Twenty-Two
Sienna
I sit on the edge of my bed, fingers digging into the comforter, staring at nothing in particular. Just breathing. Just trying to get my head back on straight. From downstairs, I catch the faint buzz of conversation. My family is still in the midst of dinner, probably only half noticing I’m gone. Still, I can’t shake the anxiety that any second, someone might march up here to check on me.
I should be used to this. I am used to this. It’s always been this way—the harmless ribbing, the lighthearted teasing, the little reminders that I don’t quite fit. I’ve learned to brush it off, laugh along, and let it roll off my back like it doesn’t sting. Usually, that’s enough.
But seeing it through Nathan’s eyes, someone who doesn’t automatically accept it as normal, turns it brand new again. It’s embarrassing in a way I can’t fully describe.
Another burst of laughter echoes up the stairs. I can’t hide here forever.
One more week. Then I’ll be gone again.
A figure passes by my doorway, then backtracks. Nathan appears, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his broad shoulders almost filling the space. “There you are.”
I sit up straighter. “I just needed a minute.”
“I figured.”
He doesn’t move. His gaze flicks around my childhood room, taking in the old band posters and half-faded pictures tacked to the wall. There’s a certain caution in his eyes, like he’s exploring a place he knows holds a thousand personal secrets. He finally steps inside and trails his fingers over my old bookshelf, pausing at my battered copy of Pride and Prejudice. He flips it open, skims a page, then sets it back.
His presence is too big for my childhood bedroom. I’ve noticed that about Nathan. He makes every space he steps into feel smaller.
“You know,”
I say, tilting my head, “I’m not allowed boys in here.”
He smirks but doesn’t respond, instead closing the distance and sinking onto the bed beside me, his elbows resting on his knees.
My stomach twists. His presence is so steady, too unwavering, and I’m still reeling from everything downstairs. The possibility that Dad or Jeremy might come looking for us edges into my mind, but I can’t bring myself to care. Right now, I just need to breathe.
“You okay?”
His voice is soft, too gentle for my frayed defenses.
I let out a short laugh and flop backward against the mattress, knees bent, feet dangling off the edge. “I’m good,” I lie.
He hesitates, then lies back too. We’re side by side, shoulders almost touching, staring at the same glow-in-the-dark stars I stuck up at thirteen. Dad tried to paint over them once, but they refused to budge, so he painted around them. Just like everything else in my life—patch jobs instead of real fixes.
I would laugh at the whole situation if my heart weren’t beating out of my chest from how close he is.
Nathan’s gaze flicks over the small constellations. “You’re a real rebel,”
he murmurs.
“Clearly.”
A short silence. Muffled clinks of dishes from downstairs float up, making me hyper-aware of how little time we might have.
“Do you still love him?”
Nathan asks quietly.
A humorless snort escapes. “God, no. I did once…I guess.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. It feels weirdly natural to talk to him like this. Maybe it’s because I don’t know him, or perhaps it’s because I’m not looking at him. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because no one else in my life ever asked. They all assumed Daniel and I had just ended.
Nathan says nothing, just waits. The bed dips slightly under his weight, the faint scent of him, clean and warm, pushing my nerves even further.
“We had a plan,”
I continue, folding my hands over my stomach. “We knew where we’d get married, which neighborhoods we wanted to buy a house in. Careers were going well. Everything lined up.”
I pause, swallowing. “Then came the topic of kids.”
Nathan gives a low hum, listening intently.
“He wanted them soon. Like, soon. And I…”
I shrug, eyes locked on the plastic stars overhead. “I wasn’t ready. We fought about it constantly. I think he assumed I’d change my mind. That if we stuck to our plan, eventually I’d just become the person he needed.”
The paint near one of the stars is chipped, and I focus on it, remembering how Dad cursed under his breath when the stickers wouldn’t budge. “Turns out, he decided to make plans with someone else.”
I keep my tone even, trying to bury the old hurt. It’s not bitterness; it’s just…facts.
“Lauren,”
he says, voice low.
“Yep. He was seeing her for six months before I found out. By then, I was already halfway out the door, but it still—”
I break off, letting the unspoken words hover. It still hurt.
Nathan’s entire body stiffens. “And he’s at your fucking dinner table,”
he mutters, anger curling each syllable.
