Almost Everything (Nickayla Quinn Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  “This is amazing, Colin. Thank you.” I cut off a piece of the sausage, and feed it to him. “What time did you get up to do all of this?”

  “I woke up at like 7? I had some things to finish before I made your breakfast.”

  The sounds of the fork scraping are silenced as I chew my food slowly and gaze at my boyfriend skeptically. “What’d you have to finish?”

  He pauses, taking a sip of my coffee and peering at me over the top of the cup. His green eyes still have the ability to drop my stomach to my toes. We’ve been together for almost a year and I’m just as in love with him as I’ve always been.

  “Your secret room,” he says, simply.

  I drop my fork onto my plate and cock my head to the side. “Seriously? It’s done?”

  He nods, and I grab my tray of food, setting it on the bedside table next to my coffee cup, tossing the blankets off and hopping out of bed.

  About four months ago, right before the new school year started, Susanna made the decision to move back in with her parents. She had no choice really. They threatened to take Colin to court for “kidnapping” if she didn’t move back in with them, so she did what they asked and went quietly, just to make things easier on her brother.

  When she moved out, we had an extra bedroom in the apartment. Rather than rent it out, Colin insisted that he had a plan for it, and I wasn’t allowed to enter the room until he gave me permission.

  For the past three months, Colin, my brothers, and Brody have worked in that room every day after school until the sun went down, and I’m pretty much at my wit’s end with waiting to see what was inside.

  “Take me to it.” It isn’t an offer or a question. I’m not normally a patient person, and Colin has tested my patience with this surprise. If it’s done, I’m not going to wait another second to see what he has in store for me. “Come on.”

  Colin stands up and opens the top drawer of our dresser, pulling a scarf out of it and holding it out in his hand.

  What the Hell? He wants to blindfold me? No way. “No.”

  “Nickayla, come on. Cooperate.”

  I roll my eyes and stand up, my back to his chest as he brings his hands in front of my face and puts the blindfold over my eyes. He ties the scarf beneath my ponytail, then releases his hands.

  “Where are you?” I ask, placing my hands in front of me. “Colin!”

  He grabs my hand in one of his, and his other arm snakes around my waist, leading me out of the room I suppose. “Walk, please. I really think you’re going to like this. And no peeking.”

  I roll my eyes as he leads me forward, and then we turn right. All the while, his arms remain around me.

  “Colin, honestly!” I exclaim. “My stuff has been unpacked in the apartment for months now and every day, you’re working on this ‘secret room’, and I just wanna see it already! Is this blindfold really necessary?”

  I hold my hand out to my side as he guides me through our apartment. He chuckles lightly from beside me, then he laces his arm around my waist as I hear him fumbling with a set of keys.

  Oh, honestly. I’m not that curious about what lies in that secret room of his that I’d go in there without his permission. Keeping it under lock and key is hardly necessary.

  “Yes, it is,” Colin says, his rugged voice sending shivers down my spine. “I want you to get the full experience of the surprise. Brody, Nikkolas, Nathan, and I worked very hard on this for you for three months. I want it to hit you like a wrecking ball how much I just love you. I slaved over this project for what feels like forever!”

  I giggle, feeling for the door frame when I hear the door open.

  “Yeah, you ‘slaved’ alright,” I say, “just like I slaved over a hot stove cooking for you boys every night and bringing you lemonade and staying up late coming up with hare-brained schemes about how to get inside that blasted room. We’ve both been slaving, so let me in, Westwick!”

  He pulls carefully at the blindfold behind my head, then slides it off. I open my eyes gingerly, gasping involuntarily as I take in the sight before me.

  “Welcome,” he says, “to your girl-cave.”

  The entire room is lined with bookshelves, and they’re filled from floor to ceiling with more books than I’ve ever hoped to read, let alone own. Colin and my brothers have turned the closet into a book/writing nook. A small, thin mattress has been positioned on a wooden bench, and my laptop is on a shelf along with all my leather journals and a cup full of pens.

