Just recounting some of those memories got me all fired up.
“And oh yeah, to stop crying and being such a pussy.”
That was in front of my teammates and the parents on the sidelines. But there were plenty of other times I didn’t feel like recounting.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Me, too,” I said. “Mostly that your dad is gone.”
Suddenly I felt the gentle pressure of Jessie’s slender fingers on my arm and my chest constricted excruciatingly tight.
I glanced down at her hand and next into her eyes. A silent connection had been solidified between us, of something shared and something lost.
I looked up and saw the sign that said, BRIDGEWAY, SIX MILES.
“Is this the exit, Nate?” Her voice was soft and tender.
“Yeah,” I said, sitting up and clearing my brain of all of those heavy thoughts.
Jessie took the exit ramp and followed the curve until it dumped us on onto a state route I was all too familiar with.
“Where to first?” she asked.
“I know just the place.”
Chapter Nine
Jessie
I’d admit it was way cool getting to know Nate better on our car trip. He had many more layers to him than I had ever given him credit for. I couldn’t believe I shared my favorite memory with him. But it didn’t make me sad like it normally would when I was alone with my thoughts of my dad. Nate’s response had been so organic, so consoling that I knew it had been the right thing to do.
Besides, after seeing that wounded look in Nate’s eyes, I wanted to know him even more. Past the attraction, past the flutters in my stomach, I wanted to ask him what troubled him and then soothe any broken parts inside him. I wondered if he had ever been able to talk to someone—really talk to them. I had that—always had that with my parents. But maybe he hadn’t.
As I drove down the state route, Bridgeway looked like any other Podunk town, with a strip of motels and fast-food places off the exit. But then Nate had me take two right turns and then a left. Gradually the landscape began transforming into this pretty and charming part of town.
The houses were one or two stories with large porches. Given that the fall leaves were just beginning to turn, we’d been given a picturesque backdrop. It could have been a postcard of some coastal town in the eastern part of the United States instead of the ordinary and unremarkable Midwest.
“Is the house you grew up in around here?” I asked.
He hesitated a moment and then said, “Yeah.”
“Will we be passing it?” I wasn’t sure if that was a reasonable question to ask or not. Nate seemed different since we’d gotten off the exit. He was wound tight as a coil of rope—his hands clenched at his sides, even his knee had stopped shaking, as if all of his energy was needed to hold the pieces of himself in place.
It made my heart drop to my stomach because for the first time, I realized that Nate’s decision to come on this trip with me must’ve been huge. But he’d still agreed to do it, for me. I had no idea what memories this town held for him, but I knew they must’ve been heavy. Because that’s how the air in this car felt now—thick and substantial.
I was just about to voice my concerns out loud. To tell him that we could turn around or go a different route but then he said, “Another quarter of a mile, it’ll be coming up on your right.”
The houses were becoming larger, the yards roomier. We passed a few sprawling lawns that were well maintained before his arm flung past my shoulder and he pointed out the driver’s side window. “It’s coming up. Two more driveways. Right . . . there.”
For some reason, my heart was pressing against my chest, swelling and thumping. As if I was experiencing this right along with him. “Do you . . . do you want me to stop?”
“Please,” he said on an intake of breath.
I slowed the truck down and pulled over on the side of the road.
His eyes were bulging as he stared at the light yellow house with the huge wraparound porch and several tall willow trees in the front. It seemed modest in comparison to the way his family lived now—not that I’d seen his family estate, only heard of it—and I wondered if his parents had come by their wealth later in life. Or maybe this was just how country folks lived. You didn’t need much out here except fresh air and space. Even still, that house was larger than two of my childhood homes put together.
“Haven’t been back here in so many years,” he said, still staring at the house where he grew up. “It looks smaller somehow.”
“Probably seemed bigger when you were just a tot,” I offered.
“True.” He reached past me and pushed the button to unroll the window. Then stuck out his hand. “See the window on the far end of the house?”
I was still adjusting to the fact that Nate had leaned over me, brushing past my chest, and now was so close to me that I could scarcely breathe. I forced my eyes to follow his hand. “Uh-huh.”
“That was my bedroom.”
Undoubtedly without realizing it, he had propped himself even further over my lap to get a closer look at that section of the house. As his hair tickled my cheek, I inhaled his scent. It reminded me of something clean and citrus, like lemons or perhaps apples. Must have been his shampoo. I had spotted some generic drugstore brand while using his bathroom. I wanted to lean forward and run my nose along his hairline, but instead I held in a breath.
Nate straightened his torso just slightly as he continued to stare out my window. His shoulder was brushing my arm, his other hand resting on the ledge of my window. He turned his face slightly to glance at me and then his eyes focused in on his current surroundings. It was as if he’d dragged himself away from the collection of images flashing through his head.
As if he’d just realized how near his body was to mine. His face. His lips. So damn close. I inhaled a lungful of air through my nose, so it didn’t seem like I was bothered by his proximity and then I simply stared into his whiskey-colored eyes.
