know.” Nick ran a hand through his hair. It was nice hair; it was a nice hand. Nick’s wife probably had to wipe up her drool every time she looked at him, even though he was a jerk. “I’m trying to get him to come with me to the comics convention in Detroit, but he refuses to go.”
I tossed in the last bag of groceries and looked at him. It was my turn to be surprised. “He didn’t tell me about that.”
“That’s because he’s being his dumbass self and won’t even consider it. They want us as guests on a panel and to sign comics for readers. It would be fucking amazing, but he won’t go.”
I could see that. A convention venue, crowds, a hotel—Andrew would hate all of those things. Still, I thought it over. “He should go,” I said.
“I agree, and so do his doctor and his therapist.”
I felt my jaw drop. “You talk to his doctors?”
“What do you think?” Nick said. “We’ve been crossing paths for seven years. His physiotherapist and his wellness therapist, too. They don’t tell me anything confidential, but we all know each other, and we all talk. Even though he’s an asshole, he’s still everyone’s favorite patient. They’d walk over broken glass for him.”
“Really?” I said. “So I’m not the only one. I’ve had a crush on him since day one. Like, bad.”
Nick sighed. “It doesn’t matter how fucked up he is, that’s the effect Andrew has on people. I’m used to it. Everyone who gets to know him goes nuts for him. And he doesn’t even notice, which makes it worse.”