“Just take down my number, alright?” Eileen says quietly. “Please, just tell him what I said.” I write the number down on a small notepad on the counter, conscious that Pierce is watching me.
“Got it, thanks. Talk to you later,” I say, and hang up.
“Not a reporter, I hope,” Pierce says with a sad smile.
“No, just a friend,” I reply as nonchalantly as possible, and rip the paper off the pad and stuff it in my pocket.
“God, this has been the longest day of my life,” he says with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “I hope you and your mom don't get dragged into anything. There might be some reporters hanging out by the gate tomorrow. Probably best to just avoid them.”
“Sure, no problem.” He looks so tired, and I find myself quickly feeling sorry for him. He seems so genuine right now that it's hard to believe what Eileen and this other woman are saying about him. The man in front of me paints such a different picture.
“On the other hand, though, I'm glad that you and your mom are here right now. Maybe it's selfish of me. But I don't think I'd make it through all this without her. She's really brought light back into my life.”
“She's…yeah, she's great,” I reply awkwardly.
“Are you having a good time at the internship? Not too much busy work, I hope.”
“No, not at all, Pierce. It's wonderful, thank you.”
He nods. “Well, I better get back to work. You'd think I'd have gotten a lot done, considering how long I've been in there, but I've just been staring at the wall.”
“Oh, well, I'll see you tomorrow then.”
“'Night.”
“Goodnight.” I walk back upstairs with the phone number burning a hole in my pocket. It's amazing to me that I've gone from being almost sure that Pierce is lying, to feeling like I've betrayed his trust in the span of one short conversation with him. Is he telling the truth, or does he just possess a consummate politician's ability to spin the story for himself?
I get ready for bed slowly, my mind wandering uncontrollably. Before this summer, I felt sure of things in my life. Sure of my ideas and opinions. Sure that I was right. But I feel less and less sure of myself the longer I stay in this house.
Just as I finish brushing my teeth, I hear a thud from the hallway, then a groan. That sounded like Nate. With a frown, I open my bedroom door. Sure enough, there's Nate, lying on the carpet just outside his own room. I hesitate, realizing I'm wearing my little nightgown, but figure he's seen me in it already.
“Nate? Are you OK? What happened?” I murmur, hurrying to kneel next to him. The whiff of alcohol coming off of him gives it away before he says anything.
“I'm so drunk, Brynn,” he says, beginning to laugh.
“Shhh, you'll wake up our parents,” I admonish him. “Why are you on the floor?”
“Tripped. On my own foot,” he replies with a sigh.
“Well, come on, get up,” I order him, sliding a hand under his torso to pull him upward. He slowly obeys and stands on his feet, where he sways dangerously. “OK, now in here,” I continue, pushing his bedroom door open with my foot as I slide an arm around his back to stabilize him. I feel his muscles clench under his t-shirt as we walk. Not the time, Brynn. “Shoes off,” I order him as we reach the bed.
“Mmm,” he grunts, as he kicks them off.
“I'm getting you some water. Don't move.” I hurry back to my bedroom and grab my water glass from the bedside table, then refill it from the tap in my bathroom before heading back to his room. I shut the door behind me to keep the noise from filtering around the house, then stop in surprise as I see that Nate has stripped down to his boxers and is standing at the foot of his bed.
“Thanks,” he slurs, as I hesitantly walk forward and hand him the water. I watch him gulp the whole glass down, the grey moonlight from the window illuminating his ripped torso. He puts the glass down on his desk and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he sways slightly.
“You alright?” I ask worriedly. “I've never seen you drunk before.”
“Don't really drink. No time. Work, practice, work, game.”
“And I thought I was the nerd,” I tease him.
“You're funny,” he says, cocking his head slightly, then takes a step toward me.
“Nate…” I say as my core clenches.
“Yes, Brynn?” he asks innocently.
“You said this was wrong. Those were your words,” I remind him.
“Do you think it's wrong?” He takes another step toward me, and looks down at me.
