23. Dex
Chapter 23
“Fuck!”
My eyes snap open in time to see Nate hitting the wall as he staggers through the bedroom door.
I sit upright, watching him lurch toward me, reeking of booze. His hair is sticking out at all angles, as though he’s been running his hands through it. He also has a bruise on his right cheek, and his shirt is missing a couple of buttons.
“What the hell happened to you?” I whisper, conscious of Ciaran, Millie, and their baby sleeping along the hall.
His unfocused gaze falls on me. With a stupid grin plastered over his face, he takes another unsteady step and collapses onto the bed.
“There you are,” he mumbles, clawing his way closer. He rests his head in my lap. “You smell so good.”
I can barely make out the words, they’re so jumbled together. Shoving him off me, I hiss, “You’re drunk.”
He giggles. Nate does not giggle. Ever. A chuckle perhaps, or a snort of laughter. But a giggle that wouldn’t be out of place on a sixteen-year-old girl. No. Not him at all.
“Drunk on you, Titch.” He tries to rise up but can’t manage it, collapsing back into his previous position. After rolling onto his back, he closes his eyes.
“How much have you had to drink?” I ask, wondering whether he’ll need his stomach pumped. When he doesn’t respond, I punch his arm. “Nate.”
“Ow.” He turns onto his side, curling his knees into his chest. “Make love not war, Titch.”
Once again, I have to strain to figure out what he said. He’s slurring all over the place. My heart clenches. Poor Nate. He must be hurting so bad to get this wasted. Sure, he likes a drink, but from what I’ve seen of him these past weeks, he’s always in control.
“Shall I call a doctor?”
He violently shakes his head. “No doctor.”
“Your brothers, then? Shall I get Declan or Ciaran?”
A deep frown scores between his eyebrows. “What brothers?”
Jesus. He’s hammered. “Your brothers, dickhead. Shall I wake Declan or Ciaran, or call Callum?”
“Not my brothers,” he mutters. “Not proper brothers.”
“Nate.” Another arm shake followed by a second punch. “What are you talking about?”
He swats the air with his hand. “Need sleep.”
And before I can say another word, he turns over. Within seconds, he’s snoring.
Unfortunately for me, Nate’s untimely arrival has thwarted any chance of sleep. I climb out of bed and tiptoe across the room, not that it makes a difference to him. A pneumatic drill starting up right next to his ear wouldn’t rouse him. He’ll wake up with one hell of a headache tomorrow.
The living area is quiet when I stroll into the kitchen. Taking a leaf out of Millie’s book, I put a pan on the stove and half-fill it with milk. Within a couple of minutes, tiny bubbles form across the top. I remove it from the heat in case it gets a skin and pour it into a cup, adding two heaped spoonsful of sugar. Then I take a seat at the breakfast bar and sip.
What on earth had Nate meant, not proper brothers? When I was younger, I’d occasionally disown Elva as a sister—usually when she wouldn’t do as I wanted—but Nate isn’t a child, and he hasn’t fallen out with his siblings. He’d fallen out with me, but that’s it.
I rub my forehead. None of this makes sense. Not his immature tantrum which resulted in him storming out, nor his refusal to have a proper discussion on the subject. And now he’s gotten so drunk he can barely speak.
I finish my milk and, with a heavy sigh, go back to bed.
I must drop off eventually because the sun wakes me. Groaning, I glance at my watch. Seven-thirty. Nate rolled in around two, which means he won’t wake up for a while yet. He’s still dressed in his clothes and shoes from the previous evening, and I watch his chest rise and fall, vowing that he can get as angry as he likes, but I’m not letting him get away with avoiding an adult discussion any longer.
I take a quick shower, dress, then leave Nate still snoring to go out for a walk. I plug Central Park into the maps app on my cell and set off. Nate planned for us to visit the park today, but given the sizeable hangover he’ll have, chances are he’ll spend the day lounging around on the couch, no doubt feeling sorry for himself. Well, screw him. I’ll sightsee on my own. There’s no way I’m coming all the way to New York City without ticking off every single must-see item on my list.
The park comes into view, and I spot a bike rental shop down a side street. A selection of bikes is already lined up outside. I wander inside, and after filling out a form and paying a deposit and rental fee for an hour, I set off toward the park.
When I reached the Alice in Wonderland bronze sculpture, I stop and kick out the stand on my bike. I read about this when researching where to go, and it was at the top of my list. I love that book so much. Taking out my phone, I shoot a couple of pictures, but as I get back on the bike, my cell rings.