He sat there unmoving, seemingly mesmerized by my eyes as well. We’d never been this close before, outside of our bathroom collision, and the strangest, most astonishing thing about it was that it didn’t feel uncomfortable or even unnatural.
Neither of us moved away but we were definitely both hyperaware of each other. His breaths were short and choppy and I could feel the wisps of air against my lips. All he had to do was slant forward and our noses would meet, our foreheads, our mouths.
He studied my lips corner to corner and then his gaze slid up to my eyes. I tried to keep them wide open instead of closing them on a sigh. Because the intensity of his gaze was all consuming, devastating even. There was so much written there, behind those amber beauties. So much darkness and brightness, pain and splendor.
So much I wanted—and now, needed—to know. If only he’d allow me that privilege.
There was a flash of color in our peripheral vision and a blur of sound. We turned simultaneously to look at his childhood home.
It was a small boy on a bike travelling unsteadily down the driveway. He was smiling and singing a somewhat familiar tune. When I glanced at Nate, he was staring raptly at that boy, as if he could see something else there. Maybe he saw himself at that age.
His eyes glazed over and I could feel him softly panting against my cheek, as he zeroed in on something—maybe a recollection. His breaths become harsher and he seemed to lose himself to some memory in the distance.
“Hey.” I placed my hand on his arm. “You okay?”
For a moment, he looked at me like I wasn’t even there, and then a ruddy color washed over his cheeks.
“Yeah, I’m cool.” He straightened his back and inched away and I immediately lamented the closeness.
Nate’s childhood home held evocative memories, no doubt about it, and a week ago, I never would have guessed that this carefree guy had such a quiet intensity, a bottomless well of pain. It made him more alluring, more authentic, more real.
“Um, anyway . . .” he said tearing his eyes away from the kid in the driveway who was now staring back at us. “If you go to the end of the street and turn left, I’ll show you the first bridge.”
My tongue felt thick in my mouth. I felt strangely sorry for him, for that little boy who grew up in this house.
“Wait, give me one more second.” I lifted my camera from the bag that now sat on the backseat floor and removed the lens cap.
“What are you up to?” Nate said in a tight voice as I aimed the lens out the window.
“I’m taking a quick photo of your childhood home.”
I snapped away even as I heard him inhale a sharp breath. “Don’t do that for my benefit. I don’t want it.”
My head lifted back to look at him but I refrained from asking why. I could see so much turmoil in his eyes. “Well you might . . . maybe another time. A later time.”
He shook his head almost violently. “I won’t . . .”
And then he seemed to rein himself in. Maybe he realized that he was giving too much away, that I could see everything on his face. That something about that house made him miserable and infuriated and fearful.
And fuck, I wondered just what in the hell it was and whether it had anything to do with his prick of a father.
“I’ll just keep them—until you ask me to see them or pitch them. No harm done.”
Nate stilled his breaths and his limbs. As he sat there quiet and motionless, I realized he could be quite energetic, animated, almost jittery in his everyday life.
But when he was anxious, sad, or contemplative, he became quite static and silent—almost unobtrusive. And it was that vulnerability that was most appealing to me now.
Sensing we had stayed well past our welcome, I carefully laid my camera back in the bag and jerked the car into drive. The little boy from the yard had long since disappeared into the back of the property, but Nate gave the house one final glance as he instructed me to turn left at the end of the road.
A few hundred feet more on this dirt lane and it dead-ended into a quaint and tranquil pond. There were a couple of large willow trees that hung over the water and sitting in the backdrop was a covered bridge. Painted a deep cranberry red, the color appeared to be fading and peeling, which only lent to its charm.
“This is really pretty,” I said, taking in the every square inch from my position in the car. “Is this the pond from your good memory day?”
He nodded and then pointed to this huge thick branch that hung over the water. “We swung from that tree.”
We exited the car—me with my camera, him with his coffee. We stood next to each other in silence and I could hear birds chirping and dogs barking and the soft sound of the water lapping against the rocks.
It was one of the most serene places I’d ever been.
I lifted my lens and focused in on the bridge, taking multiple shots in quick succession, given the light reflecting off the water was perfect this time of day. I stepped further back, adjusted the shutter speed, and then took a photo of the entire picturesque scene before me, including the lake and the tree.
Bet Nate wouldn’t mind having that shot. The one of his happy memory.
I squatted down on my knees to get a different shot. “Want to be in the frame, Square?”
“No thanks,” he said, holding up his hands. “Unless you need a point of reference.”
“Sure, go stand over there by the pond,” I said. “Let me put you to work. You can be my assistant.”
He placed his coffee on the hood of the car and strolled to the water’s edge, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He turned and grinned and I focused in on a tight shot.
This was my opportunity to gaze at him shamelessly. His legs were long and his waist was lean, but it was his chest and arms that were broad and defined. I never cared for that kind of build before—I liked my guys slim, but could appreciate the effort it took to look that way.
I wondered if his thighs and ass and well . . . the rest of him were just as muscular. Sure, he liked to joke about it, but given how enormous his others parts were . . . I was more than curious.
