Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
Nova
The hall had grown silent, and I don’t know if I should stay in the bedroom, give Lake his privacy, or if I should go find him and make sure he’s okay.
Maybe make him a mule and present it as a peace offering? A balm for an otherwise shitty day?
Steve whines from the bathroom, but I don’t let him out, just pull on my clothes, quietly pad to the bedroom door, and peek out into the hall.
My gut clenches.
Lake is sitting there, head on his knees, phone a couple of inches away from his ear, not saying anything even though I can hear the faint din of the voice on the other end.
I move closer, settle at his side.
He stiffens, but doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge me.
This is my first clue—unfortunately, I don’t pay attention to it.
His voice startles me when it finally comes several minutes later, the shrill voice on the other end of the call showing no sign of calming. “I know you’re concerned—”
But he doesn’t get the full sentence out before the voice increases in volume.
I can’t make out much aside from noise—and maybe a “My baby!”—but Lake seems to be hearing just fine because he just sighs again, settling in, though this time it’s by lifting his head and plunking it back against the wall behind him.
His lids are closed.
His hair’s a mess.
His jaw is tense—along with his shoulders and torso, his legs, even his fingers have formed taut fists, and his toes are curled tightly in his socks.
I nibble at my bottom lip, debating.
But…he asked me to stay.
So, I reach for his free hand.
He startles, eyes flying open, locking with mine, his cell still an inch away from his ear, the voice going on and on, a la Charlie Brown.
But he allows me to gently unfurl his fist, to lace my fingers through his.
Relief in my belly, settling the butterflies when he doesn’t pull away.
“I’m going to need you to listen to me,” he finally says several minutes later. “Nope. Not to yell at me. But to take a breath and really listen.”
He waits again, almost an interminable amount of time before he’s able to speak. “Right. There was a snowstorm. I never lost power or was in any danger. I stayed home, ate and drank and slept. It was like a vacation—”
He breaks off again, the voice on the other end of the call going a mile a minute.
“But tonight,” he says loudly, after waiting less time. “I just got home from practice and I’m tired. I’m going to hang up—”
The voice increases in volume.
“I’m going to hang up, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
A wail that almost hurts my ears.
I wince, clutch at his hand.
“Goodbye, Mom.”
He jabs at the screen with his free hand, drops it to the floor, sending it skittering along the hardwood.
After the noise on the other end of the line—and his mom not even on speaker phone—the quiet that falls between us seems exceptionally…quiet.
I nibble at my lip again, still holding tightly to his hand.
“Well,” I eventually say. “Um…that happened.”
His big chest rises and falls on an exhale before he rotates his head to the side, gold and green and brown eyes locking with mine.
Not warm.
Not soft.
Not…Lake.
He pulls his hand from mine.
Looks away.
My nostrils flare, but I manage to rest my palm on my thigh, to not clutch it to my chest, to not reach out to him and cling to him.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask, long moments later, the silence getting to me.
“No,” he mutters, rotating his head back so our gazes meet. A sigh as he pushes to his feet. “You should go to bed.”
My stomach convulses, but it’s not from the butterflies this time.
It’s…
Wrong. This is wrong.
“Lake,” I begin.
He turns away, starts for the family room.
I struggle to my feet, trail after him. “I made some soup,” I say, watching his back go stiff, his shoulders hitch up. I go to the fridge, pull out the container. “If you want any…” I finish, trailing off when he brushes by me, heading toward…
The vodka cabinet.
“Or not,” I whisper as he opens a bottle and drinks straight from the open top. “Um…how about a grilled cheese? At least that’s small and will soak up”—he takes another long guzzle—“some of that alcohol.”
He drops the bottle to the counter, sending it sloshing out the top. “Why are you still here?”
I freeze, more stomach churning, less butterflies.
No butterflies.
“Lake,” I say carefully. “It sounds like the call upset you—”
“Wow,” he drawls. “Did you come up with that all on your own?”
I inhale sharply. “Don’t do that,” I murmur.
He takes another sip. “I’m not doing anything.”
Except pushing me away.
“Honey,” I say. “Let’s either talk about it, or find a way to take your mind off—”
He smirks. “What are you offering?”
I go statue-still then blow out a breath. “I know you’re upset.”
“You don’t know anything.”
Frustration dancing off the tip of my tongue. “Then clue me in, honey. Talk to me. Or, fuck”—I toss up my hands—“let’s put it aside and do something else.”
He shoves the bottle back then strides over to me, face an inch from mine, his eyes…yeah, I don’t like his eyes. “You don’t get it.”
“Get what?” I whisper.
“That I don’t want anything to do with you.”
Those words…
They cut.
Because—
First my parents. Then my sister. George. And…now Lake.
Still, I try. “That’s not fair. Honey, I”—swallowing hard, I gird my loins—“I really think it would help if we talked.”
“What do you care?” he asks coldly. “You were ready to hit the road this morning.”
I suck in a breath, skitter back a step. “Fuck you,” I whisper.
He picks up the bottle, salutes me with it. “Right back at ya. You’re just like all the rest of them, shoving into a space where you’re not welcome.”
Pain in my middle.
Another shaky step backward.
But I manage to lift my chin, for my words to be frosty. “Cool,” I tell him, waving a hand at the bottle. “I’ll just let you get drunk like an idiot.”
He shoos me away disdainfully. “Finally.”
I turn on my heel, hurry to the bedroom, thinking that as soon as it’s morning, I’m getting the fuck out of here.
Because if he’s like this…
Like this not even one goddamn day after asking me to stay—
Then fuck him.
The open road is a hundred times better.