17
Come On Means Come On
Kylie
I hate that I know exactly what’s going on here.
Declan is on his top step with a towel pressed to his forehead like everything is fine in the world, and Nash looks like he’s about to hurt somebody.
I told him come on two seconds ago, and I don’t hear footsteps behind me.
I don’t turn around to check. I look at the cars instead and don’t know if any of these cars are theirs.
When I turn my head to ask, Rafe is already unlocking his car.
“Paige, we’ll meet you there,” Koda says because Paige drove her car.
When I finally turn, Nash is walking toward us. His mouth is split, there’s blood down his mouth, and his knuckles are open on both hands. His shirt is torn halfway and hanging off his shoulders.
On the driveway, for five seconds, I looked at his side, and I can’t stop seeing his scar.
It isn’t a cut. It’s a whole stretch of him, from above his hip up into his ribs, where the skin looks like it was melted smooth and stretched back on.
It’s shiny and too pale, pulled tight in some places and sunk in others, like the ground after something heavy sat on it for a long time.
There’s a pattern in it, faint, like fine netting pressed into wax, and at the edges, it was a bruised purple.
He pulled the fabric across it the second he saw me looking, so I make a point not to look down again.
What the fuck happened to you? I don’t say it. I don’t even let it get to my face.
“Get in the back with her,” Rafe says when Nash goes for the passenger door.
“No.”
Rafe steps in front of him and opens the back door. “Get in the back with her.”
Koda walks around to the passenger side anyway, and Nash doesn’t argue again. He gets in behind the driver’s seat, and I look at Rafe for a second, then hurry around to the other side.
Rafe starts the car. I let my eyes go to Nash’s hands. They’re shaking, and he’s rubbing them on his thighs like that might stop it. I don’t put my seatbelt on. I scoot to the middle seat, right up against his bouncing leg, and put my hand on his.
I expect him to pull away. He doesn’t. My hand is on his bloody knuckles, and he doesn’t wince. He squeezes. I keep my eyes forward.
“I got a few good hits on Croft,” Koda says to the windshield.
Rafe shakes his head.
“All this for a fucking spot,” Koda says.
“Fucking dumb,” Rafe mutters.
Koda twists around to look at me. “Sorry I called you, Blondie. I didn’t know what else to do.” Then, grinning, “Actually, I did. I knew exactly what to do.”
I look down at our hands and move my pointer finger along his, slowly. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
“It worked,” Rafe says to Koda. “Finally got him to stop.”
Nash tenses. I see the breath go into his chest, so I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back, and now my heart is racing because he’s letting me hold his bloody hand.
The car goes over a speed bump too fast, and Nash groans.
“Sorry,” Rafe says to the rearview mirror.
“Where?” I ask, finally turning to him.
He looks at me, and I can see his chest rising under the torn shirt, but I keep my eyes on his face.
Then I take my hand back, zip my jacket all the way to my chin, reach up under it, and pull off the T-shirt I’m wearing underneath.
It’s an extra-large and it’s black, so it won’t look stupid on him.
I drop it in his lap and don’t say anything.
A moment later, he’s pulling the ripped shirt over his head.
I make the mistake of glancing down at his side again, then dart my eyes to the front, and Rafe is already watching me in the rearview mirror.
Nash pulls my shirt on, and everything is covered.
He doesn’t say anything. He just takes my hand back and rests it on his knee, and my stomach swirls for the rest of the drive.
When we park, Nash uses his torn shirt to wipe off as much blood as he can.
We don’t hold hands again. He takes the stairs instead of the elevator, and I follow him up, two at a time, while Paige catches the elevator.
I follow him right into his room, and he doesn’t say anything, and now that I have a better look at his face in the light, it’s bad.
“Lift your shirt, Nash,” Rafe says.
Nash looks at me, then turns his back to Rafe and pulls my shirt up over his shoulders with one hand. There’s a massive red welt straight across his shoulder blades.
“Fuck,” Rafe breathes. He holds his phone up and takes a picture of it.
