Chapter 27
27
Hayden
senior year
When I get to school on Monday morning, the buzz about how “sick” prom was starts spreading through the hallways. Everyone is talking about their weekend hookups and binge drinking escapades. I, on the other hand, spent the weekend worried that when I kissed Natalia, I pushed her away completely. I had this sudden fear thinking she would be angry at me for assuming something that was clearly one-sided. Or worse, that she wouldn’t even acknowledge me when I saw her in class.
When I walk into bio class and sit in my usual seat, Natalia already in hers with her head slouched between her shoulders, I can’t help but notice the grim expression on her face. Her eyes stay focused on the textbook in front of her, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip as her brow furrows and her hands are clenched in tight fists. I start thinking to myself that this is how it’s going to be between us from now on. Her sitting in her seat and me in mine, without a single word passing between us.
“Um, Nat,” I say in a low voice.
But she doesn’t look up. I sigh, regretting everything. How stupid I was to think that she actually wanted me to kiss her and how I interpreted everything so wrong.
I want to tell her that I’m sorry. I don’t want this to be how our friendship ends. I lift my hand to her shoulder. And instead of turning to face me, she flinches. She recoils as if my hand were a hot brand.
A cold shiver runs through me. I take my hand off her shoulder but every inch of my skin crawls, coming up with a hundred different scenarios where Natalia has been hurt. “Nat, what happened?”
She shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Natalia.” The classroom begins filling with students, a sign that the bell is about to ring and that class is going to start.
“He kissed me, and he didn’t stop when I asked him to,” she finally says in a low voice.
My brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Natalia sighs, her hands coming to her face as her trembling chin peeks through the slits of her fingers.
“We were in front of my house, and we sat in Alex’s car for a minute. And he turned to kiss me. At first, I let him and when it got kind of uncomfortable, I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t.”
My jaw clenches as I shove my fist under the desk. “Did he hurt you?”
Her eyes peek through her hands as she finally faces me, and I see the tears rimming her eyes. Her chin trembles even harder, but she shakes her head.
“No, but…” she manages through a strangled voice. I see a lone tear spill down her cheek before she turns the other way.
She’s not physically hurt, but he still touched her. He still did something she clearly didn’t want him to do.
I rest my hand on her back, running my fingers over her sweater. She keeps her face turned away from me, and I feel the tension in her shoulders slacken at the same time a broken sob breaks through her. I’m so thankful, so relieved that she didn’t flinch from my touch like she did the first time.
The bell rings before I can say anything else. Mr. Khan stands from behind his desk and turns his projector on, instructing us where we’re picking up in our textbooks. I barely hear any of it. Instead, my hard gaze is narrowed on Alex Spencer sitting on the other side of the room. He’s laughing at something his lab partner said, completely oblivious to the effect his actions had on Natalia’s prom night. My blood begins to boil. It simmers in my gut as I think about running the hard knuckles lining my fist through that smug mouth of his.
A light sniffle brings my attention back to Natalia. The lines of her notebook remain blank, unlike other times when they’re filled with long scribbles of biology terms and haphazardly drawn images of neurons or a DNA helicase. Her body leans into my touch, and that fire that makes me seethe cools. I start to focus on consoling her until the knot that’s at the root of her displaced shame loosens. I keep my hand on her back, silently letting her know that I’m still here by her side while wishing I could hold her in my arms instead.
present
I slump onto the sofa in my living room as soon as I walk through the front door, physically restless but emotionally drained. I drop the six-pack of beer I picked up on the way home on the coffee table before kicking off my shoes and letting my head fall back against the soft cushions. My gaze lingers on a small chocolate stain on my sleeve and I can’t decide if the memory of that stain makes me happy or sad.
“Hey,” Dexter calls when he walks out of his room. “You’re home early.”
I look at the clock hanging above the TV. It’s close to midnight. “This is early?”
He looks like he’s about to go out, dressed in a casual dress shirt with the top two buttons undone and fitted jeans.
“I’m going to get some drinks with some work people. You want to come?”
I sigh. The way I see it, I have two choices. Sit at home, drinking alone and wallowing in my newfound realization that I’m falling for the closest thing to a best friend I’ve ever had. Or go out and drink with people to distract myself from the wallowing I’m going to do regardless.
I stand from the couch. “Sure,” I answer through a light groan, eyeing the loose, relaxed clothes that I wore to Natalia’s. “Let me just change.”
Once I’m dressed in something more fitting for a night of drinking, not to lighten my mood but rather to numb the sour state of it, Dexter and I leave our apartment.
“I think you might have some fun tonight.” He grins at me.
I eye him curiously as he locks our door, and I pull my arms through the sleeves of my jacket.
The walk to the bar is quick, taking us no more than fifteen minutes. It’s loud inside. And sticky. Everywhere I step, it seems to take an extra ounce of strength to peel my feet off the floor. But Dexter’s friends are nice. Welcoming and energetic as they order a round of drinks. We all surround a small table in the middle of the bar, the noise and bustling chatter distracting my thoughts.
I turn away from the group and walk the three steps it takes to reach the bar to order another drink. Something stronger than the two beers I downed within the half hour since we’d arrived. I see Dexter approach me as I take a sip of the fresh glass of whiskey I ordered, his face already flushed and a half-empty tumbler carrying something clear and fizzy in his hand.
