Page 25 of Surrender
All my firsts were in this house.
Where I first rode a bike and first broke my arm.
Where I first learned to braid my hair by watching my mom in the bathroom mirror.
Where I first fell in love.
“Hey, Tiny Dancer.”
And had my first heartbreak.
Twisting my fingers in the comforter, I bounced anxiously at the edge of my bed as Nate folded his almost six-foot frame through my small square window like a professional contortionist. He’d gotten pretty good at navigating the tiny entrance over the years, especially given he’d grown both up and out since the first day he pulled himself through it.
Feet both firmly on my bedroom floor, he rolled his shoulders back and released a gentle groan as he unfolded to full height.
“Where have you been? You said you were coming straight here after the funeral—” My whispered demand was cut short when he turned toward the window, and a smear of something across his cheek caught my eye in the moonlight. I wasted no time reaching for my bedside lamp and flicking it on, both of us blinking furiously as the bright light assaulted our senses.
“Jesus Christ, Nate. What happened?” My shoulders slumped as I noted the split in his lip and how his left eye had already begun to swell shut. Between shit with his dad and the time he’d been spending with this older guy called Rook, learning how to box, I wasn’t usually as shocked to see some blood or bruising on his face.
But I’d only seen him an hour or so ago.
“It’s nothing,” he instantly began to argue, those automatic defensive walls that had been practically beaten into him—the same walls I’d spent years chiseling my way through—shot straight up between us.
“Your dad do this?” I questioned, trying hard to fight the emotions that were bubbling in the depths of my stomach like a volcano threatening to erupt.
That man was a bastard.
Oh, the dreams I’d had about all the ways in which I would assist him in leaving this earth. They were endless. But Nate,James, and my parents were all very cautious about letting him get anywhere close enough to even look me in the eye.
Maybe they thought I’d make him explode with my mind.
Or, he was really as bad as I imagined.
I’d patched up Nate more times than I could count. James, him, and I piled into my tiny, attached bathroom with nothing but a few bandages and a bottle of vodka that James stole from Dad’s stash, insisting we needed it to use as disinfectant.
Then I reminded him that we weren’t living in the 1800s, so instead, they used it to help with Nate’s mental wounds.
A couple of shots at a time.
“No. I got in a fight—”
“With who?” Unconsciously, I reached out, but he jerked back, brushing me away with his hand.
There was a sharp stabbing feeling in my chest.
Why was he pushing me away?
“Nate, what the hell is going on?” I demanded, my voice shaking just a little. “Who did you get in a fight with?”
“Someone who was running their mouth,” he rasped, pulling at the arms of his suit jacket.
No, nothissuit jacket.
Mydad’ssuit jacket.
The one he’d borrowed from my mom this morning, even though I told him James wouldn’t care what he wore. He would want Nate to show up to celebrate James’ life as himself. As my brother’s best friend.
But when Nate had his mind set on something, there was no steering him away.