Nash pulls the shirt back down, and my heart is a jackhammer. I sit on the edge of a bed and watch him move around the room, grabbing things.
“Shower?” Rafe asks.
Nash nods.
Paige is in the doorway. “Okay. We’re gonna go. Kylie?”
I stand and walk out.
“Walk me up,” Paige says, and I follow her to four. The second we’re on her floor, she turns around. “What the fuck was that?”
I can’t process it yet, so I don’t say anything.
“This has to be more than hockey, right?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“That Declan dude has some fucking problems.”
“I’m gonna go to sleep.”
“You should check on him later.”
“Yeah.”
We hug. “Good night,” she says. “Text me.”
I nod. “I will. Night.”
I walk back down to three. On the way, I pass Nash and Rafe’s door and slow down for a second, and then I keep going.
Our door won’t open. The chain is on, exactly like I asked.
I text it’s me, and after a moment, the chain slides off and Tessa opens the door.
She looks past me down the hallway, both directions, before she looks at me.
She doesn’t say anything. She takes in my jacket zipped to the chin and my pajama pants and whatever is on my face, and then she slides the chain back on and climbs into bed without a word.
I sit on my bed in the dark in my jacket, with nothing underneath, and pull out my phone.
Nash: You okay?
Something twists in my chest. He’s asking me if I’m okay?
Me: Yeah. Are you?
Nash: Yeah.
Me: I’m sorry for what happened.
Nash: Not your problem.
Me: Okay.
Nash: Sorry.
Me: Don’t be sorry.
He doesn’t text back, but I keep the thread open and reread it a few times.
Me: Anything I can do?
Nash: Sorry Koda called you.
Nash: You didn’t have to come.
Me: Declan isn’t worth it.
I chew my bottom lip and type another one.
Me: Not worth my tears. Not worth your anger.
Nash: You’re right.
I stare at that.
Me: Good night.
Nash: You’re going to sleep?
Me: No.
Nash: Then why are you telling me good night?
Me: I don’t know.
There’s a long pause, no dots. I suck in a breath.
Me: Why did Koda call me?
Nash: I wouldn’t leave.
Me: Why?
Nash: I was pissed.
Me: What happened?
Nash: Nothing.
Nash: Then he hit me with his stick.
I stare at the screen.
Me: Like his hockey stick?
Nash: Yeah.
Shit.
Me: That’s what was on your back?
Nash: Yeah.
Nash: I have your shirt.
Me: I can’t believe it fit you.
Nash: Barely.
Nash: Was it your boyfriend’s?
Me: It’s mine. I got it in South Carolina.
Nash: Vacation?
Me: Yeah. Have you been?
Nash: No.
A minute passes, and another, and another.
Me: Why didn’t Koda call Jules?
Nash: Why would he call her?
Me: Aren’t you sleeping with her?
Nash: Sometimes.
Nash: It’s nothing more.
Me: Weird.
Nash: Why is that weird?
Me: She probably likes you.
Nash: She knows what we are.
Me: Which is?
Nash: Fuck buddies.
Me: Wow.
Nash: Never had one of those?
Me: Never.
Nash: Good. Don’t.
Me: Why?
Nash: It gets old.
I look at that, trying to understand.
Me: Then why do it?
Nash: I don’t know.
Me: Are you going to be okay?
Nash: Yeah. You?
Me: I’m worried.
Nash: About?
Me: Declan.
Nash: Don’t worry about him.
Nash: Okay?
Me: It’s more about you.
He doesn’t answer right away. Three minutes later, the dots come up.
Nash: Don’t.
Me: Do you still hate me?
Nash: Totally.
Me: Good. I thought you were going soft on me.
Nash: I’m not.
Nash: Still a hater.
Me: Me too.
Me: Good night, Nash. Thanks for leaving with me.
Nash: You told me to.
I lie on my side staring at that one. I’m still in the zipped jacket with nothing under it, which is uncomfortable, and I’m too lazy to get up and change. I pull the blanket to my chin and fall asleep looking at my phone.