Chapter 20 Pretty Dangerous

Chapter 20 Pretty Dangerous
Nikolai's Pov

I watch as she leaves, counting every step until the sound of her shoes fades completely down the hallway. The door swings shut behind her, and I stand there for a long moment, just breathing, just existing, just letting the silence fill the space she left behind.

Then the memory comes. Harsh. Unforgiving. The kind that doesn't ask permission before it plays.

It started as a crush. A genuine crush. The kind that makes you feel stupid and hopeful all at once. Magazine covers she'd do with her mother back when we were in high school, her smile wide and real, her eyes bright even on paper. Or the way she had her hair tied up in ponytails at events where I went with my parents, those sleek black dresses and her mother's hand on her shoulder.

At ten, Odessa Montgomery had started ice skating. A star at what she does best, gliding across the rink like she was born on ice. She kept it up, competition after competition, and I made sure I got tickets to watch her every single time. Front row if I could manage it. Mom had offered to just help me talk to her mother, to introduce us properly, but I felt like it'd ruin the fantasy. Or make her hate me rather than whatever soft feeling I was hoping for.

She's right. I am scared. So scared that I couldn't speak to her when I've known her for half my life, wondering if she even notices me in a crowd, if she ever once looked at the stands and saw the boy who never missed a performance.

Then the deal with the agency came. Straight to college, same campus, same hallways. I found her during our first year right after practice, she was speaking to her instructor about quitting ice skating, almost in tears as she stated that she had bigger responsibilities and her crappy grandfather asked her to drop it.

I wanted to comfort her more than I ever wanted anything. The image of her crying got stuck in my head throughout the whole day, replaying behind my eyes every time I blinked. Later that night, I picked up my phone and logged into my old Instagram account.

Nick Byrde.

A crappy burner account I used to chat with my video game friends back when I was too young to know better. I deleted the embarrassing posts and the cringey bio, then looked up her account. And like every other fan, I just sent a short message hoping to reassure her.

\[@nickbyrde:Hi, Odessa. Sorry if this is creepy but I'm pretty much a huge fan of yours and I've watched you on ice for years. I've heard a rumour that you're retiring and while I hope it isn't true, I also hope that you're okay. It's beautiful that you've contributed this much to the world, even more beautiful that you can chase even bigger dreams now. I'll always support you. Keep flying high.\]

It sounded so cringe when I read it back. So pathetic. But Hades had grabbed the phone out of my hand and clicked send before I could stop him.

After thirty minutes of hovering around my phone and cursing him out, pacing my room like a caged animal, she responded. A soft thank you and gratitude.

I asked how she was about the whole thing, the retirement, the pressure, the weight of it all. She ended up sharing about how hard it was, how her grandfather didn't care about her dreams, how she felt like she was drowning. Then she apologized right after for trauma dumping because she didn't have any friends.

I could feel my heart beating knowing that she trusted me. Even before she knew who I was. Like some sort of soulmate connection that didn't make sense but felt real anyway.

Not until I asked the dreadful question, hoping to tease who I was that night.

\[@nickbyrde:Wanted to check, the De Luca brothers are signed under your agency?\]

\[@odessamontgomery:Yes, They're really good players. Talented too.\]
My heart fluttered.

\[@nickbyrde:Really? You've met them?\]

\[@odessamontgomery:Just Hades and Rowan at my grandfather's birthday.\]

\[@nickbyrde: And Nikolai?\]

There was a pause. A long one.

\[@nickbyrde:He's cool, she finally wrote. Handsome too, like the rest of his brothers. But pretty dangerous. I've been reading through their records and honestly? I don't think signing him was a good idea.\]

My grip tightened around the phone as I sat up from the bed, the smile I had disappearing from my face.

\[@nickbyrde:Pretty dangerous?\]

\[@odessamontgomery:You've seen the tabloids? He's always getting into fights, beating up people, getting arrested and all of that. Regardless, he's a good player but I try to keep my distance from him. They attend my college actually. What college do you go to?\]

With shaky hands, I held my breath and let it flow. My eyes landed on the photo we took at Ireland during our last game, my face looking back at me from the screen.

\[@nickbyrde: It's really far, I don't think you'd know where it is.\]

\[@odessamontgomery:Come on, I'm sure it's not that far.\]

It's in Ireland.

I lean against the desk now, running my hands over my face, feeling the weight of every lie I ever told her. Every conversation we had while I pretended to be someone else. Someone she could trust. Someone who wasn't the dangerous De Luca brother she kept her distance from.

She still doesn't know. After all this time, all these messages, she still has no idea that Nick Byrde and Nikolai De Luca are the same person.

And I don't know how to tell her.
"Well, she's right," Matteo, my wolf, growls from somewhere deep in my chest. His voice is rough, disappointed, like a father scolding a son who should know better. "You've always been so scared when it comes to her. It's why you've punished her all these years."

"I didn't exactly punish her." I groan, rising from the bench to start packing up my things in my bag. My hands move automatically, shoving papers into folders, zipping compartments, anything to keep busy. "You know she was never going to talk to me anyway."

Rowan's entering that show. Whatever this is, she's clearly into him, and I think it's good that way. He's the safe one, the steady one, the brother who doesn't have a rap sheet or a reputation for violence. I'm not fighting my brother for a girl who already made it clear she wants nothing to do with me.

"Rowan didn't consider that when he accommodated her, Nikolai." Matteo's voice is sharper now. "You think it's really about brotherhood, or you're just scared?"

"I'm not scared."

"Then prove it. Go after her." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "So what if she rejects you again? It's better than hiding behind that account."

I don't know when he got a conscience, but he's right. Even Nick Byrde has more guts than I have. Nick says the things I can't say, asks the questions I'm too afraid to ask, comforts her when I'm busy pushing her away.

I need to get into that show. Stop bullying her and stop hurting her, I need to get my act together before I ruin any chance I might have left.

I pull out my phone from the drawer and log out of the account, watching the screen flicker back to my main profile. Nick Byrde disappears into the digital void, and for a moment, I feel lighter. I grab my bag and swing it over my shoulders, my keys jingling in my hand, as I dial the number of the florist I've oddly become friends with over the past few years.

"A thousand lavender tulips?" The woman on the other end sounds surprised but not questioning.

"Yes." I unlock my car and slide into the driver's seat. "And add a card as usual. I want it there by morning." I heave a breath, my heart pounding like I'm a fourteen year old boy again, watching Odessa skate from the stands.

"Okay, Sir." There's a pause, the sound of a pen scratching against paper. "What should it say?"

Darn it. I don't know what to say. My mind is blank, completely empty, like every word I've ever known just evaporated.

"Just be honest," Matteo hisses.

I close my eyes and let the words come.

"I know this doesn't count as anything compared to what I've put you through, but this is probably the first peace offering as your thesis partner. I'm sorry for making you cry all these years and tormenting you. I have no excuse, Tesoro. See you at the gala."

The florist hums approvingly as she writes it down. "Okay... I've got it. That's really sweet." There's another pause. "Should I sign it off as NB?"

"No." I grip the steering wheel tighter. "Nikolai. Nikolai De Luca."

No more hiding. No more fake accounts. No more pretending to be someone else just to have a conversation with her.

Whatever happens at that gala, whatever happens on that show, at least she'll know the truth.

At least she'll know it was me.