17
Nick still felt like a zombie by the time he finally made it to Heathrow at a*s o’clock in the morning. He hadn’t wanted to stop for coffee en route in case he spilled it all on himself, and now he stood at the international arrivals gate, clutching his airport Costa cup and attempting to paste a smile onto his face as practice for when Mom and Zoya appeared.
It wasn’t working.
He had barely gotten any sleep last night, or the night before that. In fact, he hadn’t been sleeping well for days, not since he and Dex had had their … he didn’t even know what to call it. It hadn’t been a fight. Had it? They hadn’t yelled at each other, hadn’t called each other names. But they had both fled the scene and since then had been avoiding each other like their lives depended on it.
That night, N