  Posters with quotes are on the sides of the bookshelves, and a picture of the two of us at prom sits on a desk that looks out toward the window to a beautiful scenery.

  “Colin,” I whisper. “This is…amazing. I can’t believe you’ve done this—all of this—for me. Thank you!” I walk into the closet—oops, book nook—and pat the mattress with excitement. “Look, babe, at night, after dinner, we can eat dessert and I can read to you in here. And then, in the morning, when creativity strikes and you’re not awake yet, I can come in here and keep from disturbing you at all! Oh, this is perfect!”

  Colin’s standing just outside the closet, hands braced on the door frame. He’s grinning down at me and I get on my knees, crawling over to him and wrapping my arms around his neck. I pull him toward me and I kiss him on the lips, pulling him onto the bed. We topple backward, a giggle erupting from my mouth.

  He holds himself up by his forearms, directly above me. His hair falls into his eyes as he leans forward and his lips descend upon mine, taking my heart and immediately sending it into overdrive.

  “So you like it?” he asks.

  I nod, grinning as I kiss him. “Babe, I love it. I love it so much. And I love you. This is amazing, Colin.” I wrap my arms around his waist, bringing them around his back and pulling him toward me. “I still have to give you your anniversary present.”

  The left side of his mouth turns up in my favorite crooked smile, and Colin's fair skin flushes a deep red as he registers my words. I know that he hates gifts, especially coming from me, but there’s no way I could skip our anniversary.

  “You know you didn't have to get me anything, Nickayla.” There’s a hint of laughter and playfulness in his tone, so I can tell that he doesn't really mind.

  “Well, that's the kicker. I didn't really get you anything. I kind of...I made you something.”

  His eyes widen, and I can practically see the wheels turning. The last time that I made him a gift, it was on his eighteenth birthday, and I gave him a small mason jar with about a thousand tiny scraps of paper folded up. On each piece of paper, I scribbled a favorite memory, a quote or song lyric that reminded me of him, a reason that I loved him, or a small stanza from a poem that I'd written about him. I wanted him to be able to reach into that jar any time that he was feeling down, or just needed to be reassured of how I felt about him if we were in the middle of a fight, or just because he wanted to feel closer to me. I don't know. It felt like the perfect gift to give him.

  “Let's go,” Colin says, his eyes alight.

  I shake my head, reaching behind his head and grasping a large lock of his hair. I pull him so that he’s only inches away from my face. “Not yet.”

  I raise an eyebrow and reach for the drawstring of his sweatpants. I plant a kiss on his neck and begin to pull down on his pants when he sucks in a sharp breath.

  His eyes narrow and he shakes his head as he registers what I’m saying. He continues shaking his head frantically until finally, he reaches behind his head and removes my hand from his hair. He sits back against the wall beside him and draws his knees up. His head drops between his knees, and he lets out an exasperated sigh.

  I cringe outwardly, unable to hide the fact that I’m a little wounded by the fact that he’s pulling away. Again.

  Any normal girl would take his withdrawal as an act of rejection, but I know better.

  Right before Suze moved out, Colin arranged for us to go out of town for the weekend as an impromptu romantic getaway. When he initially
told me about that surprise, I took the lingerie that Mich had bought me back in Big Springs and packed it in my suitcase, ready and willing to give myself to Colin in the only way that I hadn't yet. I didn't tell him my plans beforehand because I knew that he would try to talk me out of it.

  It wasn't that he didn't want to have sex with me. In fact, he openly expressed that that wasn't it. I know that without him even having to explain.

  No, he wanted me more than he'd ever wanted anything else in his entire life, but he’s adamant on not pressuring me.

  When we got to a small bed and breakfast right outside of Harlow, he adorned our room with flower petals and candles, and our song, Wanted by Hunter Hayes played in the background, adding to the romantic ambiance. He called for room service, and while he was doing that, I escaped to the bathroom to change into my negligee. When I came out, baring myself and my soul to him, Colin had all but leapt at the chance to finally take that step with me. Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple.