Nate folded his arms, looking at something in the distance and my lens edged in on his face. His full lips, slightly off-center nose, and large eyes, framed by long and lush lashes. Yep, he was definitely a pretty boy.
For the first time I noticed a light smattering of freckles that dotted his cheeks and I had the urge to lick them all, one by one. I adjusted the hair that was now sticking to my neck, because I was getting all hot and bothered while picturing Nate naked.
“Dude, you done with the shot or what?” he said, startling me out of my thoughts.
I panned the lens away from him. “Don’t rush me.”
He grinned and then stuck out his tongue as I zoomed back in. Seeing that tongue in high definition made me nearly swallow my own. All my girly parts went liquid as I imagined what it would feel like inside my mouth and then travelling down my skin.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were just fucking with me now,” he said. “Getting some evidence to blackmail me with or something.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I said. “What evidence?”
“Who knows—of my nose hairs,” he said, smirking. “Or maybe my extremely large package. That must be it. You needed a tight shot on that.”
“What package?” I said, aiming my camera lower while grasping at the ground for a stick. “I can barely find it.”
Then I flung the twig at him and he knocked it out of the way, laughing.
“Okay, I’m done,” I said, standing up. “Now get the hell out of my shot.”
After a few more snaps, I lowered the camera and headed toward the water’s edge. I sat on a large rock and he joined me on the other side, his one knee up, his elbow resting across it. He no longer looked distressed, only at peace. And it must have had to do with this location, this pond, and his memory.
After a minute more of staring into the water, I said, “How can I get closer to that bridge?”
“Hop in the car, I’ll show you.”
Chapter Ten
Nate
I directed Jessie around the pond using the back roads. She still wouldn’t let me drive, even though I knew exactly where we were headed. Maybe she liked being directed, bossed around even— though she could be quite dictatorial herself. That thought alone made the front of my pants stretch tight.
Being back in this town sucked. But having Jessie here anchored me somehow. That stormy place inside of me had been reduced to a drizzle.
Seeing my childhood home, where some of the most brutal fights between my parents occurred, really got to me.
And then when I saw that boy standing in that driveway, damn, that had unleashed a flurry of emotions. I imagined me at that age. How innocent and vulnerable I had been. I thought all dads got that angry and used their fists.
But it was so natural to be in that car with Jessie. She didn’t react or push me to talk. She just let me be. I had been so close to her and could’ve easily closed the distance between us. Call me crazy, but I think she might have let me. Instead, I stared into her eyes and nearly got lost in them. No way had I ever done that with a girl. I didn’t even stick around long enough to truly notice their eyes.
Jessie obviously guessed something was up, and I was okay with that. In fact, I almost told her. All of it. But the only person currently in my life who had figured some things out was Bennett, because he had a shit life growing up as well.
But I needed to avoid attachments, so there was no way I was going to confide in a girl. Maybe I could bend the rule though, since Jessie was a friend and this trip had solidified that maybe she was becoming a good friend. The problem was: I didn’t know how to compartmentalize my wild attraction to her. If I had kissed her, this trip would’ve taken a different turn, to something way more complicated.
I was emotionally raw right now so it wasn’t the best time for me
to make that kind of decision. And besides, I never allowed myself to dream. But if I did, they might include someone just like her.
I pushed that way-too-fluffy thought out of my head and gave her a cursory glance. “At the fork in the road, bear left.”
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I envied the relationship she’d had with her parents. Her dad and his damn words. They had stuck with me, lodged somewhere in my throat. I felt them deep, like they were spoken for me. Promise me this. Shit, really?
But Jessie appeared to have had such a good life; how much darkness could she possibly have inside her? Or maybe her father’s point had been that we all had some measure of it, just on different levels. And my levels ran too fucking deep.
When she neared the bridge, she stepped on the brakes and pushed the gear into park. “Up close, it’s way taller and wider than I had imagined.”
She was already out of the car and shooting before I could get one foot out the door. She was so excited and I loved watching her in action. I didn’t understand a lick of what she was talking about as she went on about settings and camera angles, but her eyes got this quiet intensity to them that made her even more gorgeous.
The light was filtering through her caramel brown locks and even the blue tips gave them a softer glow. Against the angular cut of her hair, black eyeliner, and colorful tattoos, her face was absolutely angelic. Her full cheeks and lips were perfectly pink and sometimes, like right now, I couldn’t help but to imagine how they’d taste.
She asked me about the history of the bridge and thankfully I had brushed up on that information before our trip.
“There’s also a plaque posted up there that’ll tell you when it was commissioned and built,” I said, pointing to its spot on the bridge. “You might want to get a shot of that.”
I’d even double-checked facts with my mom who had grown up here, so I was ready for her.
Had my maternal grandparents still been alive and living in this town, I would have even considered visiting them. But unfortunately, I only had a few early memories of them. The only family left on my mom’s side was her sister—Kai and Dakota’s mom—and they only talked occasionally by phone.
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