I glance down at the screen.
Nate.
Keeping my voice slow and steady, I answer. “You’re awake, then?”
“Where are you?”
In usual Nate style, his tone is brusque and demanding, and though I usually don’t mind, this morning, it grates.
“What’s it to you?”
A pause, followed by a deep sigh. “How long are you going to make me grovel?”
“Well, seeing as you haven’t even started yet, that’s difficult to answer.”
I swear I hear a low chuckle followed by a resounding sigh. “I’m sorry for snapping, okay? And for running out on you.”
“And for getting wasted. And for saying some horrible things, like calling me a bitch and then telling me to go fuck myself.”
“Jesus, you really are milking this for all it’s worth. I didn’t fucking mean it, you crazy woman. Any of it.”
“Do you remember what you said to me last night, after you came home stinking of booze and staggering all over the place?”
“Whatever it was, I’m guessing it wasn’t good.”
I leave the bike on its stand and perch on one of the toadstools in front of the Mad Hatter.
“Dex?” Concern and worry lace his voice when I don’t respond.
Good. Let him stew and think he’s been horrible when, in fact, his comments simply confused me.
“You still there?”
“You were so drunk you could barely stand. After you collapsed on the bed, I was worried about you being sick and choking. I asked if you wanted me to fetch a doctor. You were adamant in telling me no. So I asked if you wanted me to get your brothers. Your response, Nate, and I quote, was ‘Not my brothers. Not proper brothers.’ What did you mean by that?”
Dead silence greets me. I can’t even hear him breathing. I look at my screen in case we’ve been cut off, but nope. Still connected.
“Nate?” Now it’s my turn to sound worried.
He laughs, but it sounds husky, raw, and forced. “No idea what I meant. I was hammered.”
“You’re lying.”
I don’t know how I sense he isn’t being truthful with me, but my intuition is firing like crazy.
“Where are you?” he asks for a second time.
“Central Park. I’m coming back now.”
“No, don’t. I’ll come to you. Meet me outside the main entrance to The Plaza. Can you find that?”
“Yeah.”
“On my way.”
He hangs up, leaving me with an uneasy feeling curdling in my tummy. He sounded exhausted, beaten… scared, even. Why wouldn’t he want me to come back to Declan’s place where we can talk in private? It doesn’t make any sense. He isn’t making any sense.
I return the bike to the rental shop, recover my deposit, and walk to The Plaza. By the time I get there, Nate is already waiting. He must have sprinted to get here so quickly, but he doesn’t look out of breath, only wary.
He saunters over to greet me, meeting me halfway.
“Hey.” He offers me a wry smile. “You didn’t punch me.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t smother you while you slept.”
“Then, the fact I fell asleep with that as a potential outcome must mean I trust you.”
I twist my lips to the side, considering his comment. “Do you, though? Do you trust me enough to tell me what’s really going on? And don’t even think about denying it. We might not have known each other long, but I’m not stupid, Nate.”
He lets out a sigh, and his eyes briefly close. “Come with me.”
I allow him to take my hand, and he walks us into The Plaza, right across the lobby, before stopping in front of the reception desk.
“We need a room.”
Why do we need a room? I open my mouth to ask, but Nate gives a brief shake of his head and squeezes my hand in a silent no.
The man behind the desk glances up, recognition evident in the slight bow to his head. “Certainly, Mr. O’Reilly.” He puts out his hand, which Nate shakes. “I’m Andrei, the assistant manager. Anything you need, rest assured, I’m at your service.”
I suppress a giggle at his formality while Nate responds with a polite and practiced, “Thank you.”
Andrei taps on a keyboard. “Our Edwardian suite is available if that’s suitable to you. I’m afraid our Vanderbilt suite is taken.”
“A regular room is fine.”
“Of course, sir.”
Stopping my mouth from running and demanding to know why we need to spend money on a room rather than just heading back to Declan’s is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I’m pretty proud of myself that I manage it. I may have bit my tongue in the process, but at least I kept quiet.
Andrei swipes Nate’s credit card, then hands it back to him. “I’ve written the floor and room number down for you.” He pushes a card across the desk, glancing left and right before lowering his voice. “I’m sure you want your privacy.”
“I appreciate that.”
“How many keys will you require?”
“One.”
“Certainly.” He codes the key and passes it over. “The elevators are right over there, sir. Do you need help with your luggage?”
“No.”
Nate leads me over to the elevators, pushes the button, and the doors close.
“Nate, I?—”
“Save it, Titch. Please. Until we get to the room.”
