Chapter 17
Iris
I wake up disoriented, pressed against something warm and solid.
Nate.
Squinting at the morning light creeping in through the curtains, memories from last night come flooding back. The movies, his hands on me, the way he looked at me. And of course, the part where I panicked and blurted out that I was a virgin.
Oh god.
Groaning, I bury my face into his t-shirt and try to make a plan that doesn’t involve facing him ever again.
I feel the vibration of his sleepy hum before I hear it. “Morning,” he rasps, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble back, squeezing my eyes shut, the soreness reminding me why I should never fall asleep in my contacts.
“You okay?” he asks, shifting so he can see me better. His hand slides up to push hair out of my face, his thumb brushing my cheek.
“I forgot to take out my contacts.”
“Mm, I wouldn’t mind seeing you in your glasses,” he drawls, “Bet you look cute as hell.”
“Absolutely not,” I say, way too fast.
My glasses are the one thing from my past that still lingers. Part of me can’t help but worry that if he saw me in them, he would see Kavi.
“Breaking my heart here, Darlin’.”
“I’m sparing you,” I mutter, going back to my hiding place against him.
We lapse into silence, and I think Nate’s fallen back asleep, but all I can think about is what happened last night.
He saw me.
I try to pull back, to get up and go home and hide my shame. But Nate’s arm tightens around me, and he grumbles something intelligible about sleep.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I blurt out, unable to ignore it a second longer.
“What for?”
“I… you know.” I pick at a loose thread on my sweater. “You— you saw my… and I freaked out.”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with having boundaries,” he says, before adding, “And for the record, you’re beautiful. Got nothing to be ashamed of.”
I hide my face against him, wanting to melt into the floor. “Don’t say that.”
“I have to. It’s the truth.”
I peek up, reluctant to believe him, but his gaze is steady, serious in a way that makes my stomach flutter.
For a moment, neither of us says anything. The air feels charged, like maybe we could pick up where we left off last night.
Until Nate clears his throat, his expression telling me he knows exactly what I was thinking.
“You hungry?” he asks. “I can make us something.”
My stomach chooses that moment to betray me with a small growl, making him grin. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he teases, untangling his arm from around me so he can stretch.
“Only if it’s something easy.” I watch his shirt ride up, revealing a sliver of skin. “I feel bad making you cook for me.”
“You’re not making me do anything.” He stands up and walks toward the hallway, calling back over his shoulder, “I’m gonna check on Alex, see if he wants anything.”
I push the blanket off my lap, listening to Nate knock lightly on a door. “Hey, kid. You up?” A beat later, I hear the hinges creak.
“Alex?”
There’s no answer.
I stand, worry prickling under my skin, and follow him to where he’s standing in the doorframe to Alex’s room. “Nate?”
“He’s not here,” he says, staring at the empty room, like he’s willing Alex to appear.
“Maybe he stayed at a friend’s?” I offer.
“Yeah.” He sounds distracted, unsettled. “Maybe.”
He pulls out his phone, his thumbs moving across the screen while I stay quiet, hovering near him.
Unsure if I should step closer or give him space.
The light mood from before feels far away now, replaced by the heavy weight of Alex not coming home.
Nate lets out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Then he glances at me, with a small smile that feels nothing but forced. “How ’bout that breakfast?”
By the time Alex finally shows up, my plate is mostly empty, and I’m rambling about a lesson plan idea. An attempt to keep his mind off of everything.
But his eyes keep flicking between the clock on the stove and the door, the worry sits between us, silent but restless.
When we hear the back door creak open, Nate stiffens.
Alex steps into the kitchen with a disheveled quality about him. His hoodie is half-zipped, and his blonde hair is a mess, dark circles standing out against his pale skin.
At first, he doesn’t say anything. Just goes into the kitchen like everything’s normal.
“Where the hell were you?” Nate’s voice cracks through the tense quiet.
Alex rummages through the fridge, pulling out a water bottle, “Out.”
“All night? You didn’t call. You didn’t text. You got any idea how worried I was?”
Alex shrugs, “It’s Halloween. I stayed out late. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Nate repeats, his voice rising as anger replaces the worry now that he knows his brother is safe. “Alex, you didn’t come home. I thought something happened to you!”
“Well, nothing did.”
“That’s not the goddamn point!” Nate’s hand slams flat on the table, silverware rattling against plates. “You don’t get to disappear all night and act like I shouldn’t be worried! I’m your brother, Alex. You think I don’t give a shit?”
Alex crosses his arms, his jaw tightening. “You’re overreacting.”
