Mina
Hours pass without word from Nathan. Dinnertime comes and goes, but I’m too nervous to eat. I try to read, but stare at the same page for ten minutes without digesting one word. I turn on the TV as a last resort. It’s never been good at holding my attention. Tonight, though? With my thoughts firmly glued on Nathan and whether or not he’s avoiding me because of Fallon’s stupid ass article? There’s no chance the TV will help.
Fallon calls and texts, over and over, desperate to apologize for something she knew was wrong. There’s no way she believes a betrayal like that was right. She did what she did to get more views, certain I love her enough to forgive her. Or that I’m stupid enough to think she truly sabotaged my relationship because it’s good for me.
If I’d known she was one of those ‘better to ask for forgiveness than permission’ people, I would have valued her friendship differently. Life is hard enough without having to second-guess motives and protect yourself from selfish assholes who only care about themselves.
After living through the aftermath of Dad, I thought my screening process was airtight.
Looks like Fallon was right about one thing anyway. I see kindness where it doesn’t exist.
I ignore every buzz of my phone with her name attached.
I have nothing to say to Fallon fucking Mae. Not yet. Not until I’ve processed what she did. Not until I tell Nathan that she’s my friend. Not until I’ve seen what kind of damage that does to our relationship—assuming there still is one.
And with that bright and sunny thought, I’m up and pacing again. Picking up my phone to check on Nathan only to put it right back down for the hundredth time. He’ll reach out when he’s ready. So what if I've been a mess since he canceled tonight? That’s on me. On Fallon. Not him.
Or maybe it’s on the family stuff he said he was dealing with. Which is yet another reason to let him reach out when he’s ready.
Though, isn’t communication the cornerstone of any good relationship? If I’m worried, shouldn’t he know? Is there really a problem if I text him to say I’m thinking of him and hope everything’s okay?
I swipe my phone off the coffee table and draft a text, then read it three times to check for neediness, pushiness, clinginess…
…really any kind of ‘ness’ that might be construed as negative.
“For shit’s sake, Mina,” I mutter with a growl. “Less thinking. More doing.” With a shake of my head, I send the text, then watch for a sign of a response. My heart sinks when nothing happens.
Well, hell. There’s that, then. Whatever it means.
I lock the phone and put it down when a knock sounds at my door. My gaze whips up and I stare, confused. It’s too late for deliveries. Mom used to drop by unannounced, but she’s tucked into bed at Shady Cove. It could be the frat boys, drunk, lost and confused again, but this knock is too gentle to be them. Maybe it’s Fallon, desperate to have the discussion I’m not ready for, but that doesn’t ring true either. She knows me well enough to wait until I’ve cooled down before forcing me into a conversation. Of course, I thought she knew me well enough not to publish that article.
And then, this sense of knowing overcomes me.
It's him.
It’s Nathan.
He's here. Right there on my porch. No call. No text. Just here. That feels important somehow. It speaks of urgency. Of desperation. Of emotional decisions, not rational ones.
With a smile on my face and worry in my heart, I stride to the door and throw it open. Nathan stands there, bowed under the weight of the world. His shoulders are slumped. His chin dropped. His eyes downcast. When he looks at me, I fall into an abyss of sadness. Like he’s holding my hands and plunging us into the depths of the ocean, bubbles rushing against our skin, hair drifting upwards in a languid dance as we sink farther and farther from the light.
“What’s wrong?” I reach for him, my hands gripping his biceps, sliding up and around his shoulders, until my palms rest on his chest.
The worst of me worries he's here to break things off. He read the article and now that the world knows how we started, he’s too embarrassed to keep going. The rest of me knows this is more than that. Something truly terrible has happened.
Nathan steps into my embrace, tucking his face into the crook of my neck, his arms limp at his sides. His shoulders shake as he inhales a stuttering breath, then lets it loose with a low sob. I run my hand in circles along his back, holding him while he cries.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “I’m here.”
I whisper to him as we stand in the doorway, the wind rustling in the palms, the sky black on black on black. After minutes of stillness, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, so close. As if he can steal safety just by being near me. I do my best to give it to him.
“It's Nick,” he says hoarsely. “Nick’s missing.”
A long sigh escapes me. Dread weighs on my heart. This was the beginning of the end for my father. Missing. Then injured. Then discharged. Mom used to say he would have been better off if he’d died. That the man she knew and loved was killed that night and a stranger sent home in his place.
“Oh, Nathan…”
“My family called a meeting at The Hut so we could be with my aunt and uncle. We were all just sitting in that room, desperate for more information. Waiting to hear if Nick’s gone forever or coming home or hurt or lost or what?” Nathan holds out his hands, lifting his shoulders and closing his eyes. “All of us, hoping for something certain. Something solid. But there isn't anything real to grab onto. That's all we know. He's missing.”
“Come inside,” I say, oh so quietly. “Come in and be with me.” With gentle hands on his shoulders, I pull Nathan into my apartment, then close the door. He’s aimless. Standing in the foyer, waiting for direction. I lead him to the couch. He sits, elbows on knees, hands limp, gaze on the floor as he shakes his head.
I bring him a glass of water then sit beside him. He immediately drops his head into my lap, curling up like a little boy. I run a hand through those dark locks, hints of mahogany and gold shooting through them. He’s silent for a long time and I honor that. Holding him. Letting him know I'm here, but not pressuring him to say or be or do anything more than he can. And in this moment that doesn’t seem to be much. I imagine myself pulling the fear and worry out of him like sticky, black threads and sending it up to the universe to be cleansed. It’s a silly thing, but I feel called to do something.
“Would it feel good to talk about it?” I ask. “Or do you need quiet? Either way, I’m here.”
Nathan is still and silent for several long moments, and then, “Nick isn’t just a cousin. He’s one of my best friends.”
“The best big brother ever,” I say, remembering the conversation on the boat.
Nathan nods, pressing his lips together in a sad smile. “Nick listens. You know? And he doesn’t judge, and he won’t spread rumors. And he always has good advice. He’s a protector.”
“The kind of man who joins the Marines.”
Pride ripples off Nathan as he settles into silence for another couple minutes. “Uncle Lucas told us not to worry, not to focus on all the what ifs, but it’s hard. My brain won’t put it down.”
“Tell me about him. Focus on everything good about Nick Hutton. Maybe then your brain won’t have a chance to worry.”
Nathan shares several stories of Nick when they were younger. He’s nostalgic. Laughing. Shaking his head as he gets caught up in the memories. He tells me about a man who spent a lifetime protecting the people who matter to him. A friend. A confidant. Someone who always knows exactly what to say. Someone who goes out of his way to take care of everyone else. Someone who’s strong and kind and funny.
