Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
JORDAN
My pulse spikes. “What do you mean, he’s gone?” I ask, nerves rising fast, my heart suddenly pounding in my throat.
More sniffing. “Nate,” Matt chokes. “He… had a heart attack.” A shuddered inhale. “He’s… he’s dead.”
A guttural sound rips out of him through the speaker—one I’ve never heard from Matt. It breaks me wide open and sends me to my feet.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “What? How?” I’m already moving, making my way to the closet and grabbing the first pair of sweat shorts I see. I yank them on, then shove my feet into a pair of sneakers.
“They don’t know. It was sudden. Happened fast. And Cole… God,” he cries out. “Cole was there.”
Silence.
Then a rough, broken, “Fuck.”
Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I grab my keys and glance at the oven clock. 1:31.
“Where are you? Home?” I ask, already walking out the door.
“Yeah… I was asleep.”
“Okay. I’m on my way.” I stab the elevator button with a shaking finger. God, my whole body’s trembling. And I’m cold, like shock is crawling through my veins.
More broken silence. Come on. Come on, I silently beg, pressing the button again.
“Thanks. I would have called Jensen, but…” He trails off.
Oh, God. My chest fucking hurts. Jensen and Alley lived a few floors down from him before they moved. He has no siblings. His parents suck. It’s just Jensen’s family now… and me.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you called. I’m coming. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”
“No… no, that’s okay.”
“Alright. Ten minutes.” The doors finally slide open and I step inside, praying a cab will be waiting outside.
He hangs up. Or the elevator cut us off. Hard to tell.
I don’t even remember leaving the building, but the second I’m outside, I rush to the curb, scanning wildly as I run toward the West Village. I clutch my phone tighter, searching, hair flying, heart pounding, boobs bouncing. Shit. I didn’t even put on a bra.
I bring a hand to my chest, trying to hold myself still as I slow to a jog. I can’t run to Matt’s, it’s too far, and there’s still no cab in sight.
I pull up the Uber app and type in his address.
“Shit,” I mutter, winded. It’s five minutes away. I order it anyway. It won’t be faster by much, but it’s better than running.
I come to a complete stop and try to catch my breath, my mind spinning.
What the hell? Nate?
He was young. Two years younger than Matt and me.
Way too young to have a heart attack.
Way too fucking young to die.
Cole.
Oh my God. Cole.
It hits me like a brick, knocking the air from my lungs. I can’t comprehend what just happened. What any of this means. What he saw.
His dad just died. Right in front of him. God.
I look down at my screen. Four minutes. “Come on, come on.” I dart another glance down the street, and a sob rips out of me.
“Shit.”
Nate… Matt…
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I run a hand through my hair, then wipe at the tears spilling down my cheeks.
Cole.
I just talked to him last week. Everything was fine.
Normal.
And now—
“Oh my God,” I cry.
He just watched his dad die.
The sobs come hard and fast, sharp and broken, my chest caving with each one.
Nate was such a good guy. Truly one of the good ones.
The ache rises, tightening my throat.
One minute.
My fingers drum against my phone, and by the time the Uber pulls up, I’m a wreck—tangled hair, tear-stained face, and the tank top I was sleeping in is doing nothing to hide my breasts. They’re practically hanging out.
But I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.
I tumble into the backseat, let my head fall back, and close my eyes. Just breathe. Get your shit together so you can be there for Matt.
Matt.
Nate.
Cole.
I think about the first time Matt met Cole.
Nate had asked him to be his godfather, but Matt still hadn’t given him an answer.
We were on a plane to Chicago for the baptism, and he only had a few days left to decide.
He was twenty-three, I was twenty-two, both fresh out of college and trying to figure our shit out.
He had an apartment in Chelsea; I was living with a roommate close by.
I settled into the luxury seat next to Matt on his dad’s plane. He had a bottle of his favorite whiskey in hand, smirking because he knew it was my “slutty drink”—the one that loosens me up, makes me feel all kinds of sexy. I shook my head, fully aware of what he was hoping for on the flight.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do yet?” I asked as he poured me a double shot, then filled his own glass halfway.