  We got as far as taking all his clothes off and slipping the lingerie over my head when I started to freak. My anxiety took over, despite the fact that I'd finally accepted Colin's advice and began to take medication for it. I was a bundle of flailing limbs and tears as Colin tried in vain to comfort me and love me past my demons, but I wasn't having any of it. I couldn't be comforted.

  Ever since then, if I even try to give myself to him, he won't let me.

  “Nickayla, come here,” Colin says after a few moments of silence on his part. He opens his legs and, taking a deep breath, I gather my pride and scramble over to him. I sit between his legs, my back to his chest, and Colin wraps his arms around me from behind, sighing in my ear. “You know I love you. And you know I want what you want to give me. But you're not ready. The last time we tried this, you didn't speak to me for an entire twenty-four hours. I could see the fear in your eyes when your clothes—or lack thereof—started coming off, and I will never be the one to put that fear in your eyes again, do you understand me? You want this so bad, you're not even thinking about yourself, but I have to be considerate enough for the both of us. I don't want you to be afraid of me, baby.”

  I shake my head, a bit taken aback by his words. “I wasn't afraid of you!”

  “Yeah, tell that to my heart. I had to watch you sob, inconsolably for nearly five hours before you finally fell asleep, and when you saw me in the morning, you still didn't speak to me. Whether you admit it or not, you were afraid. And I don't want you to be. So for now, my answer is no.” He sighs, lowering his head and planting a kiss on my shoulder. “When you're really ready, you'll know. And when you know, I'll know, and we'll do it the right way. Okay?”

  I nod. Part of me is still dissatisfied with his response, but I know there’s no dissuading him. Instead of pressing the argument further, I just lean my head back and look up at him. His expression is grim, and I can tell that I’ve upset him, and I don't want that.

  I stand up wordlessly, not bothering to look back at him. I pad down the halls of our apartment barefooted until I reach the living room. There, in the corner of our living room, propped up against the reclining armchair that overlooked the grass and garden below, is Colin's old Gibson acoustic guitar. I waltz over to it and grab it, taking it with me back to my girl cave.

  Colin is still sitting where I'd left him, in the same exact position as though I never left in the first place, reminiscent of a zombie. When I stand in the doorway of the writing nook, his head jerks in my direction, and I climb back in. He opens his arms for me, and I nestle myself where I was before. I take one of his hands and place it on the fret, and I place his pick in the other hand, then lean my head backward against his chest.

  “Play a song for me.”

  If writing is my safe haven, my happy place, where I can escape to when the going got tough, music is Colin's.

  He doesn't speak; instead, he exhales a sigh of relief and before I know it, the soft, soothing melody fills the tiny space, and the sound of Colin's hum meets my ears. I close my eyes, wondering where I've heard the song before.

  I rest my hands atop his knees and let him play, listening intently as he pours his heart and soul into every single note. Even when he messes up on one note, he just continues playing until it’s a seamless stream of hopes and wishes and mistakes all rolled into one. Soon enough, his raspy voice rings out low and clear, singing a love song about how he can't find his words and everything that he wants to say, he wants to say with no sound.

  I sigh, knowing that this is the best way for him to communicate. When he can't say what’s truly on his mind and in his heart, he sings it for me.

  I break through the melody and look up at him. He glances down at me, his emerald eyes shining bright as he cracks a smile—finally.

  “What's the name of that song?” I ask.

  He continues strumming, slower this time. “Good To You. Michie lent me her Marianas Trench album, and I couldn't get this song out of my head.” He stops playing the guitar and set it aside, wrapping his arms around my middle. “Actually, your favorite singer, that Kate girl, she sings part of the song, too. It's a duet.”

  My eyebrows raise involuntarily in surprise. “Really? I need to borrow that CD, then.”

  Colin chuckles, adorning my neck with a succession of kisses. “Yeah, well, you better not scratch it. It took twenty minutes to get Michele to hand that blasted CD over, and when she finally did, she kept rattling on about how if I fucked it up, I had to buy her a new copy, and it doesn't come cheap. Something about having to pay extra because they're imports from Canada?”

