14. Nolan
14
NOLAN
I woke up with hair in my face again, but this time…this time was different.
I was in Aiden’s room, for one thing, instead of my own. And I remembered everything about the night before. About what got me here.
I flushed.
The things we’d done. The things I’d said to him in the heat of the moment. The way he’d felt on top of me…and underneath me…and wrapped around me. The way he’d thrown his head back with abandon, the trust he’d shown.
He’d let me make him come. Let me come inside him. Begged for it.
I remembered it too well.
But this morning was also different because of how I felt. There was no terror, no dread. Not even a slow-brewing anxiety creeping up the inside of my body like ivy. I felt…peace.
And that scared me most of all.
I really had just come to his room yesterday to ask if he wanted to grab dinner, and even that, I’d wrestled with. I didn’t want to get too close to him. Didn’t want to accidentally start relying on him, when none of this was real.
It couldn’t be. Aiden wasn’t that kind of guy. He’d been clear this show was just a stepping-stone, that he was willing to do whatever it took, pretend to be whatever he needed to, in order to get where he was going.
And even if he were that kind of guy, I wasn’t.
Relationships—the real kind, not make-believe ones—required intimacy. Vulnerability. And I wasn’t about to get hurt again.
The problem was that, around Aiden, I forgot what being hurt felt like. Being in his presence was like unclenching my jaw for the first time in decades. And that was dangerous.
I just wished he’d make it easier on me. Where was the mouthy brat he’d been in the beginning? Why’d he have to go and plant the seeds of things I hadn’t felt for so long in my heart? They’d grow like weeds if I didn’t rip them out.
I shifted, sliding my arm back. It had been curved protectively over Aiden’s body. He slept like a cat, stretched out one moment, curled up the next, not at all concerned or even aware of the fact that he was always two seconds away from elbowing me somewhere sensitive. He was completely comfortable in himself, unashamed.
I’d been a terrible sleeper for as long as I could remember, but even though I’d woken up last night, I hadn’t gotten as annoyed as I usually did. If I hadn’t surfaced in the middle of the night, I would have missed the gift of Aiden’s lower back, bathed silver in a puddle of moonlight, his lips parted like a prayer.
At least I’d have that to hold on to.
Aiden’s eyes fluttered open as I shifted again, and he smiled up at me. Dawn broke in my chest.
“Morning,” he said sleepily.
In spite of myself, I leaned down and brushed a kiss across his lips.
“Morning.” I swept his hair off his forehead, my body looking for excuses to touch his.
“You need to go?” Aiden asked. He brought his arms above his head and stretched, his chest arching up off the mattress.
“Probably should.” My hand drifted through his hair.
How could he think so little of himself? How could he believe he didn’t deserve better than the only attention he allowed himself to receive?
I hadn’t meant to tell him so much about my past last night. I hadn’t told anyone about my mom, about my childhood, since—well, since ever.
I didn’t regret it. Not exactly. Aiden had been spiraling, and it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. But it left me feeling a little unbalanced. Like I’d sprung a leak and water was about to come pouring into my boat.
Aiden deserved better—far better—than I could give him.
“Okay.” He smiled again, a soft, sunshiney smile that wasn’t meant for cameras, or an audience, or anyone but me. It cut like glass. “See you later?”
“Yeah,” I kissed his brow, out of excuses to linger. “Yeah, see you later.”
But I made sure I didn’t.
I couldn’t avoid Aiden entirely, of course. There were only four bakers left on the show, and even though Monday’s challenge episode was going to be a surprise, the producers still made the four of us get together over the weekend to film segments where we looked back on the competition and tried to guess what lay ahead. But I tried to make sure I wasn’t alone with him.
It turned out that Monday’s episode was vegan-themed. Poor Wade—he could have used his research from the library if he’d still been here. Since it was the semi-final, there were three bakes: a vegan three-tiered cake, a vegan custard tart, and vegan ice cream, which wasn’t even a bake at all, and yet was absurdly scary. I’d never made ice cream before, and even with our high-powered ice cream makers, I was sure I was going to mess it up.
