Chapter 16 Nate
NATE
Isat in my rental, staring through the windshield at the dealership lot. Rows of trucks gleamed under the afternoon sun, price stickers bright in the windows.
I dropped my gaze back to the search on my phone.
Three-bedroom house in Portland. Hardwood floors, updated kitchen, a yard with a fence. The listing photos showed morning light streaming through big windows, and the street looked quiet. Tree-lined. A place where people jogged with their dogs and waved at neighbors they actually liked.
I scrolled past it.
Two-bedroom condo in San Diego. Ocean view from the balcony, rooftop pool, walking distance to the beach. I would’ve jumped at it six weeks ago. Sun, space, a clean slate three thousand miles from everything I was trying to leave behind.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
Six weeks ago, this was the plan. The only plan. Get in, see the people who mattered, find my feet, get out. Start fresh somewhere that didn’t smell like pine trees and river water and trauma.
Six weeks ago, I hadn’t kissed Maya.
I locked the phone and tossed it onto the passenger seat. Fuck.
The kiss played behind my eyes for the hundredth time.
The hitch in her breath when I’d touched her face.
How she’d whispered kiss me properly like she’d been waiting years for me to catch up.
The sound I’d made when she pressed closer, the one that came from somewhere so deep I hadn’t even known it existed.
And then the look on her face when I’d pulled away. Confused. Hurt. Trying to hide it and failing.
I scrubbed both hands over my face. That was the part that kept gutting me. Double fuck.
I’d kissed her knowing I was leaving. That was the bottom line.
No matter how I turned it over. No matter how incredible the kiss was.
No matter that every cell in my body had been screaming at me to stay right there with my mouth on hers for the rest of my natural life, the facts hadn’t changed.
I had no plan. No roots. No intention of putting them down in a town that still had my father’s shadow over every fucking corner of it.
And Maya deserved someone who could give her more than a few weeks of whatever this was before disappearing across the country.
She deserved better than me.
The familiar tightness cinched around my chest. I breathed through it, the way I’d taught myself years ago. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Let the pressure build and release without fighting it.
Dan’s truck swung into the lot, and I straightened up. Shoved it all down. Locked it away behind the same door I’d been using since I was old enough to know that showing emotion was a liability.
With that mission accomplished, I pushed the door open and climbed out. Time to buy a truck.
Dan met me between the rows with a handshake that turned into a half-hug, the easy kind that came from almost three decades of friendship.
“You look like shit,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Didn’t sleep?”
“Slept fine.”
He gave me a look that called bullshit, but he let it slide.
We started walking the lot. A salesman materialized within thirty seconds, all smiles and firm handshake, but Dan intercepted him with a “We’ll come find you when we’re ready” that was polite enough to keep the peace and final enough to end the conversation. The guy retreated.
“So, what are you after?” Dan ran his hand along the bed of a silver F-150 as we passed it. “Something practical or something pretty?”
“Practical. I don’t need bells and whistles.”
“Practical. Right. Because you’re famously low maintenance.” He gestured at me, all six-foot-three of whatever I apparently projected. “You scream understated.”
“Shut up.”
He grinned. “Just saying, you could lean into it. Get something with a lift kit. Maybe a light bar.”
“I’m buying a truck, not auditioning for a monster rally.”
He stopped in front of a dark green Tacoma and gave it an appreciative once-over. “Now that’s a good-looking truck. Solid clearance, decent bed size.”
We circled it, falling into the rhythm of two men doing what men did when they needed to be around each other without the pressure of sitting face to face. Kicking tires. Comparing specs. Talking about nothing important while the important stuff sat in the spaces between.
Dan ran his hand along the bodywork, checking the lines. “Hannah would know more than me about what’s under the hood, but it feels right.”
“Since when do you defer to anyone on trucks?”
“Since Hannah rebuilt a transmission in her garage last summer, just for shits and giggles. I had to accept that my entire mechanical identity was a lie.” He straightened up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
A ghost of a smile crossed my face. First one all day.
We moved through a few more options. A black Ram that was too flashy. A white Chevy that Dan dismissed as “a dentist’s truck.” A blue F-250 that Dan declared “a lot of truck for a guy with nothing to haul.” He wasn’t wrong, but the dig landed closer to the bone than he probably intended.
A guy with nothing to haul. Nothing tying him down. Nothing keeping him here.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and kept walking.
We ended up back at the Tacoma. It was the obvious choice, and we both knew it. Dan leaned against the tailgate, arms folded, squinting against the sun. I stood a few feet away, pretending to study the spec sheet in the window.
The silence shifted. One second it was comfortable, and the next it had weight.
“So,” Dan said. “You and Maya.”
I turned to face him. His eyes were hooded, but there was a set to his jaw that told me there was no wriggling out of this conversation.
My stomach dropped. I grabbed the spec sheet to give myself something to do. “What about me and Maya?”
“Come on, man.” Dan kicked at a stray piece of gravel. “I’m not blind. I saw the way you were looking at her during Pictionary night.”
Undone by a game of Pictionary. Fuck me. I swallowed hard. “I wasn’t looking at her any particular way.”
“Right.” He laughed, a short, dry sound. “And Brody won’t shut up about how you two act at the park. Plus, you’ve been staring at that spec sheet for five minutes and it is literally upside down.”
Fuck. I put the spec sheet back on the truck, still avoiding Dan’s gaze.
He paused. “Here’s the thing. She’s been different lately.”
“How so?” I asked when he didn’t go on.
He shrugged. “I dunno. Brighter. More like herself.”
Something twisted in my chest. “Dan...”
“I’m not warning you off.” His voice was calm and even. “You’re my best friend. You have been since we were kids. And I trust you.” He held my gaze. “But she’s my little sister. If you’re leaving, don’t take her halfway there first.”
The words landed like a double punch to the gut.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. What was I going to say? That he was wrong? He wasn’t wrong. That I had it under control? I’d kissed her yesterday like my life depended on it and then bolted like a fucking coward.
“I hear you.” It was all I had.
Dan studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded, once, and pushed off the tailgate.
“Good.” He clapped my shoulder as he passed. “Now buy the damn truck so we can get out of here.”