  Suddenly, realization dawns. Ever since freshman year, Michele’s been going on and on about this amazing emo band from Canada called Marianas Trench, and how she'd dump Brody and drop her panties in a quick second if Josh Ramsey came a-calling.

  I laugh, recalling the way that it took until the end of sophomore year for her to finally stop talking about them, and then when she did, they released another album, and she'd yapped my ear off all over again.

  “Oh, God. Good luck with that one. Mich is never going to stop talking to you now that you actually like a song by her favorite band. You're officially best friends—for life!” I make a face of mock-horror, nudging him with my shoulder.

  He lightly runs his fingers up my side, and I giggle, smacking his hand away playfully. I lean forward, trying to squirm away from him.

  “Stop! Please!” I giggle uncontrollably, unable to get him to cease his attack. I loathe being tickled. It’s the worst thing in the world. “Babe, stop!”

  Colin chuckles darkly in my ear, kissing my jaw. I push my hair, which is curly still and in my face after his tickle attack, out of my face.

  “Fine, I cease fire,” he jokes, leaning forward and kissing the top of my head. “I love you.”

  I grin, unable to hide the fact that those three words still completely knocks the wind out of me. I take a deep breath and then close my eyes. “I just love you.”

  Within seconds, his hands are on my upper arms, pulling me backward and squeezing me tightly. He holds me that way for a long time, and then his lips are at my ear. His breathing is shallow and erratic, and I wonder idly if he’s having an anxiety attack right this second. But then, he breaks the silence and whispers, “I wish you knew what those words could do to my heart, Nickayla.”

  Silently swooning, I lift a hand to the side of his face and caressed it. “I've got some idea.”

  Four.

  We stayed in my girl cave for almost three hours. I’m well aware of the fact the room he designed for me isn't the only gift he has for me today. If I learned anything about Colin Westwick in the past year, it’s that he doesn't do anything half-ass. He’s over the top in every aspect of our relationship. My birthday alone had been celebrated with a midnight serenade and a series of gifts that I received throughout the day. Even despite the fact that I objected after Valentine's Day was celebrated with a private dinner at Little Sicily and a private concert by
Requiem, a local band in town, I knew that this anniversary would be even bigger than both those special occasions put together.

  I know that I’m right when Colin tells me to get dressed at five pm and insists that I dress up for reservations at Le Chateau D'If. Honestly, I should have expected that only Colin could somehow pull strings to get us reservations at a restaurant that hasn't even officially opened yet.

  I decided on a simple white dress that stops below my knees and a pair of navy blue pair of platform heels. My hair’s swept to the side thanks to a French braid, and my layered curls are draping over my shoulder. It wasn’t long after I finished doing my makeup that Colin began knocking on the door to my girl cave and telling me that our reservations are in an hour.

  Now, we’re pulling into the parking lot of Le Chateau D’If and Colin’s squeezing my hand tightly. I can tell that he’s nervous, he’s wound up, he’s not sure about how I’ll react to whatever surprise he’s got waiting for me.

  We drive to the front of the restaurant, and my door is opened gently. The valet takes my hand and helps me out of the car, and I flash a grimace at Colin who knows how much I hate that. I get to my feet and hold my clutch against my side as Colin hands the valet his car keys.

  “We haven’t even gotten inside and already I think you’ve outdone yourself,” I tell Colin when he comes up beside me and places his hand at the small of my back. “I officially hate you.”

  Colin smirks, tucking me into his side and squeezing my hip. “You could never hate me.”

  “You wanna bet?”

  He shakes his head as if me hating him is the most absurd notion in the entire world. He holds the door open for me and I walk in ahead of him, ready to ask the maître d for our table. Once I’m in, though, Colin walks up to the podium and smiles.

  “Westwick for two.” He speaks like he’s always made reservations at a restaurant that hasn’t even opened yet.