Aiden kept up his running stream of commentary, of course, but I got the oddest sense that he wasn’t trying very hard—at baking, or at making innuendo. Vivian seemed to think so too, when she stopped by his workstation.
“We’ve seen such progress from you in the past few weeks, Aiden,” she said. “I’d hate to think you’re slacking off now.”
“Oh no, of course not.” Aiden smiled, but only briefly, at the camera trailing Vivian. “Trying my hardest, for sure.”
“Do you think the pressure of having three bakes today is getting to you?” she asked. “Or is it perhaps that because today’s challenge was a surprise, you and Nolan weren’t able to practice together? You two usually get up to all sorts of shenanigans.”
“Little bit of both, maybe,” Aiden said with a shrug. The fact that he didn’t make a single crack about what we’d gotten up to only confirmed my suspicions. “I just figure, all I can do is my best, and the people who deserve to make it into the finale, will. I’m sure America knows what the right choice is.”
“We’ll see.” Vivian rapped her spoon on Aiden’s counter twice before walking away.
Once the camera was off him, Aiden turned and flashed me a smile. I sighed. He was trying to make sure I made it into the finale instead of him. Which was sweet, but it twisted me up in knots anyway. I didn’t like seeing him give up.
By the time we were done, Lucinda and Aisha had both produced beautiful cakes, tarts, and ice creams that I wanted to bury my face in. The judges complimented Lucinda on her use of flavors, and Aisha on her textures and design.
There was a projector screen standing off to the side behind the judges’ table, and after trying Lucinda and Aisha’s bakes, the judges played a snippet of their families’ interviews while the bakers watched, blushing and tearing up. It was cheesy, asking them to comment on how much their families’ support meant to them, but I was sure Aiden would say it was good TV. I mentally rehearsed nice things to say about Deacon and Mal while I waited.
When it was Aiden’s turn to go before the judges, his cake was lopsided, his tart was still smoking from where he’d accidentally set it on fire, and his ice cream was a viscous green liquid.
“You’ve made us coconut mint…soup?” Tanner said, arching an eyebrow.
Vivian lifted a spoonful to her lips and tasted it delicately. “Well, the flavors are alright. And I will say, it’s very creamy.”
She paused, and everyone in the tent, even the production assistants, looked at Aiden, expecting some sort of wisecrack. But he just smiled and nodded. And when it came time for his family interview segment, he just blushed and said he was lucky to have his brother’s support.
No jokes, no innuendo. It was like he was trying to be forgettable—and bad enough in the kitchen to guarantee that he got sent home.
Finally, it was my turn.
I brought up my bakes—a lemon cake with raspberry filling, a key lime tart, and a blood orange sorbet—and set them in front of the judges.
“I’m impressed,” Vivian said, banging her spoon on the table for emphasis. “Truly, Nolan. Well done.”
Tanner smiled as an assistant queued up the interview with Mal and Deacon, then turned to me. “It just so happens, there’s someone else who’s impressed with you too, Nolan. Very impressed, and very proud.”
My brow furrowed. There was something odd about Tanner’s phrasing, though I couldn’t pinpoint what. Then the video started to play, and my jaw dropped.
The person on screen was my mom.
Not Mal, not Deacon, not any of the other seven billion people on the planet I would have preferred the show to talk to. No, it was my mom, sitting on my living room sofa, wrapped up in my grandmother’s afghan.
How the hell did they find her?
She smiled at the camera. It was broad and honest and punched a hole right through the center of my chest.
“Nolan is—Nolan is my baby, and I know I’m biased, as his mother, but he’s just the best human being in the whole wide world.” She beamed. “Life hasn’t always been very kind to him, but when I got sick a year ago, with nowhere else to go, he asked me to come stay with him.”
Oh no. No, no, no. What was she saying? Why was she talking? Why had she agreed to this?
How could they have sent someone to my apartment, done this whole interview, without me even knowing about it? This could not be happening.
“He takes care of me,” she continued. “Drives me to all my appointments, makes sure I get the medication I need, keeps track of everything. And every night he comes home from work and we just talk. We spend time together. Like we haven’t been able to since he was a little boy.”