I clamp my mouth shut. A few minutes later, he opens the door to the room and gestures for me to go in ahead of him. Following me, he wanders over to the window, staring down at the busy street below. I come up behind him, resting my hand between his shoulder blades. His muscles are bunched beneath my palm.
I rub his back in circles. “Why are we here?”
Walking away without saying anything, he sags wearily onto a sofa positioned at the end of the bed, his legs sprawling in front of him. “I don’t want our conversation to be overheard, and don’t give me a hard time about extravagance. I refused the suite, didn’t I?”
I chuckle, taking the seat beside him. “I thought I might have had something to do with that.”
Nate hitches a shoulder. “I learned my lesson.” He knits our fingers together. “I really am sorry, Titch. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like I did last night. I feel like the shittiest human being. When I woke up this morning and you weren’t there, I thought you’d left. You have no idea of the effect that had on me. I was so fucking scared I’d pushed you away.”
He isn’t the only one scared. His demeanor is not like Nate at all. He looks… defeated. Fear turns my stomach. Millie was right. Something awful is eating him up inside, and if he doesn’t share what that is with someone soon, it will consume him. That someone might as well be me. I can cope with whatever it is… can’t I?
I squeeze his forearm. “I’m discreet, Nate. You can trust me. Whatever you tell me stays between us.” I cross my heart. “I will take it to my grave, on my mother’s life.”
He covers his face with his hands and rubs hard. “I’m tempted. It’d be good to say the words aloud instead of listening to them screaming inside my head for the last seven years, but I’m… I’m...I’m terrified, Titch.” He expels a sharp, bitter laugh. “I bet that’s a turn-off, right? I’m the man. I’m supposed to be the strong one.”
I shake my head. “Showing you’re vulnerable is actually a huge turn-on, Nate. At least for me. I don’t want a boyfriend who pretends to be something he’s not. I want the real you.”
He presses his forefinger to his bottom lip and stares at the wall opposite, lost in thought.
“If you tell a soul, I swear to God?—”
“I won’t. Trust me, please. I won’t let you down.”
He shifts to face me, reaching out for a lock of my hair that he lets run through his fingers. “What is it about you, Titch? We’ve only known each other a month, yet I feel like we’ve been together for years.”
My heart skips a beat because that’s exactly how I feel. “I guess with some people, time is irrelevant, and then there are others who spend their whole lives together and never really know the other person.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, then exhales slowly through pursed lips. “Let me finish before you speak, okay?”
When I nod, he begins to talk.
“Declan, Callum, and Ciaran aren’t my full brothers. Mom had an affair, and I was the by-product. When I see my brothers now, I’m reminded that I’m an outsider, an interloper, and the woman I adored more than life itself was a liar and a cheat. That’s why I hate coming to New York. Because it fucking hurts.”
Whatever I’d expected him to share, that is not it. The pain in his eyes cuts through me, and I automatically reach for his hand, squeezing for all I’m worth as he continues.
“Seven years ago, I came home from RADA for Thanksgiving. I was looking through bits and pieces of Mom’s stuff that Declan had kept lying around. He’d put most of it in storage, but there was a box of trinkets and cards we’d made her when we were little… that kind of thing. There was a letter inside an envelope containing a birthday card. I’ve no idea how it got there.” He grimaces. “Not that it matters.”
His gaze returns to the wall. Since he hasn’t given me a sign he’s finished, I keep quiet, but my grip on his hand remains steadfast. I hope he’ll take some comfort from it. What a horrible thing to find out and then keep to himself all these years. My heart aches for him. To have everything you believe to be true torn apart must be awful. Just awful. I might have lost my dad far too soon, and it won’t be long before Mom joins him, but one thing I do know is how much they idolized each other. How committed they were to their marriage, and to raising Elva and me in a loving, nurturing home.
More than a minute passes, and still he doesn’t carry on with the story. “What did the letter say?” I ask as gently as I can.
His head drops, chin curved into his chest. I yearn to hold him, to take his pain and make it my own. But I don’t. I sense that’s not what he needs, and I don’t want to force him into pushing me away, especially as he already feels guilty for last night.
“It was from him in response to her ending their affair. She’d sent him a letter which he’d sent back to her with one of his own agreeing to leave her alone. Apparently, my dad—and by that, I mean the man who raised me—had discovered Mom was cheating on him, and that I wasn’t his legitimate son. He’d given her an ultimatum: end the affair, and they’d never speak of it again, or he’d throw her, and me, out on the street, and make sure she never saw Declan or the twins again. My sperm donor didn’t mention me at all, like I didn’t even exist. From the date on the letter, I’d just turned six months old.”
