Chapter 7 Nathan
NATHAN
Itoss and turn in bed, trying to get comfortable. The guys who room on my hall are all getting an early night for classes and practice or whatever in the morning, so it’s pretty quiet around here. Too quiet.
The frat’s mostly made up of guys from the tennis team and academic overachievers.
The football team either dodges fraternities altogether or join a more party-oriented one.
This fraternity is all about country clubs and “community service”—bullshit for “padding our resumés and advancing our careers.” So we don’t have many wild parties.
I’m usually in bed by ten. Falling asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
But tonight, I can’t switch my thoughts off enough to relax.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out to see who the message is from. No one messages me at this time of night.
You up?
My heart pounds as my thumb works at the screen.
Yeah. What’s up?
Where are you?
I’m …
I start to type out at the frat house, but stop. The fraternity seems to be the thing Evan’s most mad about. The thing he finds most ridiculous about my new life.
I’m at home. Everything OK?
I fucked up.
Blood rushes in my ears. Panic at the possibility of Evan being in trouble. Then pleasure I know is selfish, because he chose to reach out to me of all people.
What happened?
There’s no reply for what feels like an eternity. Then:
Doesn’t matter
Go to sleep Nate
I’m up the second I read that last message. Turning the lamp on and squinting from the light while I try to find my socks and a pair of sweats to throw on.
I don’t think it through. Just get dressed and leave the house on autopilot.
Adrenaline rushes through my veins as I drive as fast as the speed limit will allow all the way to my old neighborhood. I’d avoided it for years, but I’ve been back at least three times in the past few weeks.
It’s only when I pull up outside Evan’s house that I realize I don’t have a plan.
I can’t ring the doorbell and wake his mom and Stacie up. I can’t get round the back of the house to throw a stone at his bedroom window without literally breaking in.
And if this neighborhood’s still the way it was when I was a kid, the cops will be called the second I breach the fence.
I stay in the driver’s seat with the headlights off and try messaging him instead.
Evan
I’m outside.
What the fuck?
I tiptoe across the hall, trying not to wake my ma or Stacie. Pull the blinds to the side and spot Nate’s big black SUV parked at the end of the driveway.
My phone buzzes again.
If you don’t come out I’m ringing the doorbell
I panic, but I know he won’t do that. He’s way too much of a brown nose to risk pissing my ma off. Why the fuck did I text him of all people? I had a moment of weakness and he was the first person who came to mind. The only one I could tell that I’d fucked up who might actually care.
I throw my sneakers on and a hoodie and go outside, the cold air biting at my bare legs in my shorts as I make my way down the driveway to Nate’s car.
He gets out, his hair messy under a fucking backward baseball cap. A Princeton t-shirt and grey sweats. My mouth gets dry, nervous from how good he looks, and I have to remind myself he’s a fucking frat boy. An Ivy League asshole. I don’t fuck with guys like that.
“Hey,” he whispers when I get close enough to hear him.
I try to be angry. To spit the words, but when I speak, I sound like a little kid.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Nate?”
He shrugs. “You sounded like you needed to talk.”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“So?”
There’s this big fucking part of me that just wants to go with him, wherever he’s going.
Ask him to take me to his nice house, where all his clothes are clean and his Nikes are brand new.
Let me live in his crisp, tennis-white world.
But the other part of me, the smart bit, knows that’s not possible.
“You’ve done what Ma asked you to do.” I spit. “You can go home now.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not doing that, Evan. You texted me.”
Hearing him say my name, fuck.
“Forget it. I didn’t want you to come over here.”
He ignores me. “Is Frankie’s still open?”
That word instantly brings me back, like no time has passed at all. And for a second, everything shucks off my shoulders and I snort. “You’re kidding right? That place’ll survive the apocalypse.”
He smiles. “Get in.”
He starts climbing into the car before I even have a chance to reply.
I could ignore him. Turn around and walk back into the house.
I consider it for a second. Consider going back to bed, alone, with nothing but my thoughts and memories of that guy’s breath on my neck.
The sting of him inside me. The greasy fifty-dollar bills burning a hole in that shoebox under my bed.
Nate switches the engine on and the dashboard lights up his face. He glances over, meeting my gaze, and for a second, the frat boy in the driver’s seat of his Beemer is my Nate again.
The car has a pine tree scent, but as Nate backs out of the driveway, I catch something else. It’s him. His sweat and the way he’d smell when he slept in my bed all night and woke up with his hair stuck to his face. He was in bed when I texted, and he got up, came all the way out here, for me.
My gut churns and my pulse speeds up while I try not to look at the shape of his thighs in those grey sweats.
Remind myself that this doesn’t mean shit.
It doesn’t make up for all those years. For what he did, or let someone else do, back then.
If I ever needed proof he didn’t give enough of a shit about me, about our friendship, then he gave it to me that night.
The stereo is on low, playing some rock song. It’s too quiet for me to recognize what it is.
“Want me to put something on?” he asks, gesturing to the speaker.
“Nah, I’m good.”
It’s weird watching Nate drive a car. The way he handles the SUV with ease. I don’t even have a license, though my dad taught me to drive. It’s kind of ironic that Nate is the responsible car owner now.
His light brown hair pokes out from under the backward cap, and I can see the Princeton ‘P’ from this angle. I try to focus on it, remind myself that Nate’s in a totally different world now. He doesn’t know you, couldn’t understand you anymore.
