2. Nash
NASH
AGE TWELVE
I'm prowling through the Wintervale Fairgrounds with Marcus, Tommy's younger brother, and Jake, hands shoved deep in my jacket pockets, trying to shake off the familiar restlessness that's been eating at me all week.
Tommy's been sent off to juvie and Marcus is easier to put up with anyway.
He's my age, too, so that's a plus, I guess.
The October air bites sharp against my cheeks, carrying the scent of kettle corn and diesel from the carnival rides. Mom's pulling another double at the hospital, which means I've got nowhere to be and nothing keeping me tethered to our empty apartment on Maple Street.
"Dude, let's hit the ring toss," Marcus says, elbowing me toward a game booth where stuffed animals hang like prison inmates waiting for parole. "I'm gonna win Sarah Mitchell that giant panda."
I grunt something noncommittal. Sarah Mitchell doesn't give a damn about Marcus, but I don't have the energy to crush his dreams tonight.
The whole fair feels small and suffocating—same rides that come through every year, same faces wandering around pretending this counts as excitement.
Sometimes I think if I don't get out of this town, I'm going to lose my mind completely.
That's when I see her.
Eve Turner stands near the ferris wheel with two other girls from her grade, and something in my chest does this weird flutter thing that catches me off guard.
She's wearing a cream-colored sweater that makes her skin look warm even under the harsh carnival lights, and her hair catches the glow from the spinning rides around us.
There's something different about her tonight—softer edges where there used to be sharp angles, curves starting to hint at the woman she's becoming.
She's always been pretty in that quiet, unassuming way, but tonight she looks... Jesus, she looks beautiful.
"Nash, you coming or what?" Jake calls from somewhere behind me, but his voice sounds muffled and distant.
I watch Eve tuck a curl behind her ear while she talks to her friends, animated about something, her hands gesturing as she speaks.
One of the girls—Emma Miller and Sarah Mitchell's best friend—points toward the ferris wheel, and they all look up at the towering structure like they're calculating something.
My feet start moving before my brain catches up.
I veer toward the ticket booth, pulling crumpled bills from my pocket.
The bored teenager working the counter barely glances at me as he tears off a strip of red tickets and slides them across the sticky surface.
The smart part of me knows I should rejoin my friends, maybe hit the haunted house or waste money I don't have on rigged games until my mom gets home from work.
Instead, I find myself trailing Eve and her friends as they approach the ferris wheel line.
"Okay, so there's three of us and the seats only hold two," Sarah is saying, chewing on her bottom lip. "Maybe we should just skip it?"
"No way," Emma shakes her head. "I've been wanting to ride this thing all night."
Eve glances between her friends, that familiar crease appearing between her eyebrows like it always does when she's trying to solve a problem. "We could just have someone ride alone?"
"That's depressing," Sarah wrinkles her nose.
I step closer, close enough that Eve notices me hovering at the edge of their little circle. Her brown eyes widen slightly, probably wondering what Nash Callahan is doing lurking around her and her friends instead of causing trouble with his usual crew.
"I'll take Eve," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
All three girls turn to stare at me. Emma's mouth actually falls open a little, and Sarah looks like she's trying to figure out if this is some kind of prank. But Eve just looks up at me with those warm brown eyes, her head tilted slightly to one side.
"Really?" Her voice is soft, curious rather than suspicious. We haven't spoken much over the years, but I see her around. A lot.
Not that I'm looking.
I nod, suddenly aware of how my heart is hammering against my ribs. "Problem solved, right?"
Eve studies my face for a long moment, and I wonder what she sees there.
I'm not exactly known for random acts of kindness—more like random acts of detention and disappointed teacher conferences.
But there's something in her expression that makes me feel like she's seeing past all that, straight through to whatever's underneath.
"Okay," she says finally, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "That works."
Sarah and Emma exchange a look that's equal parts shocked and intrigued, but they don't protest as the line shuffles forward. The ride operator, a guy who looks like he'd rather be literally anywhere else, starts loading people into the brightly painted seats that sway gently in the evening breeze.
"Next," he calls in a bored monotone.
Eve hands over her ticket and steps toward the gate, glancing back at me with something that might be nervousness flickering across her face. I follow, hyperaware of how close we'll be sitting in just a few seconds, how the safety bar will lock us in together thirty feet off the ground.
The metal seat is cold even through my jeans as I settle in beside her. Eve smooths her sweater down and grips the safety bar as the operator checks our restraint with all the enthusiasm of someone performing a root canal.
"Arms and legs inside the ride at all times," he drones, then gives our car a little push to send us swinging gently as the wheel starts its slow rotation upward.
The fairgrounds spread out below us as we rise, a patchwork of colored lights and moving shadows.
Eve's shoulder brushes against mine with each gentle sway of our seat, and I catch the faint scent of her shampoo—something floral that makes me think of springtime even though we're surrounded by October's dying leaves.
"Thanks," she says quietly, not looking at me. "For solving our seating problem."
"No big deal." I try to sound casual, like my pulse isn't doing weird things every time she shifts beside me.