“I—”
His hand reaches around my waist. “Does it feel wrong?”
“Yes…No,” I breathe. I barely have time to inhale before his mouth is on mine. His mouth tastes like whiskey, but I don't care. I wrap my hands around his neck and he grabs my ass with both hands, our kiss picking up right where our last one broke off. I dig my fingers into his hair as our mouths open to one another. He pulls me roughly against him and groans deep in his throat as our bodies collide. Suddenly he stumbles back, steadying himself on my shoulders.
“Sorry,” he whispers, shaking his head as though to clear it. “Will you just stay with me for a while?”
“Yes, of course,” I reply immediately, even though I'm taken aback by his request. I watch him turn to his bed and crawl over to his pillow, then curl up on his side and look at me expectantly. I pause, then follow him, crawling across the bedspread and curling around his back. I bury my head between his shoulder blades then drape my arm over his waist, and feel him take my hand in his and pull me closer against him.
I lie as still as I can, barely breathing. I can't believe he's letting me touch him like this. Well, he is wasted, but still. I never thought he'd be so vulnerable around me. I hear his breathing deepen.
“I've always looked up to him,” he murmurs, startling me.
“I know,” I whisper back, knowing that he's talking about his dad.
“I don't know what I would do if he—”
“I know,” I murmur, softly kissing the back of his neck. He stills on his pillow, and his breathing slows down again.
I stay with him for a while, until I know he's asleep. I need to understand Nate's feelings about his mother before I tell him what she told me. His world is already falling apart around him, and I don't want to make it happen faster. I sigh. I should probably go back to my room.
I turn over with a sigh and frown. My sheets feel different, and the light coming in from the window is much too bright. I blink my eyes open and then sit up with a gasp.
I’m in Nate’s room.
“It's OK.” I glance up to see Nate sitting at his desk with a glass of water, his tousled hair sticking out at odd angles. “They left early this morning for meetings. Your door is closed, so they thought you were still asleep in there.”
“Oh, good,” I reply. I realize my nightgown is riding dangerously high on my thigh and pull up the sheet self-consciously.
“Coffee,” Nate says, pointing to the bedside table next to me. I glance over and see he's placed a steaming cup there. “Cream and one sugar, right?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I reply, reaching for it.
“Sorry about last night. I don't remember anything after I got home.”
I smile even though I'm disappointed that he doesn't remember the kiss. “You were drunk, and just asked me to stay here for a bit. I didn't mean to fall asleep.” I glance at the clock. “Shit, it's almost eleven? I never sleep that late.”
“I didn't get up 'til nine—that's late for me.”
My mind quickly returns to my concerns from last night. “I—I know you don't like to talk about this, but your mom—”
“What about her?” he says, already sounding defensive. I need to tread carefully.
“I know that it's painful to talk about, I just wanted to know: why did she leave?”
Nate crosses his arms over his chest. “Eileen left because she couldn't handle being a mother.�
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“What do you mean? How so?”
“I was out of control when I was a kid, and she couldn't handle it. Couldn't handle me.”
“That's what your dad told you.”
“That's what happened,” Nate replies, frowning at me. “I still remember the night she left. They went out for dinner, and I stayed home with a babysitter. One of many, because I kept driving them away, and I misbehaved again. I threw a tantrum, broke a glass…I'm pretty sure the babysitter quit as soon as my parents got home. Anyway, they got in this big fight—I could hear it even in my bedroom—and the next day she left.”
“And you've never seen her again?”
“In court a couple times. But after that, she wasn’t really interested in seeing me. She tries to call here sometimes, maybe she feels guilty. She always tries to blame my dad for what went down,” he adds bitterly.
“Did you think that if…if you had been better, she wouldn't have left?”
He shrugs. “Doesn't matter now. Why are you asking about this stuff? Did I talk about it when I was drunk or something?”
“No, no.” I put my coffee down on the nightstand. “She called here last night.”
“Eileen? You talked to her?”
“Well, yeah, she was really upset.”
“Fuck, Brynn,” he swears, standing up. “Why would you do that? This has nothing to do with you.”
“I was just trying to help…”
“I don't need your help,” he spits at me.
“Would you just listen for a second?! She called because she thought you might be willing to listen to her after what the woman said on the TV show—”
“What are you talking about?” he growls.
“She said your dad was cheating on her, that's why she left. Nothing to do with you.”
“Get out,” he says, raising his voice and pointing to the door.
“Nate, my dad left, too, OK? I know what it's like. But she sounded so lost, she's desperate to talk to you. I'd kill for my dad to sound like that about me.”
“Oh, so that's what this is about, your daddy issues.”
“No! That's not what I meant,” I plead, his words stinging to my core.
“Look, I'm sorry that your dad isn't around, but your whole situation has nothing to do with mine!”
“Fine!” I shout, feeling hurt. I push off the sheets and stand up. “I promised her I'd tell you, so I did. I'll never try to help you again.”
“That's all I ask!” he calls after me as I stomp out of his room.
I slam my bedroom door behind me, my fists balled in anger. I walk straight to my bed and grab my pillow and swing it down as hard as I can onto the mattress. I. Can't. Believe. I. Ever. Had. Feelings. For. That. Asshole. I think as I bring the pillow down again and again until I'm out of breath.
It's officially time for me to move on.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“You look nice,” my mom says as I enter the kitchen, giving me a wink.
“Mom…” I reply, rolling my eyes.
“Well, you do! Where are you two going tonight?”
“La Mirabelle.”
“French—how romantic!”
“It's just a first date, OK? Don't get too excited.” I turn as Nate and Pierce enter from the dining room.
“I just have a good feeling about this one, that’s all.” She continues, pouring me a glass of water, “And he's picking you up, right?”
“Oh, do you have a date tonight, Brynn?” Pierce asks, wiggling his eyebrows at my mother.
“Yes,” I groan, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.
“Greg! The intern from your office,” my mom tells him.
“Well, well. You know, I remember seeing you two huddled together in the copy room last week, and thinking to myself, ‘those two would make a fine couple.’”
I blush as my mom smiles enthusiastically. It's amazing how quickly things have gotten back to normal after that woman went on TV. For about a week, a handful of photographers waited around outside the gate, but they eventually left when the buzz died down. Pierce told us he has investigators working to discredit the woman’s claims, and that everything will be back to normal. As for Nate and me…
“So it'll just be the three of us for dinner then,” my mom chirps.
“Two, actually. I’m going out tonight, as well,” Nate replies casually. I manage to resist the urge to look at him.
“Oh?” my mom asks.
“Nate, you should’ve let Holly know about your plans. How many times have I had this conversation with you? Responsibility, responsibility, responsibility,” Pierce says as he crosses to the fridge. I glance at my mom, but she's looking down at her chopping board.
“Sorry, Holly,” Nate says dutifully.
“It's alright, really,” my mom says quietly. Thankfully, the doorbell rings and I can excuse myself. Angry as I am at Nate, I still don't like to hear his dad speak to him in such a condescending way.
I walk down the hallway to the foyer, and hear my mom and Pierce following me. I wince. I was hoping I'd get out the door without them all meeting—wishful thinking, clearly. I smile at Greg as I open the door. He's wearing a navy blazer and khakis, and looks a little nervous.
“Hey, Greg,” I greet him.
“Greg! It's so nice to meet you,” my mom says from behind me, forcing me to open the door all the way.
“Good to see you,” Pierce says, shaking his hand.
“Mr. Thornhill,” Greg replies formally. I see Nate appear in the entrance to the living room, leaning casually on the doorjamb but saying nothing. He smiles at me as I catch his eye. I frown at him and look away.
“Have her home by ten,” Pierce instructs Greg.
“Yes, sir,” Greg replies.
Pierce slaps him on the back just as I'm about to protest. “Don't worry, Greg, I'm just giving you a hard time.”
“Oh, you had me for a second there,” Greg says, exhaling in relief.
“Well, we should get going,” I cut in so that Pierce doesn't have the chance to make any more hilarious jokes. “See you later!” I call, pulling the door closed behind me. I just catch Nate's smirking expression before I shut the door.
“You alright?” Greg asks as we walk to his car.
I force a smile and nod my head. “Yes, sorry! My mind wandered for a second. So, have you ever been to this restaurant before?”
Greg chose a very nice French restaurant for our date, it's a cozy, softly lit place set in the hills of Potomac. The wait staff is clearly passionate about their food, and delighted to have a young couple on a date that they can fawn over.
“So, how is it working for your stepdad?” Greg asks with a grin.
“You know, it's not that bad. I hardly ever think twice about it, really. He's all the way at the top of the company, and I’m all the way at the bottom, so we rarely interact on a day-to-day basis.”
“Speaking of being at the bottom, Roderick called me Steven yesterday,” Greg says, referencing Pierce's business partner.
I laugh. “No! Is there even a Steven working there?”
“Nope! That's the worst part. Who knows who he was thinking of…” He shakes his head remorsefully. “How come Pierce's son isn't working at Thornhill and Co.? Didn't want to work with his dad?”
“Um, the opposite, actually. Pierce is pretty hard on Nate...I feel kind of guilty about the whole thing because I think Nate wanted the internship, and then Pierce offered it to me to punish him. I tried not to accept, but Pierce insisted, and we’d just met, you know? I didn’t want to be rude. Not to mention, my mom and Pierce haven't known each other for very long, so I was a little taken aback by how quickly they’d gotten married…” I bite my lip. “Sorry, wow. I'm rambling.”
“It's OK, I get it. My parents are divorced, too.”
“Well, mine aren't actually divorced. They weren't married in the first place,” I clarify. But Greg isn't listening—he's squinting at the entrance to the restaurant.
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“Speaking of…isn't that Nate now? Did you tell him we were coming here?”
“No, what? It can't be him,” I reply, turning around to look. But sure enough, there he is, with a brunette stunner on his arm. That asshole! There’s no way this is a coincidence—he must have overheard me telling my mom that Greg was taking me here.
“Brynn!” Nate says with a smile, leading his date over as the hostess trails them. “I didn't know you guys were coming here too! Greg, right? I'm Nate.”
“Good to meet you,” Greg says, shaking his outstretched hand.
“And this is Sophie,” Nate adds, indicating his date.
“Hey,” she says, glancing up for a moment from the cellphone in her hands.
“Did you all want to sit together?” the hostess asks. “We could pull another table over.”
I could kill her.
“What do you think?” Nate asks Greg, his grin at full-wattage.
“Um, yeah, sure, why not?” Greg complies. I quickly stand and make my way over to Greg as a waiter helps the hostess pull another small table over. I'm not going to sit next to Nate and risk a repeat of that thigh-touching incident.
“I'll let you two sit next to each other,” I explain with a saccharine smile as I take a seat next to Greg.
“We just ordered so you're not too far behind,” Greg says as the hostess hands Nate and Sophie menus.
“Could we get a bottle of Dom for the table?” Nate asks the waiter, who nods happily and scurries off.
“Oh, you don't have to—” Greg begins.
“No, I insist. We're interrupting your date here,” Nate replies magnanimously.
“I love champagne,” Sophie pipes up, finally putting her phone away. I narrow my eyes at Nate and he studiously avoids my gaze.
“So, what were you two lovebirds talking about before we got here?” Nate asks Greg.
“Nothing, really,” Greg replies glancing at me.
“You know, with your light hair, you two could almost be related. Cousins, maybe,” Nate observes, leaning back in his chair. I swiftly kick his shin under the table. I see his jaw tighten but he doesn't even make a sound.
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