Please, stop talking , I willed her silently through the screen. Please, please, stop talking.
“When I was diagnosed with cancer, I can’t lie, I sort of thought it might be punishment for all the pain I’ve caused.” She paused, sniffed into a tissue, and smiled a watery smile. “Nolan hasn’t—” Her voice broke. “Nolan hasn’t always had an easy life.”
The whole tent had gone dead still as my mom cried on screen. Don’t do this , I begged the universe, but it was too late. I didn’t know when they’d recorded this interview, but they’d obviously edited it for maximum impact.
God, how could my mom not tell me about this? How could she not warn me?
“His father and I split up when he was young,” my mom said, “and he went to live with his grandparents.” Another sniffle. “His father was…not a kind man. He used to hit me. I’d try to keep Nolan safe, but I—I couldn’t always manage. I had too many of my own problems going on.”
The only person in the tent not watching my mom was the woman operating the camera that was trained on me, recording my reaction to this. I wanted to evaporate. I wanted the whole world to disappear.
How could my mom air all our problems to the world? Let everyone see just how fucked up our lives had been?
“I’m an addict,” she said, pulling the afghan tight around her. “I’ve been sober since I got sick, but it’ll always be there, this part of me. This thing I carry. And I just—I blame myself for everything Nolan’s been through.”
Please stop . Please stop . Please stop . The phrase ran on a loop through my head, but it didn’t do any good.
“Nolan doesn’t know this, but I’d been using since before his dad and I got married. That’s how we met, actually. He used to be someone I would score from. And when he started getting violent, I just wasn’t strong enough. I used to get high just so I wouldn’t have to be in my body anymore. Wouldn’t have to think about my life.”
Her words were a tidal wave. They hit so hard that I went numb, and strangely hollow. I felt transparent. Like I might blow away with the next gust of wind.
My mom cried on the screen, and I stared at her, struggling to make sense of what she’d said. She’d been using before the divorce? Before I got taken away? How could that be?
It didn’t make sense. I would have seen. I would have known.
Would you have? whispered a voice in the back of my head. How? How would you know what signs to look for, when you were just a kid?
“When Nolan was sent to live with his grandparents, I tried so hard to get sober,” my mom said when she finally got her tears under control. “Tried so hard to be the mom he needed. But I just couldn’t do it. Not even for my baby boy, who never deserved any of the things that happened to him.”
String music began to play underneath her words, soft and sweet, but I wanted to scream. I felt a warmth building in my gut, and not a good kind. I was right back in elementary school, sitting in the principal’s office with my teacher, explaining that sometimes, my dad got mad and hit my mom and me.
I’d blamed myself for that for years . For breaking up my family, for my mom’s addiction, for ruining everything. But if she’d been using since before I was born, then what the hell had I been trying so hard to make up for all these years?
That warmth turned into heat, and heat blazed into rage.
“I owe him so much,” my mom said, strings swelling tender and hopeful as she spoke. “After everything I put him through, he could have turned away from me, and I wouldn’t have blamed him. But Nolan is good, and kind, and if he seems a little reserved sometimes, it’s just because he’s been burned before and is trying to—”
I couldn’t listen to this anymore. I couldn’t be here anymore. I turned and walked away from the judges’ table, the video still playing on the screen. I tore through the tent, ignoring Tanner’s shouted commands and Vivian’s questions. Aiden reached a hand out, and I darted away, not wanting him to touch me. I needed to be alone.
I made it to my room, somehow. I wasn’t even aware of entering the inn or climbing the steps, I was just there, suddenly. I shook. My mom had been lying to me my whole life. Letting me think that everything was my fault.
I wanted to yell. Wanted to break something. Needed to do something with the anger coursing through me because otherwise, I might break.
Without thinking, I turned and punched a wall, then screamed in pain. Goddammit. I’d never done that before, only seen it on TV. What the hell was the inn made out of, solid steel?
“What the fuck ?” I yelled.
There was a timid knock on the door behind me.
“Nolan? Can I come in?”
“Go away.” I couldn’t deal with anyone right now. I didn’t trust myself.
“Maybe I could come in, and we could talk about it?”