We climb higher, the sounds of the fair growing distant and muffled. When I glance at Eve, she's staring out at the view with something like wonder on her face, her lips slightly parted as she takes in the sprawling darkness beyond the fairgrounds where Wintervale sits nestled in its valley.
I can't stop staring at her.
Eve's face is tilted toward the lights below, her profile soft in the glow from the carnival rides.
The way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks, how her lips curve just slightly upward like she's holding onto some private thought—it's doing things to my head that I don't understand and definitely don't want to analyze.
She's beautiful. The thought hits me like a punch to the gut, unwelcome and sharp. Not just pretty in that general way I've always noticed, but beautiful in a way that makes my chest feel too tight and my hands restless where they grip the safety bar.
I shouldn't be thinking this. Shouldn't be sitting here cataloging the way her sweater hugs her body or wondering what it would feel like to touch the soft skin at her wrist where her sleeve has ridden up slightly.
This is Eve Turner—good girl, honor student, the kind of person who probably has never even gotten detention, much less spent half her afternoons there like I do.
People like her don't mix with people like me.
Hell, people in general don't mix with me if they can help it.
I'm the kid whose mom works doubles to avoid coming home, whose dad disappeared when I was eight and never looked back.
I'm rough edges and bad decisions, the kind of trouble that sends guidance counselors reaching for their phone to call home—except there's never anyone there to answer.
So why can't I look away from her?
"What?" Eve's voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts, and I realize I've been staring at her for way too long. She turns to face me fully, those warm brown eyes searching my face with something that looks almost nervous. "You're... you keep looking at me."
Her teeth tug on her bottom lip, and the sight of it sends an unfamiliar twist through my stomach.
She's nervous because of me, because I've been staring at her like some kind of creep, and instead of the usual satisfaction I get from making people uncomfortable, all I feel is this weird protective instinct.
She's cute when she's nervous. The thought surfaces before I can stop it, and that's when the panic really sets in.
I can't do this. Can't sit here thinking about how cute she is or how good she smells or the way her voice gets softer when she's uncertain.
I don't let people get close, don't let them matter, because mattering means getting hurt when they inevitably leave.
And everyone leaves—my dad, my mom in every way that counts, even Tommy who's locked up in juvie now and probably won't give a damn about our friendship when he gets out.
The familiar anger starts building in my chest, that reliable companion that's always there when things get too complicated or too real. It's easier than whatever this other feeling is, safer than the vulnerability creeping up my throat.
"Nothing," I say, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. I force myself to look away from her, out at the boring sprawl of Wintervale below us. "Just wondering how long this thing takes. I've got better places to be."
It's a lie and we both know it. Where the hell else would I be?
Home alone in our empty apartment, waiting for my mom to drag herself through the door smelling like disinfectant and exhaustion?
Hanging out with Marcus and Jake, pretending I care about their stupid plans to win stuffed animals for girls who barely know they exist?
But the lie does its job. I see Eve's face change in my peripheral vision, that soft curiosity disappearing like someone just blew out a candle. Her shoulders draw inward slightly, and she turns back toward the view, putting distance between us even though we're locked in the same small seat.
"Oh," she says quietly. "Right."
The single word hits me like a slap, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from immediately taking it back. This is what I wanted, right? Distance. The familiar territory of not caring, not being cared about in return. So why does seeing her face fall make me feel like I just kicked a puppy?
The ferris wheel continues its slow rotation, carrying us through the darkness while the fair sparkles below.
The silence between us feels heavy now, loaded with my stupid words and her hurt feelings.
I want to say something, anything to take back the sharpness in my voice, but I don't know how.
Apologies aren't exactly in my skill set.
Instead, I sit there like an idiot, hands gripping the safety bar so tight my knuckles go white, trying not to notice how Eve has pulled into herself. She's still looking out at the view, but there's no wonder in her expression now, just polite distance.
When our car finally swings down to ground level, the ride operator barely waits for us to clear the safety bar before waving the next group forward. Eve steps out quickly, not waiting for me, and I follow a beat behind, already missing the warmth of her beside me.
"Eve!" Sarah and Emma appear at her side immediately, chattering about their own ride experience. "How was it? Did you see the lake from up there?"
"It was nice," Eve says, but she doesn't look back at me. Doesn't mention our conversation or the way I acted like spending ten minutes with her was some kind of burden.
I hover for a second at the edge of their little group, some part of me wanting to stay, to figure out how to fix whatever I just broke. But that's not who I am. I don't fix things—I break them, usually without meaning to, and then I walk away before I can make them worse.
So that's what I do. I turn on my heel and stalk off into the crowd, shoving my hands deep in my jacket pockets and trying to ignore the way my chest feels hollow. Marcus and Jake are probably still at the ring toss, still trying to impress girls who won't remember their names tomorrow.
That's where I belong. Not sitting on ferris wheels with girls like Eve Turner, pretending I'm the kind of person who deserves soft smiles from pretty girls. I'm the kind of person who destroys good things, who turns gentle moments sharp and ugly because that's all I know how to do.
Better she learns that now, before I can hurt her any worse.