Chapter 1 #2
Stomach squirming and skin buzzing with anxiety, I step off the sidewalk and share it with him.
He’ll only keep bothering me if I don’t, and I really would prefer a ride anyway.
If I walked the whole way, I wouldn’t have enough time to calm down before the meeting.
Coach Mackenzie makes me nervous enough as it is without starting off on the wrong foot.
Nate’s truck pulls up to the sidewalk barely five minutes later. He leans across the center console, grinning at me as I climb in.
“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. He’s never once gotten mad at me, but sometimes I worry that he’s hiding his annoyance behind the quick smiles. It can’t be easy being my friend.
“Oh shut up,” he replies fondly, still smiling as he waits for me to get my seat belt on. “I was over at Marcos’ apartment anyway, and it just happens to be right down the street.”
Oh great, now I’m even more sorry.
“Nate, I could have walked. I should have guessed you were over at?—”
“It’s cool. Marcos had some stuff to do anyway, and now I get to hang out with you for a bit.
” He glances over at me, teeth shining against the dark tan on his face.
He always comes back from breaks looking like he walked off an advertisement for a beach resort.
“So, want to head back to your dorm? What have you got there, anyway?”
He nods down at the bag sitting between my feet.
“Just a few books, and your birthday present.” The shirt seems so stupid, suddenly, and I’m wishing I hadn’t said anything. He’s not going to want a ratty, secondhand shirt that doesn’t even have the bottom half any longer. I only spent a dollar fifty on it. Nate is worth more than that.
“Really? I want it now,” he says excitedly, putting his truck in park outside my dorm and holding out a hand. I push it away, blushing.
“You can’t have it now, it’s not your birthday.”
“Two days! That’s nothing. Come on, Mick. Because you love me.” He widens his eyes and softens his mouth, peering at me balefully. I can see why this trick probably worked for him as a kid, with that beautiful face and the bright eyes. Honestly, it’s starting to work on me now.
“Stop it,” I tell him, reaching for the door handle and snatching the shopping bag before he can grab it. He meets me around the hood of the truck, still giving me begging eyes.
“Okay, fine,” I capitulate, laughing when his smile immediately pops back into place. Fucking faker. “I’ll give it to you upstairs, but don’t get excited. It’s nothing. Less than nothing. Seriously, don’t get excited.”
Instead of answering, he throws an arm over my shoulder and kisses the side of my head.
I manage not to blush too badly, and am pleased when he leaves his arm in place for the duration of our walk to the building.
Being friends with Nate required a bit of a learning curve on my part, but I’m at the point now where I not only enjoy but crave the affection he hands out.
I’ve never received any from the people in my life up until now, and nobody else I know is quite like him.
He is the gold standard of men—free with his emotions and affection, and as beautiful on the inside as he is on the out.
For the second time today, I’m reminded of how much I love him.
“Your face is so red right now,” Nate notes, peering up at me. I sigh. Of course it is. I can’t ever have a private thought in my fucking life.
“I was thinking nice things about you. Because it’s your birthday,” I add, which makes him laugh. He drops his arm and grabs the door, wincing as he reaches forward for it.
“You good?”
“Fine, just have a hell of a bruise is all.”
I frown as I trail him up the stairs to my room, suddenly noting how slowly he’s taking each step. Nate never does anything slow.
“What kind of bruise?” I ask him. “From what? Did you get kicked again?”
Nate came back to school one year with his arm stitched up after he was kicked by a horse, and it somehow managed to cut him. He’d laughed and made a joke about how it would be a cool scar, but the sight of that jagged wound had scared me. A foot higher, and he could have been kicked in the head .
“Nah,” he responds, but doesn’t go further as he steps to the side and waits patiently for me to unlock my door.
I lock it behind us once we’re in, and watch as he sits carefully on the edge of my bed, mouth pinched as though he’s aware of my attention and is trying not to flinch again.
He sees me watching and pastes a smile back on, waggling his fingers in my direction. “Present time.”
“It’s not wrapped,” I tell him, turning my back so he can’t watch as I remove the books and the Detroit NHL shirt, putting them on my desk.
“I don’t care. A present is still a present.”
Sighing, I double-check that there isn’t a price tag still on the shirt and wrap it more firmly in the bag. When I turn and hold it out to him, my face is on fire with embarrassment. This was such a stupid idea. Nate smiles and snatches the bag from me, holding it open and peering inside.
