Page 45

He rocked back in relief, letting out an exhale. “Thank fuck.”

“But you went quiet suddenly and, I dunno, you seemed not quite right.”

“That’s when you leapt into action?” Nick murmured. “Shepherding this saddo outside?”

She tipped sideways, gently bumping his shoulder. “You’re not a saddo. You’re a devoted grandson, though. That’s how I got you out here, to see something for your gran’s garden.”

“Smart.”

Evie shrugged. “I figured some air and a private spot to sit might help.”

“It did—it does,” said Nick. “Thank you.”

“Good.” As silence settled between them, Evie turned away, grabbing her denim jacket from the far end of the bench.

Knew it. This was too good to be true. Bowing his head, the bench’s wooden slats creaked beside him. She can’t escape fast enough.

“Want some water?”

Lifting his chin, Nick found Evie still seated, offering a bottle. It must’ve been concealed beneath her jacket. She hadn’t made a run for it—yet.

“Yes. Please.”

Cracking the lid, Nick took a shaky swig. Boring ol’ water never tasted so good. A pressing question followed his swallow. “Where are my brothers?”

“Sampling our new fudge with Fiona. Should keep ’em busy for a while.” Evie opened her mouth and closed it again like she was choosing her words with utmost care. “So my mum, she uh, has this thing.” Pulling at her necklace, she continued, “Her heart races. Sometimes she can’t breathe and feels faint.”

Where’s she going with this? Stay on script. Agree to nothing. Nick downed another sip and stifled a watery burp. “Your poor mum. That must be scary.”

“Yeah, but it’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

Easier said than done. Nick flexed his grip on the bottle, which answered back with a plastic crackle.

“Has this happened before?” she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

So many times.

On the Tube, eating caramel-covered popcorn at the cinema with Bree, sat cozy at home watching EastEnders. Occasionally sparked by stress, but often random and unpredictable, Nick’s history of panic attacks wasn’t something he wanted to shout from the crowstep gables of Orkney’s rooftops or anywhere else for that matter.

A simple, well-rehearsed fib would immediately snuff out Evie’s questions. It had worked brilliantly before in other places with other people…

Lowering the half-empty bottle, he caught Evie’s earnest gaze.

Dammit.

She’d witnessed his struggle for breath, heard the quiver in his voice, felt the sweat soaking the back of his shirt. Was she so familiar with her mum’s symptoms that she’d refuse to buy the lie Nick hoped to sell?

Truth be told, he was too weary and exhausted to even make that pitch.

Nick rested the water bottle beside his thigh and braced himself for the inevitable fallout. It was one thing admitting he couldn’t sing, but quite another divulging something so tied up with ugly stigma he’d kept it locked away within himself for the past eight years.

He swallowed hard. “It’s happened a few times.”

Evie didn’t recoil or appear alarmed. Calmness emanated from her. Nick could feel it, comforting and unwavering.

“But your brothers? They didn’t seem—”

“They don’t know.” Nick cut to the chase. “I’ve never told them. Neither has Mum.”