Chapter 31 #2
Layla’s face softens in sympathy. The whole damn town’s heard about what happened at this point, or at least some version of the story. “How’s he doing?”
I shrug, not knowing what to say. How can the kid ever be alright?
What he went through…
Iris squeezes my hand, not letting me get too lost in those thoughts. “He’s healing up. Gonna finish out the school year at home. Less than two months left, so we figured it’d be easier on him.”
“That’s good,” Iris says, brushing her hand along my arm.
“About Alex,” I start. “He wanted to know if you’d go with him to the police station.”
“Me? Why not you?”
I’ve been wondering the same thing. “He said I’d lose it.”
Something shifts in her face, but she doesn’t ask any more questions. Only nods, like she gets it. “Of course I’ll go, whatever he needs.”
“So…” Layla drawls, pulling us out of our bubble. “I heard you two finally had sex.”
“Layla!” Iris squeaks, looking around to see if anyone heard, even though the room is empty.
“What?” Layla asks, unbothered. “I’m your best friend! I’m supposed to know these things.”
“Hell yeah, we did. And it was pretty fucking great.”
“Nate!”
“Sorry, Darlin,” I shrug, not sorry at all. “You’re my girl. I’m gonna have to brag about you.” I pull her hand up for a kiss, and she rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s fighting to keep that frown on her face.
Layla glances at Iris, her expression turning warm. “Anyway, I gotta get back to class. Good luck tonight.”
With Layla gone, I take the opportunity to look Iris up and down. She’s wearing one of those skirts with a t-shirt that doesn’t quite reach, and after last night, something about the sliver of skin is really doing it for me.
“What?” She asks when I’ve been staring at her for way too long.
I can’t stop myself from pulling her closer. “God, Iris. You look so fucking sexy.”
My hands find her waist, thumbs brushing under her shirt. “Nate… “ She protests, “We can’t. We’re at work.”
“Nobody’s in here.” I defend, and she doesn’t seem all that interested in arguing with me. Instead, she relaxes into my touch, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Seems like all my flirting with Holloway did you some good. Let you have an extra week off and everything,” she teases, closing the distance so her lips are almost touching mine.
“Oh, yeah? You trying to make me jealous?”
She brushes her nose against mine. “You’re just so easy to mess with, Coach Wesley.”
“Okay, maybe I was—”
I can’t even finish my sentence. She’s looking up at me with those honey colored eyes. “Fuck, you’re irresistible.” My thumbs drift lower, tracing under the fabric of her skirt.
She bites her lip, and I’ve had about all I can take without kissing her, when, speak of the devil, the door swings open and Holloway steps inside. We jump apart, but he raises a brow, continuing to the coffee pot. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that.”
“Sorry, Mr. Holloway,” Iris says, covering her mouth to hide her smile.
“Uh huh.” When he turns around, his gaze lands on me over the rim of his mug. “Some of us are trying to maintain a professional environment here, Coach Wesley.”
“C’mon, man. It’s not like I was—”
“Just don’t do it again.”
Iris is still smiling when Holloway turns around. “You think this is funny? You were all up on me, but somehow it’s all my fault.”
“Aw, don’t pout.”
“I’m not pouting,” I grumble, only making her laugh harder.
With lunch winding down, students start pouring back into Iris’s classroom.
And I know I gotta get back to Alex for his physical therapy, but man, I miss her already. “I don’t wanna go,” I complain, even though she’s been trying to kick me out for the last five minutes.
“Lunch is almost over anyway. You’ll be okay.”
“Debatable,” I counter, reaching up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, but her reaction isn’t the normal one. She goes stiff, her eyes drifting around me to the room.
I can feel the curious stares on us, too, but I don’t care.
Let them look.
“I don’t care who sees us,” I say in a low voice that only she can hear. “Hell, I want ‘em too. I’m proud.” She narrows her eyes like she always does when I say sappy shit like that, but the blush on her cheeks gives her away.
I tilt my head down to plant a brief kiss to her lips. “Gonna miss you.”
I’m almost out the door when I remember Layla’s parting words. “Wait. What did Layla mean earlier when she said good luck tonight?
Iris bites her lip, looking up at me through her lashes. “I’m having dinner with my parents tonight. My mom reached out after she heard I was back in town and… yeah.”
“Wait. Back in town? Your parents live here? In Rosehill?”
She nods, looking toward the art on the wall and then back at me. “Yeah. I grew up here.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Well, shit. I didn’t know that.”
“It’s complicated.” She looks so damn small when she says that, I can’t even think about it anymore. Instead, I reach out to comfort her, my thumb brushing her cheek. “You gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure how they’ll react to seeing me like this.” She gestures to herself. “If they’ll accept me.
My jaw clenches. The idea of anyone not accepting Iris, especially her parents… “You don’t gotta go if you’re not ready.”
“I know,” she nods. “But I should give them a chance. Anika seems to think so anyway.”
“You want me to come with you?”
“Really?”
I shrug, like it ain’t a big deal. “No pressure, but I should probably meet your parents at some point.”