“No. I don’t know anything about kids. What am I gonna do, take him to a strip club and teach him to smoke a joint?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m not good for this kid. My parents fucked me up. Why would he even ask me this?”
I laced my fingers through his while he took his first sip, letting the whiskey sit in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing. He licked his lips, then exhaled. “Mmm. That’s good.”
I smiled. “Because you’re a good person.”
He went to take another sip, but I caught his wrist and set his drink down. “Look at me.”
He turned, and I cupped his cheeks, my thumb brushing his jaw.
“One of the best, Matt.” I held his gaze, needing him to really hear me.
“I’m not just saying that. There’s no one out there like you.
No one who shows up for their people the way you do.
You’re a protector. And Cole would be damn lucky to have you as his godfather. Nate knows that. He sees you.”
His lips pressed tight, like he wanted to believe me but just… didn’t.
“I see you,” I added softly. “Just like you see me.” I kissed him, slow and certain. “You’re one of the good ones, babe. One of the best.”
His hand slid into my hair, pulling me closer as he kissed me harder.
“I want to believe that so damn bad,” he murmured.
“Then believe it.”
I blink the memory away and smile, a blip of good cutting through the wave of sadness blanketing my body. I never even drank my whiskey after that, but we ended up doing it all over that plane.
And Matt? One look at that baby and his mind was made up. It was love at first sight. He needed Cole like a fish needs water. I don’t think I ever loved Matt more than in that moment, watching him hold that tiny boy for the first time, already completely wrapped around his finger.
The driver turns onto Perry Street, where Matt’s penthouse overlooks the Hudson.
I’m pushing the door open before the car even comes to a full stop.
“Thanks,” I call over my shoulder as I take off toward the entrance.
My pace quickens through the lobby, and I manage a weak smile when I spot Mikey behind the front desk. “Hi Mikey.”
He flashes me a grin. “Hey, Jordan.” But just as quickly, his smile drops. His face says everything about how I look. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I just need to see Matt.”
He doesn’t question it, doesn’t even call up. He just meets me at the private elevator and swipes his keycard.
The doors slide open. “Thank you.” I step in and take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down.
A moment later I’m in Matt’s foyer.
“Matt?” I call out, already jogging toward his bedroom when I don’t see him in the living room.
There’s no answer, but a soft light spills from under his bedroom door, and a rhythmic thumping sound carries down the hallway. I breathe in, then breathe out, gathering whatever emotional strength I have left.
By the time I get to his room, I’m as steady as I can be for this moment.
I knock softly. “Matt?”
He barely glances my way as I slowly ease the door open.
He’s sitting on the floor, back against the bed, shirtless, a tennis ball loose in his hand.
My eyes sweep across his chest, taking in the ink that’s become so much a part of him.
When I reach his face, the air rushes out of me, shattering my heart into tiny little pieces.
His eyes are bloodshot. Cheeks tear-streaked. Broken.
A burn builds behind my eyes. “Hey,” I say, so soft I’m not sure he even hears me.
“Hey.” His voice is low, monotone. He doesn’t look over, just tosses the ball against the wall. It bounces once, then returns to him. He catches it and repeats the motion. Toss. Bounce. Catch.
Numb.
I wait for the next toss before crossing in front of him. Then I sink down beside him, close enough that my arm brushes his. I don’t say anything. Not yet. You can’t push Matt with this kind of thing. He’ll talk eventually, but only if he comes to me first.
A few long, heavy minutes pass in silence. Just the bounce of the ball and me trying to keep my shit together. Every glance in his direction nearly undoes me.
“Thanks for coming,” he says finally, voice just above a whisper.
“Of course,” I whisper back.
His eyes squeeze shut, nostrils flaring as his chest rises with a shaky breath. “He’s gone.”