“Go away , Aiden,” I growled.
“Okay, I get that you’re upset, but I’m kinda worried about you. If you could just open the door and let me see that you’re—”
I stalked to the door and yanked it open before he could finish.
“Don’t you listen ?” I snarled. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
I was afraid of what I might do, what I might say, if Aiden refused to leave. I wasn’t in control of myself, not at all.
He blinked. I felt a tiny shred of guilt but crushed it ruthlessly. I was angry, and I wanted to be angry. I’d asked him to leave. It wasn’t my problem if he was incapable of following the simplest instructions.
“Fine, then.” Aiden stared up at me. “Maybe you’ll listen instead. Based on what you said last week, I’m guessing you’re not thrilled about your mom doing that interview—”
“You think?”
“—But have you stopped to consider how much it helps you? Even the way you stormed out of the tent just now probably helps you, if you play it right. Just say you were so overwhelmed by what your mom said, how you love her so much, but you didn’t expect her to share that with everyone—”
“You don’t think there’s a fucking reason I didn’t want her to share that with everyone?” I shouted.
“But you’re gonna get so many sympathy votes. At this point, you could probably not bake a single thing in the finale and still win the whole show.”
“I don’t want sympathy. I don’t want people to know! I don’t want their stares, or their pity, or to be the fucking center of attention. I don’t want people knowing about my life. I never should have even told you.”
“But I don’t get why , if it’ll help you?”
A wordless growl escaped my throat.
“Of course you don’t get it.” I shook my head. “I don’t even know why I’m trying to explain this to you when you clearly can’t understand, since you don’t have a single shred of propriety or shame.”
Aiden stiffened and glared at me. Guilt and triumph warred in my heart. Victory and loss. Had I finally pushed him away?
“You said you wouldn’t judge,” he said.
“I also said I wanted to be left the fuck alone, but you never listen, do you?”
In the charged silence that followed, something buzzed. Aiden looked down at his pocket. His phone. Of course.
“Go ahead, check it.”
“I don’t want to. This is more important.”
His look was so unguarded. So intense, but open. He really never had learned to hide what he was feeling.
He should have learned. He made it too easy for people like me to hurt him.
What had happened with my mom wasn’t Aiden’s fault. It wasn’t remotely connected to him. But he was here, and my mom wasn’t, and I was so goddamn sick of being good. Of trying to make up for my faults. Of apologizing for my existence.
“You sure?” I sneered. “Might be one of your subscribers. Aren’t they all you have ?”
“You know that’s not what I meant when I said that.”
“Really? Seemed pretty clear to me. Seemed pretty fucking obvious when one of them threatened to assault you, and you wouldn’t even report him.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is. You just have such low self-esteem that you can’t see it.”
Aiden recoiled like I’d slapped him. For a moment, I felt like I had. But I squashed the flicker of remorse I felt and refused to look back.
“Nice to know that’s how you see me,” Aiden said.
“Well, the only other option is that you like it, and that’s why you won’t report it. You’re basically asking him to keep going.”
His eyes went wide, filling with tears. But they didn’t spill over. Yet.
“You of all people should know how unfair that is to say.”
“I, of all people, know that you should take fucking precautions, but you refuse to.”
Aiden’s mouth formed a hard line. “Fuck you. I don’t even think you care. I think you’re just jealous.”
“Jealous? You think I’m jealous? Aiden, this thing between us is fake. That’s all it ever has been. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”
“Jesus.” He shook his head, disgusted. “You really don’t know how to let people in, do you?”
“And you really keep asking to get hurt.”
“I’ve been hurt, Nolan. But unlike you, I didn’t let it turn me into a closed-off, emotionless asshole.”
“So I’m an asshole. Great. Glad we’ve reached that conclusion. Tell me again why you’re still at my door, trying to talk to me, if you think so well of me?”
“You know, I’m really not sure anymore.”
“Well.” I spread my hands out. “If that’s all, then I guess we’re done here.”
Aiden waited a beat, like he still thought I might say something to stop this train from plunging off a cliff. But I was out of words. I was out of everything.
Finally, he nodded.
“Yeah. I guess we are.”