Wyndemere had a different vibe at night. Trina never imagined the mansion could appear gloomier nor the shadows darker than it did during the day, but as she and Noelle carefully moved down the hall to the main staircase, Trina became convinced that Wyndemere had a mind of its own.
"Did you hear that?" Trina whispered.
"Stop saying that!" Noelle said. "You're creeping me out. Mama always said it just looks creepy."
"How often was she here?" Trina asked. "And how many years ago? She had to be our age, right? A lot could have happened since then."
"As far as I know, no one has died here." Spencer appeared in front of them. He wore matching sweats, sneakers, and a smirk. He waved a flashlight over both girls but avoided holding the light to their eyes. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Noelle said.
"What does it look like?" Trina asked.
"I know you're not running away because you're not dressed for it," he answered. "A snack run?"
Trina looked at Noelle. They had known getting caught was a possibility, but they hadn't expected to get busted this soon. Trina wondered if telling him the truth would be better than telling a lie?
"Well?" he asked. "The kitchen is closed, but I have a key."
"We want to see more of Wyndemere." Trina opted for the truth.
"I gave you a tour."
"It was limited," Noelle said. "Just on this side. We want to see what else is here."
He grimaced. "Why?"
"Because we're here," Noelle snapped.
"Yes, that's part of the reason," Trina quickly added.
"What's the other part?" Spencer asked.
The sound of footsteps made Trina pause. A male around Spencer's height and build joined them. His gaze landed on Noelle, and he smiled. He then looked at Trina and Spencer. "Is this a party?" he asked.
"Does it look like a party, Cameron?" Spencer asked. "Trina, this is Cameron Webber. Cameron, this is Trina. You've met her sister, Noelle."
"We're not sisters," both stated simultaneously.
"No?" Spencer asked.
"Well, we are," Noelle said.
"We aren't in the biological sense, but in all the other ways, we are," Trina explained. "Right?"
"Definitely," Noelle said.
A wide grin spread across Cameron's face. "In that case, he and I are brothers—"
"Don't push it," Spencer said, but there was laughter in his voice.
"Seriously, what's going on?" Cameron asked. "If it's fun, I want in."
"We're going on a more involved tour of Wyndemere," Noelle said.
"Ah…" Cameron nudged Spencer. "So, you're taking them to see the other wings."
"I never said that."
"Might as well," Cameron said. "We're all here. It's late. What else is there to do?"
"Don't you have rounds?" Spencer said.
"Nope, not tonight. I'm in. Looks like we're the Four Musketeers."
"We don't have muskets," Spencer muttered.
Cameron laughed. "We have flashlights and lanterns. That'll do. Ladies…shall we?"
Jordan reviewed her previous notes from the last visit on the mainland. Every trip revealed a darker, more vacant version of Port Charles. In the beginning, she held onto hope that the need for sanctuary would be temporary. She never expected to call Wyndemere her home for the long term. Did a series of wrong decisions from the upper echelons lead to the catastrophic destruction of her once beloved town or was the destruction caused by the greed of the Raiders? She looked at the map of the buildings that she had crossed out. Businesses gone and people with them. Would the city ever return to its former splendor, she wondered.
"Hey," Dante said, as he entered her living quarters. A couple of weeks ago, they had exchanged keys. "I saw your light under the door. Everything okay?"
"Catching up on paperwork," she said.
"You should be in bed." He locked the door and strolled to her. In his sweater, jeans, and freshly washed hair, he was the epitome of relaxed. A faint smile parted his mouth. "Why are you working?"
"I like to do the report while it's still fresh," she argued. "You know that. Why are you skulking the halls?"
"Skulking?" He laughed. "Ouch."
She shrugged, but a smile played at her mouth. "Or did you take an extra shift?"
"No, I'm off the clock and my next shift doesn't start until twelve hours from now."
"Twelve whole hours," she repeated. "Why do I feel like you delivered that information on purpose? As if that's crucial and it's knowledge I should have?"
"Oh, but it is," he said, as he moved across the room and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Too tight. I arrived just in time, didn't I?"
"It would appear so." She angled her head to give him better access. "You are too good at this."
"I aim to please."
"That you do," Jordan said.
"Do I?"