“Jesus,” I mutter.
He rubs his eyes and then his forehead, as though he’s trying to scrub away the hideous memories.
“It all became so clear to me then, the way Dad kept me at a distance, yet was so close with the others. How he’d be much harder on me over everything. My grades at school, how tidy I kept my bedroom, telling me I couldn’t have friends over, yet my brothers were allowed as many buddies as they liked. Mom overcompensated for his behavior. She’d tell me how special I was, how gorgeous, kind, bright, clever. But I always knew something was different. That I was different.” His eyes cut to mine, and the depth of hurt in them breaks my heart. “So, yeah, now you know.”
It’s my cue to talk, but instead, I climb onto his lap and hug him as tightly as I can manage. I want to take the agonizing memories festering inside him into my own body, cleanse them, and give them back to him, almost like money laundering for the mind. Except I can’t. All I can do is tell him that I’m here for him, that it doesn’t matter to me who his parents were, or how much their deceit impacted him. I want him regardless of his broodiness, his bad moods, his sometimes-cold demeanor. Every fucked-up, wonderful, amazing part. His past shaped the man he is today—sometimes angry and hurtful, but so fucking special.
“What do you need?”
He draws back, his eyes searching my face. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he must find it because he gives a small nod, curls his hands beneath my ass, and stands. Without saying a word, he carries me to the bed and sets me down. His mouth searches for mine, and as our tongues come together, his touch grows urgent. He undresses me quickly, then himself, but as he nestles between my parted thighs, he slows down as if my compliance to giving him what he needs has soothed an ache I can’t see but can definitely feel.
His hands cup my face, and the way he looks at me, with such commitment and desire, sends my pulse into overdrive.
“I can’t wait, Dex.”
“I don’t want you to wait.”
“I don’t have a condom.”
I run my hands over his muscled shoulders, trailing them down to his ass. “I don’t care.”
With a groan, he pushes himself inside me, but instead of taking me hard and fast as I expected, he moves with slow, deliberate thrusts. His eyes never leave mine, and as his hips move, stroking the part of me that makes my toes curl, I have an epiphany. Nate isn’t fucking me. He’s making love to me.
I love you.
I want to say the words out loud, but fear holds me back. Just because he’s making love to me doesn’t mean he actually loves me. Nate is a man who feels deeply, that much is obvious, given what he’s told me about his background, but I instinctively know he’s also a man who doesn’t love easily. To tell him how I’m feeling is a risk I simply can’t take. If I lose him now, it will punch a hole in my heart that will never heal.
My stomach clenches. I’m close. Standing on the precipice, I gaze into Nate’s eyes as he grinds into me. Warmth rushes out from my center. Burying his face in my neck, he mutters something illegible, his breath hot against my skin.
He holds me tightly for a while, then rolls to the side. His fingers creep toward mine, and he knits them together, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
“I know being with me isn’t easy. I’m fucked up, moody at times. I can sulk with the best of them. I have serious issues I’m working through. All I ask is for you to accept me for the man I am. Not the actor, the public figure, or the youngest of four brothers who doesn’t know who his dad is.”
I swallow past a huge lump in my throat. If one single tear dares to fall, I’ll gouge out my own eyes. This isn’t about me. It’s about Nate and his deeply rooted feelings of rejection from his birth father and betrayal by his mother, a woman he adored.
“Why have you never told your brothers?” I ask softly.
A shadow crosses his face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But, Nate, don’t you see? It’ll free you from the terrible burden you’re carrying.”
“No, it won’t.”
“How do you know if you don’t try?”
“What’s it to you, anyway?” A cold, stark statement said without an ounce of inflection.
An angry squall whips up inside me. Here we fucking go again. One step forward, ten steps back. “What’s it to me? Are you kidding me?”
Without saying another word, Nate gets off the bed and begins to get dressed. Goddamn the man. He can be a complete asshole at times. I get out of bed, too, but instead of getting dressed, I stand in front of him, stark naked. My hands go to my hips, and I jut my chin forward.
“You’re right. Being with you isn’t easy. But let me make this real simple for you. In case it’s escaped your notice, I actually give a shit about you. And a fucking idiot can see this secret is eating you alive. Jesus, like I’ve said a hundred times before, I’d understand your hesitancy if your family were a bunch of dicks, but they’re wonderful. They’ll understand.”
