23. Naz
TWENTY-THREE
NAZ
The flight back to Raleigh is quiet. It’s just me, Cory, and the one flight attendant who isn’t really needed since both of us declined any sort of refreshment.
She tries to make small talk, but I’m not really in the mood.
I give her a small, defeated smile and tell her I’m just exhausted.
She lets me off the hook easily, and my guess is that, like most of the world, she’s heard the recording and figures I’m too embarrassed to talk about it.
She’s not wrong. I’m mortified. The humiliation I feel just being around people that aren’t Scott or Cory is thick.
I feel like I’m on display, like everyone can see me without my clothes.
Only, I’m pretty confident about my body.
I’m not so confident about the things that go through my head sometimes or letting anyone perceive me as weak.
I’m not looking forward to getting home. All the guys are going to—
Oh shit, will my grandparents have heard it? They rarely watch mainstream television, but even the weather channel has news highlights. I’m glad I didn’t set up a newspaper delivery yet, at least.
This is going to be awful.
Fuck worrying if they’ll talk to be when I get home. If they find out about this, they’ll never be able to look at me again.
I clutch the burner phone Scott gave me in my hands and look down at the screen.
S: Have a safe trip. Hopefully it won’t be long.
He told me he loves me.
“Welcome home,” Simon greets me as I walk up the porch steps. He holds the door open for me, offering to take my bag.
“That’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m going to take it up to my trailer as soon as Cory is done with whatever it is he’s doing up there.”
“We did another bug sweep today,” Simon says understandingly. I can see the pity in his eyes. The embarrassment on my behalf.
I look away, not ready to face this.
“How bad has it been?” I ask instead, diverting us to the next most uncomfortable topic.
“It’s actually not been bad at all. We’re still in the early stages, but everyone seems like they’re getting along. A lot of tip-toeing.”
“How did they react?”
“They knew it was coming, so they weren’t surprised when your friends came downstairs late this morning.
It was a little awkward, I’m not gonna lie.
Your grandparents mostly stayed in their room and the little sitting area outside it.
But then…” He leans toward me conspiratorially.
“Your friend, Mr. Martìn, might have been the icebreaker you needed. He made us all lunch earlier, and, well… Just look.”
He gestures to the sitting room, where Jesse looks like he’s reading a newspaper until he lifts a pencil and says a little excitedly, “Oh, got one! Fifteen down. Four letters. Hamilton’s rival. That one’s easy. It’s Burr.”
My grandmother raises an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”
“I’m basically obsessed with that soundtrack.” At my grandmother’s unimpressed frown, Jesse grins widely. “I’m just kidding. I remember a little American history. But I probably would have had to think harder if not for the play.”
Grandmother purses her lips but doesn’t look annoyed. She looks almost amused.
Reaching up, I feel my forehead. “What the fuck is happening?”
“Watch your fuckin’ language,” Will says before tackling me into a tight hug. “We wouldn’t want Grams thinking we’ve corrupted you.”
“Grams?” I ask incredulously, playfully pushing Will off me.
“Jesse started it,” he says, as if tattling on a sibling. “She kind of hates it, but with time, she might come around. I think we’re growing on them.” He snickers.
“Like a fungus,” Luc says, stepping out of the kitchen. “Welcome back, man. Thanks for letting us crash here.” He gives me a slightly timid bro-hug. “I made gumbo earlier. There’s some left if you’re hungry.”
“That’s not gumbo,” Jesse sing-songs from the sitting room.
“Quit talking to my dad,” Luc sings back.
My grandmother looks up from her crossword, eyes widening when she sees me. “Nazario? When did you get here?”
“Hey, Grandmother. I just got in. Sorry it took me so long to get back,” I say, walking over and pressing a light kiss to her temple.
Her hand grips my forearm, making me stop and look down at her. “Is everything alright?”
Confused, I look around. It seems everyone except my grandfather, Eric, and Zane have come to greet me.
They’re all wearing various levels of concern on their faces, and if not pity, then understanding.
My bandmates, at least, know what it’s like to have all your dirty secrets spilled for the world to see.
It doesn’t really explain why my grandmother is worried, though.
“We told them,” Ari says softly. “We didn’t want them to worry, but it felt like something they needed to know.”
Translation: One or both of my grandparents expressed their displeasure in my absence, and they stuck up for me by telling them enough of the truth to get me some sympathy points.