“I already had to bury mom,” Nate snaps, voice breaking, “I ain’t going through that again. You understand me?”
Alex’s mouth opens like he wants to argue, but then, his face growing more pale than usual, he looks down at the floor.
Part of me wants to reach out and offer comfort, but I’m not sure who needs it more.
All I know is, I shouldn’t be here. It feels like I’m intruding on a private conversation.
For a long, terrible second, no one says anything.
But finally, Nate drags a hand down his face. His anger slipping away, leaving only exhaustion. “Next time, text me. Please.”
His voice cracks on the last word, revealing how he really feels.
Afraid.
Alex walks past us, muttering, “I’m gonna go shower,” before disappearing down the hall, the door slamming shut behind him.
The silence he leaves behind is heavy as Nate slumps back into his chair, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get angry like that.”
I shake my head, my heart aching for both of them. “You don’t have to apologize,” I whisper, but Nate still looks away, toward Alex’s bedroom.
“He’s okay,” I tell him, reaching across the table to lay my hand over his. His fingers curl around mine, holding on tight.
The following day, I’m tucked into one of the small round tables in the teacher’s lounge, poking at my reheated rice, when Nate strolls in with a lunch tray balanced in one hand.
Layla quickly follows.
“Hope I’m not interrupting your couple time,” she teases, dropping into the seat across from me.
Nate shoots her a look, his mouth full of pizza. “Don’t start, Layla. It’s too early.”
“It’s noon,” she points out, biting into her apple. “So, Iris, ready for your first round of parent-teacher conferences tonight?”
I nearly choke on my rice. “Don’t remind me. I’m so nervous.”
Nate leans closer to me, his hand landing on my knee under the table. “You’re gonna be just fine. Parents just wanna hear nice shit about their kids anyway.”
“Except the ones who want to blame you for their kid not doing well,” Layla adds, “Or the ones who treat it like speed dating.”
“Hey, don’t joke about that,” Nate grumbles, “Last year, I had two or three of ‘em following me around all evening.”
“I bet you loved it.”
“Hell no. It’s awkward. Their kids were right there half the time.”
I giggle despite my nerves, “You’ll probably have a whole line this year.”
He catches my eye, giving me a crooked grin. “I only got eyes for you, Darlin’.”
“God, stop,” Layla says. “Some of us are lonely and bitter.”
“You’re neither,” Nate points out. “You’ve got Grant.”
“I do, but we’ve reached the boring stage of marriage,” she retorts with a sigh before turning back to me. “You’re gonna do great, Iris. Don’t let them bulldoze you. If you get stuck, text me. Or Coach, he’ll come save ya.”
“I appreciate it,” I say, though my stomach still feels tight. “It’s just, I’ve never done this before. What if I say the wrong thing?”
Nate’s voice softens. “You won’t. You care about those kids. They’ll see that.” I look up at him, his thumb rubbing back and forth on my thigh.
The lounge feels smaller, like it’s only the two of us.
“Alright, lovers, I gotta go print some shit out before my next class. Try not to get her pregnant before fifth period,” Layla warns, pushing to her feet.
Nate chuckles. “No promises.”
She shoots him a playful look over her shoulder while my cheeks burn. I know Layla means well, but her comment adds something new to my already existing worry.
I push my rice away, no longer hungry.
My classroom is usually my safe place, but tonight, it’s something else entirely.
Parents are walking around the school, stopping into each of their kids’ classes. They listen in groups to my prepared speech about what we’re working on.
Some have questions or concerns, while others feign interest when they would obviously rather be elsewhere.
The first couple that stays for a one-on-one nod along as I talk about their son’s accomplishments, with proud smiles on their faces. They thank me, shake my hand, and move on.
That’s how it goes with most of the parents.
It’s mostly fine.
A mother with a sharp blonde bob slides into the chair across from me. “My daughter says you assign too much work,” she begins, her voice clipped. “She’s in advanced classes, you know. She can’t be expected to waste her time painting.”
I nod, keeping my voice steady. “The assignments are part of the curriculum, ma’am. And this class is a requirement to graduate.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but I don’t give her a chance.
“But if she’s overwhelmed, we can always talk about accommodations.” I offer.
“She doesn’t need accommodations,” she interrupts, looking like I’ve insulted her. I finish with something polite and useless as she stands and stalks off.
During a break, my phone vibrates on my desk multiple times.
Nate: Help.
Nate: Some lady’s asking if I want to come over for dinner to tutor her son.
Nate: I teach PE.
Nate: Send backup.