A short, startled laugh escapes me. “Yeah, well, that’s my life. My parents don’t know the details. I didn’t stick around long enough to tell them, and it’s not exactly a dinner conversation. I wasn’t ashamed. It was just exhausting. Heartbreaking. I took the first flight to New York the second a job opened up.”
I press my palms against the mattress, grounding myself. I lived in a hotel for three weeks until I met Harper at work, and we found a place.
There’s a weighted silence before he finally asks, “So, your brother?”
“Jeremy knows. He stopped talking to Daniel for a while, but they’ve been friends since we were kids. He gave him a black eye, let him grovel, and eventually forgave him. They’re basically family.”
He grunts like he’s trying hard not to curse. I glance over, noticing how tense his jaw is, how his knuckles flex against his stomach. I’ve never seen someone so genuinely pissed off on my behalf. It’s strangely comforting.
“You good there?”
I tease softly.
He doesn’t respond. Instead, his dark eyes flick toward me, brimming with frustration. “Sounds like bullshit,”
he says bluntly, like the concept of Daniel’s betrayal rattles him to his core.
Despite myself, I laugh, a genuine bubble of amusement. He eyes me like I’ve gone mad.
My smile fades a little. “You don’t get it,” I say.
“Damn right I don’t.”
“It’s family, Nathan,”
I say, forcing a shrug. “Not perfect. Dysfunctional as hell, but still family.”
He shifts, turning his eyes back to the ceiling. For a second, the overhead light catches the faint green glow of the stars.
“Is your family not dysfunctional?”
I ask, half-expecting a flippant reply.
He goes quiet, tension coiling in his posture.
“Dysfunctional is putting it nicely. My parents divorced early. My mom worked all the time and found new men even faster. My father…”
He swallows. “He believed in teaching manners with a belt.”
My breath catches. Oh God. I wasn’t expecting that. Heat prickles behind my eyes as my chest tightens. I manage a soft nod, not wanting to interrupt with clumsy words. He’s not looking at me, but I sense the weight of that confession.
“My brother,”
Nathan continues, “didn’t turn out much better. I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
A short pause. “So I have Julian and Wes.”
“Your work wife,”
I say, hoping a bit of lightness helps because I can barely breathe around the ache in my chest.
A half-smile ghosts across his lips. “Yeah.”
“And Wes?”
I haven’t heard of him.
“Another friend. It’s always been the three of us.”
Silence, thick and charged, settles again. I wish I had something wise to say, but I don’t. Not about a father who used violence, not about a brother he’s estranged from. So I watch him, seeing how his fingers tap a slow, restless rhythm near his stomach. He’s so controlled, yet here he’s letting me see a fracture in that control.
He inhales, eyes still on the ceiling. “You wanted to prove something,”
he finally says, switching back to my story. “Leaving home. Taking that job. You wanted to prove you could make it on your own.”
My lips twitch in a sad smile. “Fat lot of good it does me, lying to them now, hauling in a fake boyfriend to keep up appearances. I swore I didn’t care what they thought, but apparently, I do.”
Nathan shifts onto his side, not quite looking at me but close. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a little backup.”
I swallow a lump that appears unexpectedly in my throat. “This is backup?”
The corner of his mouth curves. “You’re allowed a little fun, Sienna.”
“This is not fun,”
I insist, although my heart isn't really in it.
“It’s a little fun.”
His grin is brief but warm.
Rolling my eyes, I push myself upright, ignoring the swirl of relief and embarrassment tangling in my gut. “Come on, Romeo. We should probably go back downstairs before my mom freaks out and assumes you knocked me up in here.”
Nathan drags a hand over his face. “Sounds like a challenge.”
I stand, turning to offer him my hand. For a second, the chaotic hum from downstairs makes me hesitate. Someone’s probably noticing we’re both gone, but as Nathan’s fingers close around mine, a tiny spike of warmth flares in my chest.
“Let’s go,”
I say, half to him, half to myself.
He rises, expression shifting from wry amusement to something gentler. For a fleeting moment, I consider how much I hate letting go of his hand, but I do it anyway, stepping toward the door.
Back to dinner. Back to reality. And yet, for the first time all day, I feel less alone.