The words barely leave his mouth before a sob wrenches out of him. His lips tremble. “Nate’s fucking gone,” he chokes out, like saying it twice might make it make sense.
“Oh my God, Matt…”
“He—Cole…” His voice cracks, his breath turning jagged as he covers his face, shoulders shaking.
“Hey,” I whisper, tears spilling down my cheeks. I slide my hands to his shoulders and scoot closer, pulling him into me.
He breaks, collapsing against me, his head dropping to my chest. I wrap myself around him as he shatters in my arms. Sobs rip through him—those deep, silent ones that shake your whole body. And God, it cracks something inside me just watching.
I hold him. I don’t know for how long, but eventually our cries blend together, and I’m not sure which ones are his and which ones are mine.
I’ve only seen Matt cry twice. Once in high school, after he and his dad had a huge fight, and once after our last breakup.
After I broke up with him…
But never like this.
I shift and gently guide his head into my lap, leaning back against the side of the bed. My fingers thread through his hair, slow and soothing, and he curls into me like I can take it all away. His shoulders still shake, breath still uneven, but eventually the sobs quiet and he stills.
My hand moves through his hair, over the bare skin of his shoulder, familiar in a way that almost hurts. God, this is Matt. My Matt… used to be my Matt. Seeing him break like this unravels parts of me I didn’t know were still there.
My fingers move rhythmically, back and forth through his hair and over his skin. I don’t stop. I have no idea what time it is, but I can hardly keep my eyes open. My head keeps bobbing, jerking me awake, until I finally give in, rest my head back against the bed, and everything fades away.
My brows scrunch as something grazes my shoulder.
“Jordan…” A whisper.
I force my eyes open a crack, just enough for the light to make me wince. Matt’s crouching down in front of me.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry—I fell asleep.” I push up. “What time is it?”
“Almost four. My plane leaves at seven. It’s the earliest my pilot could have it ready.”
I stand, searching his face. “Hey,” I say softly, forcing my lips to curve upward, just a little. “How you doing?”
He shrugs, then lifts his eyes to mine. They’re red from crying.
I bring a hand to his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I should go… You gonna be okay?”
He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me. The way he always has. That look is loaded with more than just history. It hits somewhere deep, making my breath stutter.
His gaze drops, just for a heartbeat, to the tank top that’s barely doing its job, before lifting back to my face, raw and aching.
His eyes don’t leave mine. “Please don’t go,” he whispers.
I tense, eyes searching his. He’s so broken, so fragile. I swallow, then nod once. “Okay.”
We stand there for a moment, both of us exhausted. He rubs a hand over his face and shakes his head, like he’s second-guessing what he just asked of me.
I turn and climb into his bed, taking the side I’ve always slept on. I sit back against the pillows and pat the space beside me.
“Come here,” I say softly.
He moves slow, like it takes everything in him just to crawl onto the mattress.
He settles on his side next to me, and I reach behind to switch off the headboard lighting.
I shift down until I’m lying flat, sinking into Matt’s glorious, perfect bed.
For a minute neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks. His gaze is on me, mine on the ceiling.
Then he exhales—one long, broken breath, and slides toward me, his arm draping across my stomach like he’s done a thousand times before. His head rests on my chest, and I wrap an arm around him, fingers slipping into his hair.
Butterflies swirl inside me, waking a storm I thought had settled years ago.
I ignore it.
“You okay?” I whisper.
“I am now,” he murmurs. And God… the sound of his voice builds a lump in my throat. It’s so sad. So heartbreaking.
We lie there. Him and me. Me and him. Together.
Until his breathing evens out.
Until the room falls into a comfortable silence I haven’t felt in years, filling the lonely, empty space in my chest from just hours ago.
And it sucks. All of it.
This night. Nate dying. Seeing Matt crushed.
But it feels good to be here beside him.
My thoughts fade, the sounds of the city humming in the background, and eventually my eyes drift closed.