He goes to walk around me like I haven’t even spoken, but I shift to stop him, jabbing my finger in his chest. “Don’t even think about walking out on me. Stop fucking running, Nate.”
He towers over me, his eyes almost black with fury in their depths. “I fucking knew it was a mistake to tell you. Get off my back.”
“No.”
He makes another move. I counter it. Like two mismatched boxers facing off at the pre-match press conference, he stares me down, and I refuse to bow to his dominance.
“Get out of my way.”
I shake my head and plant my legs wide in case he tries to shove me off balance.
“Talk to me.”
“I did!” he yells, pushing a hand roughly through his hair. “You think it was easy for me to tell you something I’ve kept to myself for seven fucking years? I didn’t tell you so you could lecture me on how fessing up to my brothers would make me feel better. It won’t. It’ll make me feel worse.”
“How, Nate? Because all I can see is that it would free you from this dreadful secret you’ve carried around with you for too long. Don’t you get that?”
“No, I fucking don’t.”
I expel a frustrated breath. The urge to hit him upside the head makes my palm twitch. “Your brothers love you, and you clearly feel the same way about them. Don’t you want to be able to look at them without thinking about what your mom did, and how you believe it’s tainted your relationship? Don’t you want to be a real part of the family instead of standing on the periphery, wishing you were, and hating that you’re not? Don’t you want to be able to live without secrets and show them the real you? To get back the closeness you had growing up?”
He visibly winces. “Fuck, Titch.”
Like a pricked balloon, his anger withers and dies. He sags onto the bed and lets his head fall into his hands. His pain is so raw, as though his skin has peeled off, leaving the exposed nerves to the elements. I rush to sit beside him and rest my head against his shoulder, half expecting him to shuffle out of my reach. Instead, he curves both arms around me and holds me tightly. His body trembles, and it’s only when I lift my head that I realize he’s crying.
I scramble onto his lap and let his tears soak my skin. From the way his sobs rack silently through him, I’d wager he’s never cried for what he’s lost: a whole history, a belief system, a sense of belonging. A loss of trust in the one woman every child should be able to have faith in without question. His deep-rooted fear he’ll be rejected by his brothers when they find out. No wonder he’s kept quiet for so long while his pain only grew and festered. And the fact he’s chosen me to share something so painful with is humbling. Like he said, it seems as if we’ve known each other years, not mere weeks.
Then again, souls who are meant to be together don’t need years to know they’ve found the other half of themselves.
He draws back slowly, his red-rimmed eyes seeking me out, and I cradle his cheeks, wiping away the remains of his tears with my thumbs. “You asked me to accept you for who you are? Well, I do, Nate. The good and the bad. You want to know why? Because I love you. I’m in love with you.”
The relief at finally saying the words that have been swimming around my head is immense, like a weight I’ve been carrying around for days has lifted.
He brushes my lips with his own. “I don’t deserve you, Titch.”
I lower my head, and my shoulders drop. I’d been brave and shared my feelings with him, and he hasn’t reciprocated. Not that I expected him to profess his undying love, but a tiny part of me, hidden in a deep recess of my heart, had dared to hope. At least he hasn’t run a mile.
I shrug. “You’re right. You don’t.”
A glimmer of a smile touches his lips. He skims the back of his hand across my cheek, his touch soft and tender.
“I feel the same. You know that, right? I don’t know when or how you wormed your way into my heart, but now you’re there, I’m guessing there’s no getting rid of you.”
Warmth radiates through my body, and my heart drums in my chest. “You can say the words, Nate. They won’t burn you.”
“You burn me. You’re the one, Titch. The only one for me. My everything.”
My heart skips a beat. Nate may never be the type of boyfriend who’ll tell me he loves me, but if these are the words he’s chosen instead, I’ll take them every single time.
“Then, do something for me.”
He presses his lips together and gives me a pained look. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“Good, then I don’t need to waste my breath.”
He shakes his head. “What have I gotten myself into with you?”
Grinning, I say, “Be honest. I’ve brought a lot of excitement into your sad and lonely life.”
He barks out a laugh. “You’ve brought stress, I know that much.”
I brush my lips over his. “It will work out, Nate. I know it.”
His throat lurches with a hard swallow. “I wish I felt the same.”
“Only one way to find out.” When he nods, my pulse leaps. “So, you’ll talk to them?”
“Will you be there?” he asks.
“I’ll be wherever you need me to be.”
He lets out a long, exhausted sigh. “At least if I lose it all, I’ll still have you.”