Grandmother squeezes my arm, reminding me that she asked a question. I blow out a breath, then sit in the chair Simon brings over for me.
“Thanks,” I tell him before facing my grandmother again. “Everything’s fine. Our manager and the security lead have a plan. It’s just going to take a little time.”
“But you’re safe here?”
Not are we safe here? Not I can’t believe you exposed us to danger. Not even, isn’t this whole thing a little over the top?
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I assure her. “We have people helping keep us safe.”
“Speaking of people keeping you safe, where’s Scott? I saw Cory drive past but didn’t see Scott with him,” Ari says.
“It’s a long story. He’s in Raleigh, diverting some attention while I made my way here.”
“Did Cory make you drive around the entire state before you doubled back?”
I laugh. “Something like that.”
“Well, that’s good,” Grandmother says, still clutching my arm like I might try to get away. “At least we know no one followed you here and all you boys are safe.”
All you boys.
I blink back at my grandmother. “Just exactly what did they tell you?”
“Well, after we saw those horrific scars on Lucius, and those security gentlemen with you were acting so strangely, I thought we deserved to know the truth. There was clearly something you weren’t telling us.”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
My grandfather’s voice comes from the doorway to the bedroom. He’s leaning against the doorframe, a tube looped around his ears and under his nose, an oxygen tank by his side. “So you were just going to let us think you’d chosen to gallivant off and leave us here with a bunch of hooligans?”
I laugh, even though it’s not funny. That is exactly what I was going to do. I didn’t think there was anything I could have said that would have made them think differently.
“This is weird,” I say out loud, standing and gesturing for my grandfather to take my seat.
“What is, dear?”
“All of it. I mean, you’re doing a crossword with Jesse,” I point out, not saying the obvious, that they’ve always hated Jesse.
“This just isn’t how I expected things to work out.
I kind of thought I’d come home to everyone in their own corners.
” And that I’d have to hear griping and complaining from every single one of you.
“What’d you think we were going to do, hide inside our room all day? I just got out of the hospital. I don’t want to feel like I’m still confined to my bed.”
“Actually, we mostly tried to stay in our rooms upstairs, so you wouldn’t feel intruded on. Then Luc decided we all needed a home-cooked meal.”
“And I decided that Luc needed his bandages changed,” Simon interjects. “Which he probably needs again.” He looks around, silently asking where Luc ran off to.
“He’s probably hiding from you. He looks big and bad, but he’s a big baby,” Jesse says.
Grandmother swats him. “You be nice to that boy. He got that terrible wound saving your life.”
“I’m very nice to him,” Jesse snarks, barely keeping the suggestive tone in check. Grandmother swats him again.
“That Lucius is a good egg. Quiet fellow. Very polite.” Grandfather remarks. “Can you believe he plays football for a living?” I can’t decide if he’s astonished that someone who plays a sport for a living can be respectable, or if he’s making a ‘kids these days’ type of statement.
“Everybody loves Luc,” Jesse says, grinning widely and giving Simon a conspiratorial wink. “He’s on the back porch.”
“And Ari is going to teach me how to crochet,” my grandmother informs me. “How about that?” She says smugly, like she knows she’s proving me wrong about my perception of her. “William is going to learn with us, aren’t you, William?”
“Yes, ma’am. My therapist crochets, and they say it’s a great calming pastime.”
My grandfather makes a noncommittal sound under his breath but manages not to say anything about his opinions on therapists.
He doesn’t believe it’s a real profession, much like sports and music, except that you have to go to school and have certifications and all the things he normally would consider legitimate.
“I learned how to crochet in therapy,” Jesse says.
“When I was in rehab, they were always giving us things to do to keep our hands and minds busy. I took to it pretty fast, but like most of the hobbies I’ve picked up, I forgot everything the moment I stopped doing it.
” He cringes, like he might have said too much and lets out a self-deprecating chuckle.
“I’m sure you’d pick it up just as fast the second time, if you’d like to join us.”
Will leans over to me and whispers, “Why does everyone else get full-named but Ari?”
“Because no one but you, and possibly very few members of admin, know what my full name is. And it’s going to stay that way,” Ari says quietly, the warning tone in his voice clear.
“What’s that?” My grandmother asks.
“I was just saying that I didn’t know Ari knew how to crochet,” I said.
“My therapist taught me.”
“Really?”
“No,” he laughs. “I taught myself from YouTube tutorials.”