Sleep proved to be elusive or maybe she had spent too much time wrapped in its clutches. Whatever the reason, Dawn found herself wide awake and her thoughts racing. Since the return to Port Charles, she had very easily avoided Wyndemere. A big part of the reason had been Lorenzo. She had taken her marriage vows seriously. When she promised to honor, cherish, and love Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Jr., she meant every word and she had. She refused to allow the broken engagement to his brother to overshadow the family or the life they created. With effort, she boxed her memories and feelings for Nikolas into the deepest wells of her being and refused to access that part of her soul. But then the worst happened. Not only once when the world completely changed, but also twice when Lorenzo disappeared. Now, here she was—back in Wyndemere…back in Nikolas' bed and the internal battle with the younger version of herself who wanted nothing more than to fully unbox the memories and the feelings.
Fuck.
Ultimately, Dawn forgot about sleep and rose from the bed. Her steps were careful as she moved about the room. Recovery never happened fast enough. The wounds reminded her that no matter how hard she trained, skill was often not enough when the numbers weren't even. Careful of her injuries, she became determined to practice a few exercises. Nothing too strenuous. Controlled movement. Deep breathing. Focused positioning.
After a few minutes, she looked for substitute weapons and found an iron poker near the blazing fireplace. As she bent to retrieve it, a wave of dizziness brought her to her knees. She closed her eyes to get the world right again. She was unsure how long she stayed in that position. Behind her, a draft blew in cool air as the door opened. Footsteps rushed toward her. Then, a pair of strong hands lifted her. She recognized his scent immediately.
"Nikolas…" She sighed. "Put me down. I can walk."
"Always so head strong," he murmured against her ear. "Always."
He placed her near the foot of the bed and went to the fireplace. While he added more logs to the blaze, Dawn noticed his appearance. His pants seemed heavy, dark, and damp at the hem. The sweater stretched across his back and was thicker than what she remembered him wearing before. His dark brown hair curled against his neck. She had always enjoyed kissing him there—God, where did they come from? She pressed her palm to her forehead.
"Stop it," she mumbled to herself. "Just stop."
"Dawn?" He finished with the fire and returned to her. He rested the back of his hand against her forehead. "Are you okay?"
"I don't have a fever," she said, moving away from his touch. "I'm fine."
"You're warm."
Frowning, she gestured toward the roaring fireplace. "You added twelve logs!"
"Twelve?" His brown eyes danced with humor. "I did not. What were you doing before I arrived? Your forehead is damp, too. You should rest."
"I told you. I'm fine."
"What were you doing?" he asked again.
Dawn looked away from his piercing gaze. "What makes you think I was doing anything? I lost my balance."
"Has that happened before?"
She debated answering his questions. The back and forth was immature and a waste of time. His concern touched her. Two decades had passed since they had spent this much time alone together. This should not be a challenge. They both made choices and the past was long buried. But he was right there in front of her. His presence awakened the memories of the young woman she used to be…the woman who saw a future with him and wanted that future more than anything. Until circumstances dictated otherwise. She reminded herself that she was not that person anymore. She was a wife, a mother, and once upon a time, a global superstar.
Facing her ex was not the hardest thing she had ever done.
"I will radio TJ—"
"I was practicing," she interjected. "I need to build my strength, so I did a few moves. Maybe I over did it. I got lightheaded. I'm okay now."
Darkness flushed his cheeks. The muscles in his jaw tightened. "There is no need for you to rush your recovery. We are more than equipped to protect you and your daughters." He squatted until their gazes were level. "You are safe here. I will not allow any harm to come to you, Noelle, or Trina. You have my word—"
"Nikolas—"
"Are you listening?" he asked. "For once, will you listen to me!"
"That's hardly fair," she said, moving backward on the bed. He was much too close. So close that he could easily see the effect he had on her. An effect she did not understand and left her confused. "I know we're safe. I told you thank yo—"
"I don't want your gratitude!"
"What do you want?" she asked.
Nikolas moved in quickly. His mouth touched hers with a tenderness that was unexpected. The caress was brief and tantalizing and ended faster than any kiss they had ever shared. When he pulled away, he stared at her. His mouth parted as if he would speak, but no words came. Then, he left. Dawn pressed her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes.