by Jo Raven
It’s just… the way Kash said to ask Nate. Like he knows something I don’t.
A shiver skitters down my spine, but before I have a chance to ask him why he said what he said, Weston’s door opens, and there is the last of my boys, dark hair tousled, a smile on his face, and my heart gives an extra beat. Like it’s happy, and complete.
God, brain. Stop this.
It’s crazy, and boy do I have enough crazy in my life as it is.
Chapter Six
West
“So… you got the place to yourself today, right?” Nate asks me. “I mean, I thought so when you told me about the brunch but… you know.”
“Wondering where I buried Grandpa?”
He barks out a laugh. “Don’t joke about that stuff, man. Gives me the fucking creeps.”
“Yeah? Been watching horror movies again?” I pile strips of perfect, crispy bacon on a plate, and his stomach growls. “Scratch that: your stomach sounds like a horror movie.”
“You’re so funny, West,” he mutters, stealing a strip and moaning like he’s having a mini-orgasm on the spot from the taste. “Damn, you know how to cook. Marry me?”
“Have you looked at your ugly face in the mirror before proposing?”
“Wait, what’s wrong with my face? Chicks love it.”
“In your dreams.”
“Chicks love me, asshole. Right, Syd?”
“Hmm…” She comes around the kitchen island to steal a strip of bacon, too, our hands brushing as I reach for the maple syrup.
It’s an electric shock to my system.
“Syd,” Nate whines. “Tell that dickass how much your girlfriends dig me. He’s giving me a hard time.”
She laughs, all silver chimes and crystal, and I’m transfixed by her bright hair and eyes, the dark dip of her cleavage, so I almost miss it when she says, “Where did you get those bruises on your arm, Nate?”
Bruises?
A deafening silence descends over the kitchen. We’re all staring at Nate who’s sort of backed against the counter, eyes wide.
“What the hell are you,” he swallows, clears his throat, “talking about?”
I see them now, high on his left biceps, and fuck, is that another one on his hip where his T-shirt rides up as he turns away?
Cold washes right through me. I feel sick. What the hell?
A glance around the room shows me that Sydney’s cheeks are pale, though not as pale as Nate’s, and Kash is watching us from under his long fringe. I can’t read his expression. I can’t fucking read this guy. He’s like a locked-up tank, an industrial steel safe.
“Fuck the bruises,” Nate says, his voice breaking through the shivery trance I’m in. He turns his back to us and rubs the back of his neck where his dark hair curls a little, in sore need of a cut. “We sparred a few days ago, remember? Bruises come with the territory, right, West?” He grabs a plate of eggrolls and heads determinedly to the kitchen nook table. “Now are we gonna eat, or is this some new form of torture where you let us starve while staring at the food you prepared?”
Kash is the first to move, grabbing a plate of pancakes, gaze hidden behind that damn fringe, and taking it to the table where Nate has already sat himself on one of the stools. Next, Sydney picks up the napkins and goes to join them.
Leaving me alone by the fridge, and great, now they are all staring at me—especially Nate. His eyes are boring right through me, as if challenging me to comment on this whole fucking mess.
“Let’s eat,” I hear myself say after a few beats, and yeah, I know for a fact I didn’t put those bruises there. Hell, they weren’t there yesterday after PE, when we got in the showers at school.
Plus, this isn’t the first time this has happened. Not the first time at all. The other times, he had good excuses. He convinced me he’d slipped in the shower, or tripped down the stairs.
Not this time, though. Dammit, I knew something was wrong, but managed to miss the clues.
Nate and me, we need to talk.
“So where’s your old man?” Nate asks. He’s been talking non-stop, mouth full and all, desperate to fill in every stretch of silence. “No wait, that’d be your dad, so… If this is your granddad we’re talking about, does it make it your ultra-old man? Anyway, he always seems to be hanging around, so what’s up today, huh? And your sister?”
I shove the pancakes in front of him. “Less talking, more eating.”
“I’ve never really met your granddad,” Sydney says, licking syrup from her fingers, distracting me for a few precious seconds.
“You’re not missing anything,” Nate says, dragging two more pancakes into his plate. Christ, and I thought I ate like a black hole. He puts me to shame. “He’s a bitter old man. Ultra-old.”
“He’s taken my sis to New Haven today,” I mutter.
“New Haven?” The tines of Nate’s fork clank on the plate as he stabs a piece of pancake. “What for?”
“It’s his hometown. Wanted to show her around.”
His mouth flattens. “Has he ever taken you?”
I shrug, pretending not to care. “I was too busy to go.”
“Because you take care of the apartment, and them, and still you have to go to school and also try to make money mowing lawns, and—”
“Enough.” I don’t realize I’ve slammed my hand down on the table, until the pain of the impact spreads up my shoulder, a searing flame. “Enough,” I say more quietly.
Then I get up and stalk outside of the kitchen because I don’t know how to continue from here, which words to speak and which to keep to myself.
That I’m fucking glad he took her? That I wish they’d both stay there and not come back? What sort of person does that make me? The two people who’ve raised me, my only family.
Reaching the staircase, I stop and double back, then pace back and forth, clenching and unclenching my hands. Christ, I’m fucked in the head. I don’t know what’s going on inside my fucked-up brain. I don’t know—
“West.” Slim arms circle my waist, stopping my progress. “Stop.”
Sydney’s wrapped around me like a warm cloud, her cheek resting on my chest, her soft curves cushioning me from the world.
Lifting my arms, I return the hug and pull her against me, fighting the urge to tell her everything. To show her how weak I am, how I can’t handle things. How fucking bad I need her.
I pull away reluctantly. “We should go back.”
“Are you okay?” She doesn’t move far, her hands resting on my hips, her gaze locked on my face.
“Yeah.”
“Are you having nightmares again? You can talk to me, you know.”
“No, I…” I grab the back of my neck. “Fuck, how do you know about the nightmares?”
Her gaze dips. “Nate told me. Sorry.”
“No, it’s… it’s okay.”
Only it really is not.
“Have you thought about giving the school counselor a go? She’s quite nice.”
“Hell no. Nate went and what did he gain, huh?”
“Nate went? What for?” She sucks in a quick breath. “Please tell me the truth. The bruises on Nate, are they from your sparring?”
“Yeah,” I say, and hate myself for lying.
But it’s not my secret to tell. It’s Nate’s, and he sure didn’t seem keen on sharing earlier. Plus, I don’t even know what’s really going on with him. Is there some bully I don’t know about, or is it trouble at home?
I mean, God damn, his parents seem nice. I swear I’ve never gotten a hint that his dad hits him or anything, but right now it’s as if the picture of the perfect family living above me is crumbling, letting grim reality show.
And all I can think of is… not Nate, dammit. He’s a good guy. He deserves better—better than most, better than me.
As if anything’s ever fair in this life. Everything sucks—except for afternoon runs and sparring with Nate, and then moments like this.
Alone with Sydney, the fruity scen
t of her hair rising to flood my senses, caught between lust and the unbearable relief at having her in my arms.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” I whisper, dizzy with need and a sort of painful joy.
“Of what?”
“Holding you.”
She takes a step back. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Not all my dreams are nightmares, woman.”
“Oh.” Her mouth relaxes, but the moment is broken. “Okay. I mean, good. West, I…” Her lashes lower. “I just…”
Yeah. Right. “Let’s go back.”
And right on cue, Nate appears in the doorway of the living room, wearing a frown. “You guys all right? What happened back there?”
“Nothing,” I say, and walk past Sydney, careful not to touch her. “Come on, food’s getting cold.”
“We were just talking,” Sydney mutters, following me.
Why did I tell her that? What the hell was I thinking—telling her stuff, holding her? Wanting her?
Guess I wasn’t thinking at all.
The quiet in the kitchen is vibrating with tension. Despite the bright sunlight kept at bay by thick curtains and the piles of food on the table, nobody’s really eating or seems to be having any fun.
Except for Kash. He’s got his plate heaped with food and is finishing his pancakes and bacon while we avoid each other’s gazes.
I can still smell Sydney’s shampoo, and it keeps derailing my thoughts.
“So you guys are like, best friends, huh?” Kash asks, totally out of the left field, and his question hangs in the air between us like an alien monster. He puts down his fork and pushes his fringe out of his eyes. They’re the palest blue, or maybe gray, like ice chips. “Always hanging out, sort of thing.”
Nobody speaks.
He shoves his plate away, darts a glance around the table, and sighs. “Guess I’m gonna head back. Thanks for the brunch, West—”
“We are,” Sydney says. “Best friends, that is.”
Nate nods. “And we’re—”
“—each other’s home,” I finish.
Kash’s pale eyes have widened. I don’t know what possessed me to say what I did even as I rewind my words and feel their weight.
But the silence that follows feels lighter. Nate steals a piece of bacon from Sydney’s plate, Sydney elbows him and laughs. Then she steals my plate, dragging it over to her side, and takes a bite from my pancake. She sticks her tongue out to me.
Jeez.
This feels more like normal times, and I slump back in my chair, mock-glaring at my friends, feeling more relaxed than I have in ages.
Not having my family at home sure helps, too, but I’m not gonna think about them, not now. Instead I grab the coffee pot and pour myself a full mug.
Here’s to the weekend.
“I’d better get going.” Kash stands up, grabs his black jacket from the back of the chair and shrugs it on. “Thanks for the food, Weston.”
“Call me West,” I mutter.
He nods at the table at large and turns to go. Right before he reaches the door, he stops and says, “Why do you two spar?”
Okay… Welcome to Saturday: the day of random questions.
“To build stamina and focus,” I say.
“To learn to fight back,” Nate says.
“They’re just nutjobs,” Sydney says, and grins at him. “West could teach you, though, if you wanted.”
I open my mouth to rib her about offering my services without asking first, and I really don’t expect him to reply, but he looks over his shoulder at us, his face almost… apologetic.
“Nah,” he says. “I wouldn’t wanna hurt you guys.”
What? Is he for real?
Chapter Seven
Nate
“Ignore him,” I tell West who still staring at the closed door, long after Kash went through it. “He’s kinda strange.”