Frankie’s is coming up on the corner. The F in the neon sign used to flicker, now it’s completely broken and the sign says ‘rankie’s’. The place looks like a shit hole, but the food’s good and I’ve never heard of anyone getting sick off it.
Nate parks the car and I don’t even wanna joke about it getting jacked here. I guess his stepdad’ll pay for it if it does. He doesn’t look worried.
We go in, the bell dinging above the door. It’s a familiar scene: a tired waitress in an old-fashioned diner uniform glances up from filing her nails at the counter. A couple of old men nurse cups of coffee. A trucker reads the newspaper in a booth with a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him.
We take a booth a couple of rows away from the trucker and start looking at the menu.
It feels weird sitting here with Nate. For a second, I imagine telling him everything.
Why I let those men fuck me. How it makes me feel.
How I hate myself after and how I wish I could stop.
How sometimes I hope for something else I know I can’t have or that doesn’t exist.
But then he smiles at me over his menu and I don’t wanna see the look of disgust on his face when he finally knows me.
“Chili cheese fries?”
I hesitate. I don’t have any cash.
“My treat,” he says, trying to smile.
“You don’t need to buy me food,” I growl.
He rolls his eyes. “I dragged you out of the house in your shorts. It’s not charity. Relax.”
I take a deep breath, imagine refusing and sitting here in silence without even a plate of fries to distract me. “Fine … thanks.”
He’s quiet while we wait for our food. I try not to stare at his hands on the table. Try to block out the sound of his car keys jingling when he shifts on his seat.
When the waitress puts our food down in front of us, Nate immediately starts pigging out—exactly like when we were kids and we’d save up enough money to split a milkshake and a side of fries. Nate was always a pushover. Always let me eat the last fry or slurp up the last of the milkshake.
Now, he sits back in the booth, groaning and rubbing his belly.
“I never eat stuff like this anymore. Coach Sanchez has us on a strict diet.”
“I still can’t believe you play fucking tennis,” I say, reaching for a fry.
The tips of his ears get pink.
“Me, neither.”
Smearing chili sauce around the plate, I keep my eyes down as I ask, “Do you like it?”
“Sure.”
I look up fast enough to catch the shrug.
“‘Sure?’ Sounds like a lot of hard work for something you’re not that into.”
“I like it,” he admits.
I nod, stuffing the fry in my mouth. “You got friends up there at that fancy school?”
He scoffs. “Yeah, a few.”
“So why are you sitting here eating greasy diner food on the bad side of town with me?”
Something flutters in my stomach while I wait for his answer. What the fuck do I think he’s gonna say?
I’d rather be here with you? You’re better than them?
Yeah, right.
He shrugs again. “You needed me, so I came.”
Somehow that’s both better and worse than what I was imagining he’d say.
I bite back the response that sits on the tip of my tongue—I’ve needed you for the past five years, where were you then?
I push the fries into the middle of the table and sit back.
“Evan … ” Nate takes a deep breath and wipes his hands on a napkin. “If you want to talk, about your dad-”
“I don’t.”
“Okay.” He nods. “But if you ever do….”
“Listen Nate, I don’t need your fucking counselling, okay?”
He looks up at me with those big green eyes.
“Fuck, why do you have to give me that Bambi shit?”
“What?” His lips twitch up on one side and I have to grit my teeth to stop from mirroring the smile.
“I’m not giving you the ‘Bambi shit.’” He shakes his head. “I’m just trying to be a friend.”
“Because my ma asked you to babysit me.”
“No, not because of that.” He looks down at the table, running his finger through some salt grains. “Evan, I know I haven’t been here….”
I start to sweat. My heart racing. How long have I waited for Nate to come back and tell me how sorry he was for leaving?
How much he’s missed me? How wrong I was about him thinking he’s better than me now?
But I can’t take it. Whatever he has to say, I don’t wanna hear it. Not anymore. It’s too late.
I cut him off before he can even try.
“You screwed me over back then, but I’m over it,” I say, shoving another fry in my mouth. “Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around you, and I haven’t just been sitting in my room moping. I’ve had bigger things to think about.”
“More coffee, hon?”
Nate had been staring at me with those big stupid Bambi eyes, but he flinches at the waitress’ voice. He looks too stunned to speak, so I answer for him. “No, thanks.”
She shrugs and walks away.
“Shouldn’t you get back to the frat house? Won’t your brothers be wondering where you’ve gone?”
He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again before nodding.
My heart sinks. Once again, he let it go, just like that.
No fighting. I shouldn’t be surprised. I can’t compete with the lifestyle he has now.
I don’t even blame him for choosing it over me anymore.
I want him to have it. He deserves it. Always has.
The other side of all this shit is where he was always supposed to be.
Nate waits until he’s started the car and is pulling out of Frankie’s to ask what he probably came over to ask in the first place.
“You said something happened? In your message, you said you fucked up.”
I swallow, think about telling him to mind his own business, but it feels redundant seeing as I started this.
“I pissed my ma off, it’s not a big deal. I overreacted.”
Nate nods. Swallows. His Adam’s apple bobbing in his smooth throat.
“What did you two argue over?”
“Nothing, she was hassling me, I shouldn’t have lost it with her. I pushed her, I didn’t hurt her but … I should have done it.”
“Evan, you’re grieving, you-”
“It’s fine, alright?”
He takes in a sharp breath and nods. “Okay, if you say so.”