“This is Brittany,” Dexter shouts over the noise, the same grin he gave me before we walked out of our apartment plastered across his face. “We work together.”
Next to him, a young blonde woman that I would normally talk to and flirt shamelessly with stands expectantly. She shouldered her way through the crowd behind Dexter, settling herself beside him. Her flirty smile exposing teeth that are too white flickers as she looks at me, then at Dexter when I don’t say anything.
I clear my throat before realizing that I’m being rude and extend my hand toward her. “Nice to meet you,” I say.
She giggles loudly enough that I can hear it over the noise, sounding like a high-strung bird chirping at the crack of dawn. Not necessarily shrill but difficult to stomach. Or maybe it’s that I’ve gotten used to Natalia’s sweet, buoyant laughter. The one that I can feel even when I can’t hear it, seeing it bounce off her eyes and her cheeks, gleaming from her lips as they curve upward, deepening the creases between her nose and around her mouth. It’s the kind of laugh that lights up her whole face. The only kind of laugh that I ever want to hear.
Dexter steps away and leaves me and Brittany alone, clinking his drink to mine as he leaves. The awkwardness bounces off the both of us as I refuse to make eye contact with her .
After the third sip of my whiskey and the tenth time she’s twirled her finger around a lock of her hair, she finally says, “I’m going to talk to my friend over there.”
She points to someone behind me, and I nod, not even looking in the direction she’s referring to. She steps away, her brows raised in obvious disappointment as she scurries toward a more welcoming audience.
And then I see him.
Matteo.
He’s standing at the other side of the bar, his arm around a blonde woman, looking very comfortable and relaxed. As if he was out on a date. Only I know it’s not his fiancée. Because his fiancée looks a lot like Natalia. Like a second-rate carbon copy he settled for once he realized he made a mistake.
My glaring eyes stare at him, knowing that not only did he break Natalia’s heart, but he’s also a sleazeball probably cheating on his fiancée. When he looks up, he sees me blatantly staring. He drops his arm that was draped around the woman’s shoulders and takes a small step away from her. As if to hide the fact that the woman next to him isn’t the one he’s engaged to. He lifts his chin toward me. And when I don’t respond with either a wave hello or a nod of acknowledgment, he stalks toward me.
“Henry, right?” he asks when he reaches me.
I openly smirk, but it comes off as more like a scoff. “Hayden.”
“Sure.” He smirks back. “Listen, this”—he swivels his thumb between himself and the blond—“it’s nothing. I’m just out having drinks with some friends.”
I raise my brows, indifference radiating off my refusal to answer him as I tilt my drink back instead.
“So,” he continues carefully, “it would be great if you didn’t mention it to anyone, like Natalia or her parents. With Jacinda being pregnant, it’s been a bit tense at home. To put it lightly. ”
My eyes narrow. So that’s why they’re getting married. It’s a shotgun wedding, and he’s staring down the barrel of the gun while out gallivanting with another woman.
I don’t answer him. I look away and continue to sip my drink, finishing it off with a long tilt back.
“Anyway,” he says, a little too confidently considering everything he just told me. “How’s my Natty doing?”
My Natty . The possessiveness in his voice makes my blood simmer. As if she could ever be his Natty.
“She’s great,” I answer. My voice is strained, restraint barely holding back the urge to punch the smug smile on his face.
“That’s good to hear.” His smile grows wider. He’s completely ignorant, thinking that he’s making Natalia’s boyfriend jealous. But even though I’m not her actual boyfriend, the overprotective impulse makes my body tingle in an effort to defend her. To stand up for her and let this asshole know that Natalia isn’t wasting a single moment thinking about him, not even on their anniversary, which I assume he doesn’t even remember.
“You know, I do miss that little minx from time to time,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it. “She knew how to get parts of me excited in ways I’m sure you’re aware of.”
The crack of my fist hitting his jaw is all I hear. The rumble of people gasping and clamoring comes next before Dexter rushes to my side, his splayed hand grazing my waist. I watch Matteo stumble to the ground, taking a stool or two with him as he grasps for something to catch his fall. I can almost see the stars circling above his head as he stands, all clumsy and staggered.
Dexter’s hands are still on me, ready to hold me back in case a second swing is in order. Matteo wipes the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth before he scoffs and looks at me. My hand vibrates at my side, numb from the adrenaline forcing the pain at bay. As I stand there, watching Matteo gather his bearings, it starts to burn. My knuckles start to throb, but my focus is on Matteo, the anger cutting through his flared nostrils and glaring eyes.
“This isn’t fucking worth it,” he grumbles. He starts to walk away, storming past me toward the exit, but stops when he’s inches away from my face. “You can have my sloppy seconds.”
I struggle against Dexter’s now firm grip, ready to bury another fist into his nose, but stop myself. What good is this going to do? Pummeling his face into the ground to…what? To threaten him and tell him to stay away from my girlfriend ?
“What’s going on over here?” Both Dexter and I turn to face the bar, where the bartender stands in front of us with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Nothing!” Dexter answers. “That guy just bumped into us and tripped over the chairs. Probably too drunk or something.”
He nods before walking away, and Dexter turns to face me.
“Who was that?” he asks.
“Nat’s ex.”
“Why were you punching him?”
I wince from the pain that’s starting to shoot up my arm now that the adrenaline has abated. I look down and notice the redness and swelling that’s starting to puff up my knuckles. I shake my head, my face grim and angry. So fucking angry. “It’s nothing.”