The tension in her body eases, and her lips spread into a relieved smile as she leans forward to kiss my cheek. “Thank you, Nate.”
And that’s right about when a high-pitched squeal explodes behind us.“Oh. My. God. Are you guys back together?!”
We pull up to the curb in front of a pretty white house with perfectly trimmed bushes. The place sorta reminds me of my own childhood home, before mom died.
Iris is in the passenger seat, tugging at the fabric of her dress.
“You look beautiful, Darlin’, Stop worrying about your dress,” I say for the tenth time since we left her place.
She huffs. “You have to say that, you’re my boyfriend.”
“I don’t have to,” I reach over, brushing my hand against her knee to take hers. “I get to. Big difference.”
“What if they don’t like it? What if they don’t like me? What if they don’t like you?”
“Hey, I’m real likable,” I tell her, all confidence, while my stomach twists itself into knots.
What if they don’t think I’m good enough for Iris?
“I’m serious, Nate. My parents… they’re traditional.”
“I’m sure they’ll love me,” I say, trying to reassure myself as much as her. “Because I love you.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I hope so.”
I manage to get her out of the truck and lead her up to the porch. We’re almost to the front door when I remember what I stuffed in my pocket on the way out. “Hey, almost forgot.”
She looks at me with a puzzled expression as I pull it out.
My mother’s locket.
“Figured you might wanna wear this tonight.”
Her breath catches. “Nate…”
“Turn around.” She does, gathering her hair to one side with trembling fingers. I reach around her neck and fasten it gently. “There. Perfect.”
Her hand is trembling in mine as we walk up the steps. But when she reaches for the doorbell, she hesitates. “I’m right here,” I tell her, and she nods, pressing the doorbell once before pulling her hand back like it burned her.
A few tense seconds stretch out until the door opens.
The woman who opens the door is older and a few inches shorter, but she looks exactly like Iris. When she sees us, she freezes, like her brain’s catching up.
“Iris?” she whispers, testing out the name.
“Hi, mama.”
Her mom steps forward, and I think Iris might step back, but when her mom wraps her arms around her, she lets go of my hand to hug her back desperately. Behind them, a man appears in the hallway. Tall, wearing a polo and khakis. He stops, gaping at her like he’s seeing a ghost.
“Hi, Papa,” Iris says, turning to him. He cups her face in his hands, his voice rough as gravel when he says, “It’s so good to see you.”
Whatever her parents are like, traditional or not, it’s damn clear they missed Iris.
That they love her so much.
It’s making my heart ache. I know why Iris did what she did, and I’m not judging her, but as a semi-parent, I can’t imagine how it must’ve felt for them.
If I lost Alex…
She steps back, wiping her eyes with the palm of her hand. “Mama, Papa, this is Nate. My boyfriend.”
Her dad’s gaze flicks to me, measuring at first, but it quickly relaxes when he offers his hand. “Rajesh.”
I take his hand, giving it a firm shake and putting on my best meet-the-parents smile. “Nate Wesley, sir. Nice to meet you.”
Her mother brushes a hand through Iris’s hair. “Thank you for bringing her.”
“It’s an honor, ma’am.”
They step back, and we follow them inside. The air smells like whatever’s cooking for dinner, homey and warm. Pictures line the walls, and I stop to scan them, realizing that some of them are old.
“Is that you, Darlin’?” I ask with a chuckle, pointing at a picture of a toddler with a bowl cut and big glasses.
Iris’s face flushes a deep red as she makes a mortified sound. “Don’t look at those, Nate. Seriously.”
I can’t help but laugh. I’m not trying to be a dick, but she was just so damn cute. “What? I like it!” I turn toward her parents, “I’m gonna have to get a copy of that one for the house.”
She shoots me a glare sharp enough to cut. “Absolutely not!”
Her parents are watching us with matching amused looks as her mom gestures toward the stairs. “Dinner will be ready soon. If you’d like, you can go up to your room. It’s exactly as you left it.”
“My room?” Iris asks, her voice filled with disbelief.
Her mom nods. “Of course. We hoped maybe you would come back, one day.”
A grin tugs at my mouth at the idea of seeing her childhood bedroom. “C’mon then, lead the way.”
When she pushes open the door, it’s like stepping into a frozen memory of someone else. The walls are a pale blue, the bed’s made, and there’s a corkboard by the window covered in photos and drawings. Shelves are lined with dusty books and knick-knacks.
“They didn’t change anything,” she murmurs, looking around.
Still messy, huh?” I tease, nodding toward the cluttered desk.
“Shut up.”
My gaze keeps drifting, drawn to the paintings hanging on the wall. Even the rough ones, probably real old, still have something beautiful about them, something so Iris. “You were always good.”
She glances at me, her mouth parting, but then I see it.
A painting, half-finished, propped up by the window.
Dark, stormy clouds, light breaking through.
A memory surges up, so quick it steals the breath from my lungs. There’s a photo of a kid, skinny as hell, dark hair hiding most of his face, glasses too big. The name slams into me like a punch to the heart.
Kavi.
My chest goes cold.
Iris is saying something, but the pounding of my heart drowns her out.
I remember.