“It’s nothing crazy,” I say again, as he pulls the green shirt out and drops the plastic bag on the floor. “Don’t get excit?—”
I’m cut off by the cackle he lets out as he holds the shirt up in front of his face, beaming at it. He laughs again, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles wide enough for me to count his teeth .
“This is my favorite shirt,” he declares, standing up and reaching for the neckline of the one he’s wearing. “Let’s try it on.”
“Oh, it’s not washed, Nate…” I trail off as he gets half-undressed, eyes widening as I take in the bruise curling around his ribs and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. It’s old enough that the edges are a sickly yellow-green color, but the majority is a deep blackish purple.
“Oh my god , Nate,” I say on a breath, taking a step forward and holding out a hand. To do what, I’m not even sure. All I know is that is way worse than I’d been expecting. “Holy shit, what happened?”
He ignores the question, tugging the green donkey shirt over his head and laughing again when it doesn’t even reach his navel.
There is a lot of tan belly on display, or at least there would be if his skin wasn’t mottled with discoloration.
He smooths his hands down the front and rests them on his hips, grinning at me.
“How do I look?” he asks.
“You look like somebody beat you up!”
“I told you, just a bruise. It’s pretty much healed already. I love this shirt. I’m going to wear this every fucking day. Thanks, Mick, I love it.”
“You’re welcome.” Carefully, I touch his arm and nudge him to the side, trying to get a look at the back of him. “Seriously, what happened? This looks really bad.”
He huffs impatiently, pulling his arm from my grasp.
“I just fell off a horse. Well, the horse sort of fell on me, to be honest.” He shrugs, pulling the hem of the shirt up even higher.
It says something about how pretty he is that even with the bruise, he still looks incredible.
It’s probably illegal for someone as handsome as Nate to wear clothes like this in South Carolina.
Indecent flaunting of beauty, or something.
“Well, holy shit. I think?—”
“Marcos is going to love this,” he says, looking down at the donkey motif.
“I did think the green would look nice with your eyes,” I admit, which makes Nate grin cheekily and me blush. “Are you going to talk to Coach today? After the meeting?”
“What? No.” He turns his back to me, pulling the crop top off and carefully tugging his regular shirt back on over his head. He’s moving so deliberately, even with his face turned away I can tell the motion is hurting him.
“You can’t play hockey like that,” I tell him.
“Yes, I can. We don’t even have our first game for a couple weeks. Plenty of time to fully heal.”
“You can’t be serious.” I pause, waiting for him to come to his senses. Apparently, he is serious. “Nate! You can’t practice like that. What if somebody hits you? Remember how Vas got hurt by accident at practice? He had to have surgery it was so bad. You’re already hurt!”
“Micky Mouse, chill. I’m fine. Really. Please don’t say anything to Coach.”
Anxiety fizzles through me at the thought of bringing anything to Coach Mackenzie. It’s hard enough even greeting the man when I show up to practice, let alone ragging on my best friend to him. I’d rather throw myself into oncoming traffic.
“I’m not going to talk to Coach,” I say quietly. “But you should.”
“I’m fine,” he repeats sternly. “I don’t want to miss out on my last year. And especially not for something as stupid as bruised ribs. ”
And hip and back , I add silently, watching as he folds his birthday present and carefully places it back in the plastic bag.
I’m not an arguer or a fighter, but I have the urge to do both right now.
The certainty that he could get seriously injured at practice churns in my stomach like vomit.
As his best friend, isn’t it my job to make sure he’s safe?
“What did Marcos say?” I ask, unable to believe that he’d be on board with Nate playing hockey like this. From what I’ve heard about him, he’s protective of my friend.
“We’re going to be late to the meeting, Mick. We’d better go,” Nate says, neatly deflecting the question and stepping around me to unlock the door. His cheeks are red with a faint blush, though, which tells me everything I needed to know. He hasn’t told Marcos he’s intending to play.
Miserably, I follow him from my dorm and lock the door behind us. He keeps up a near constant stream of chatter as we walk toward the hockey complex, plastic bag swinging at his side as he tells me about his summer. Almost every single person we pass says hi to him.
“Here, look,” Nate says, holding his phone out to me to show me a picture. “You can take it and swipe through if you want. I had the best summer, Mick, seriously. Best summer of my life.”