“Really. Does he do martial arts?”
“No clue. But come on, man, how good could he be, anyway?”
West shrugs, jaw tense. Probably annoyed at the possibility of someone being better than him at something.
“He’s not strange,” Sydney says, stabbing at the pancake on her plate.
“You have a crush on him, Shortcake, so your opinion doesn’t count,” I snap.
“She does?” West’s neck flushes red. He turns to Sydney. “You do?”
“No, of course not.” But she won’t look at him, or me.
Dammit.
“You don’t know anything about him,” I say, not sure why I feel the need to be mean. “You only met the guy once before.”
“Twice,” she says stubbornly, pretty mouth set.
“Whatever.”
“At night. Out, on the front steps. We talked.”
My stomach twists at the thought of them talking quietly in the night while I lay in my bed, oblivious to it all. “Talking, right. What else did you do? Did you kiss him?”
Her mouth opens and closes, brows arching. “We just talked.” Red spots bloom on her cheeks.
“But you wanted to kiss him, didn’t you?”
“You know what, Nate, that’s none of your goddamn business.” She jumps to her feet and stalks outside. I hear the apartment door open and then slam closed.
I wince.
West groans and rakes his hand through his short hair. “Dammit, man. Today was supposed to be fun.” He gets up. “I should go after her.”
“Why? I’m the one who was an ass to her.”
“Yeah, you were. And you’re the one who invited Kash here today.”
“She asked me to.” I watch as he absorbs this little tidbit. “I wasn’t kidding. She wants the guy.”
“And what do you care if she wants to kiss Kash or not?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Seriously? Like you don’t care?”
“I have no fucking clue what you mean.”
“Really, West.” I’m suddenly exhausted. “Must be nice to be in such denial. Cozy.”
He gets up so fast his chair crashes back. His eyes flash beneath his drawn brows. “Fuck you, man.”
“Don’t really swing that way, sorry.” What is he…?
“Enough.” Then he’s grabbing my arm and dragging me out of my chair and across the kitchen. “Get out.”
“You’re kicking me out?” I’m more stunned by this turn of events than Syd noticing the bruises on my arm and then her walking out. “Wait, wait... Did she kiss you, is that what this is all about? When she went after you earlier?
“Pull your head out of your goddamn ass. It’s none of your fucking business.” He lets go of my arm at the kitchen door. “But I’ll answer you because you deserve to know what a moron you are: we talked, that’s all.”
“Yeah, right. You think I’m stupid.”
So I’m on a roll. Sometimes rage gets the better of me, and after the week I’ve had, there’s no way to control it.
“You are stupid. Really fucking stupid. She calmed me down, because I was upset with you.”
“With me. Whatever, man.”
“You had no business discussing my sis and grandpa at the table, in front of them.”
“I didn’t discuss— What the hell, West?”
He grabs me again, dragging me into the living room, his grip on my arm a perfect fit over the bruises, and it hurts so fucking much because this is West. My best buddy, my brother.
He’s really gonna kick me out.
“West, wait—”
“I would never go behind your back,” he says, his voice kinda choked. “And if I’d known you want Sydney that way… Fuck, why didn’t you ever say anything?”
I shake my head. “As if she’d want that with me.”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“Because I’m so fucked up you don’t even wanna know.” Turning around, I head to the door. “Or maybe you do, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’ll stay out of your hair.”
I think he calls my name, but I’m already gone, walk
ing out and up the stairs, to my room. I close the door and pretend everything’s right with the world.
Let’s see how long the illusion lasts this time.
“Going somewhere?” Dad asks as I cross the living room a few days later.
I flinch. Hard. I hadn’t seen him lurking by the TV. “Yeah. Going for a jog.”
He’s sprawled on the sofa, his considerable bulk taking up most of it, a drink in his hand. “With that buddy of yours?” He places the glass on the coffee table slowly, deliberately. “North, what was his name?”
“West,” I say through gritted teeth. My heart bangs around inside my chest. And it’s all lies. I haven’t seen West since our fight Saturday morning.
“That’s right. West. Why don’t you come here, son? Come here.”
Jane isn’t home. She said she was going to her Tai-Chi lessons. There’s nobody else at home but Dad and me. I could run, but eventually I’ll have to come back.
Fucking shit.
My feet feel too heavy to lift from the carpet. I drag them, fighting myself every step of the way as I approach him. “What is it?”
“Here.” He waves me closer, and I cringe but take another step. He lifts his hand to my face and my stomach churns. “That’s my boy. Who have you been hanging out with? Any new friends at school?”
I frown, try to pull away, but he grips my chin to keep me still. “No. Same.”
“Have you been talking to anyone else? I need to know.”
“No, Dad, I… no.” Sweat rolls down my back in shivery trails. “Haven’t talked to anybody.”
“Good boy. Our private business is our business and nobody else’s, right?” His grip tightens.
I nod, my mouth bone-dry, my skin crawling.
“Excellent.” Finally he releases me. “Now go and meet your friend. Have fun, but don’t stay out late. I need you here by ten.”