1. Nick #2
I whirl around at the voice from behind me and lift my hand in front of my eyes to shield them from the bright sunlight. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust.
There’s a boy.
A boy with curious eyes and a smile on his face.
I take him in.
All of him.
His long limbs and his board shorts. The white T-shirt.
Bare feet.
Tanned skin.
Unruly black hair.
Green eyes.
He’s…
My fingers buzz.
My face goes warm. Even my ears are burning. Heat creeps up my neck.
My heart has decided it doesn’t remember how to beat properly. It slams against the inside of my rib cage and transforms into a tight flutter, skips a beat and goes into overdrive.
He’s… pretty.
He’s stupidly pretty.
He’s so pretty that it makes my hands shake.
And my lungs burn.
I’m not supposed to feel this way.
I’m not supposed to react like this.
I’m definitely not supposed to notice.
He tilts his head to the side the smallest bit. The wide smile lingers. “Who are you?”
Who am I? Good question. I almost snort out a laugh. Where would I even start?
Suddenly he blinks and the smile melts off his face. He lifts his arm and glances at the sport watch on his wrist.
“Shit,” he groans. “You’re the… Mom and Dad’s friend. You’re the son. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. What time is it?” He flicks a look at the sun, then toward the house. His eyes settle back on me, and he tilts his head again. “Nicholas, right?”
I nod slowly.
“Indigo,” I say. He knows my name, I know his—we’re on even ground. I feel slightly better, but not really.
He makes a face.
“Indy. The full name only comes out when I’m in trouble. Which I actually am. Did my mom sound pissed?” He keeps smiling at me. I keep not smiling. He runs his fingers through his hair, messing up the already messy strands. “Give me a sec and then we can head back?”
He’s already on the move, so I don’t think my input is expected.
He goes to the edge of the dock and grabs the handle on the bow of the shell.
He lifts the bow up onto the dock with practiced ease.
He pauses for a second and lets the water drain out, then slides the shell onto the dock, muscles tightening in his arms as the back slides up.
The bottom of the shell scrapes softly against the boards as it leaves the water.
He glances up at me and grins as he blows out an exaggerated breath.
I’d offer to help, but having no experience with boats of any kind, I’d probably make an ass of myself. And he’s already flipped the shell over. He leans over it to check something. He’s much stronger than he looks.
A shiver moves over my skin, and it prickles with goosebumps, like I’m cold, but I’m not at all.
He lifts the shell and carries it toward the shed. The boards creaks under his bare feet, and soft waves lap against the side of the dock as it sways gently.
Inside the shed, he lifts the shell onto a rack and then keeps his palm on it for an extra second to make sure it doesn’t roll. Once done, he walks back outside and slides the doors shut.
“Have you ever been?” he asks while he puts the latch in place. His eyes flick toward the wide expanse of water. “Out there? Rowing.”
“Never tried it.”
Maybe he’ll be an ass about it. Maybe he’ll be condescending and smug. He’ll ask, “What, never?” and sound impossibly surprised because naturally everybody has access to a boat and a whole boat shed and has a bay in their backyard.
Instead, he grins.
“If you ever want to give it a go, just say the word. I’m usually alone out here, but I wouldn’t mind some company. It’s a very—”
“I think I should head back,” I say.
He blinks at the abrupt interruption, but the friendly smile stays in place.
“I was hoping I could postpone Mom’s lecture, but you’re right,” he says. Affable. So damn affable.
It grates. Scrapes over my brain like a wire brush.
I don’t want to like him.
Or think he’s pretty.
Definitely not that.
I turn around and start to walk, and he falls into step next to me on that narrow trail that seems to shrink in as we walk, like the trees have decided to push us together.
“Mom said you’re old family friends?” Indy says. “Reconnecting. Where do you live? And now you’re going to be all, ‘On the other side of the country, duh.’ And it makes sense what with you visiting for the first time in a while.”
“Pennsylvania,” I say dully.
“Huh.”
I can feel his thoughts moving. I can see the questions forming. Pennsylvania isn’t that far away from Maryland.
We walk in silence for a few steps.
“Any idea what happened?” he asks.
No. Up until a few weeks ago I didn’t even know you existed.
I shake my head instead of saying that.
“I’m sure between you, me, and Dia we can figure it out. She’s great at snooping. This one time—”
I stop and turn to face him. “Maybe we just walk. In silence.”
His head jerks up, and his hands, which he’s been using to gesture wildly, freeze in place. He winces almost imperceptibly before he fixes the smile back on his face. “I’m talking too much again. I do that sometimes.”
He stops talking. Like I asked him to.
The silence that follows sets my teeth on edge. I imagine turning around and running away.
Then I imagine tripping him.
Pushing him.
Tackling him.
Punching him.
Doing something so out of left field and psychotic I’d be marched out of here with a police escort.
I’d burn all our bridges, and maybe we’d all be better off if I did?
“We’re here,” Indy announces unnecessarily when the house comes back into view.
I walk past him and make my way back to the porch, where everybody is still sitting.
“You found him,” Gus says, sounding almost conspiratorial. “And managed to drag him back to civilization. Very impressive.”
Liz shakes her head and sends her son an exasperated look.
Indy holds his hands up in front of himself. “I know, I know.”
Mom takes my fingers and squeezes them so hard it hurts, but I don’t say anything because it distracts me from thinking too hard about her reaction. Her breathing has that wheezy shallowness to it, so I pour a glass of water and hand it to her, grateful for the distraction.
She sends me a tremulous smile as she takes it.
Indy takes a seat on the other side of the table, right across from me.
For the rest of the afternoon, I feel his increasingly curious gaze on me again and again.
I really should’ve punched him. I still could. I could lunge across this table.
But I don’t.
I look around the guest room, shoulders slumped.
There was a brief, tense argument with Mom about whether we would stay or not that I swiftly lost. She’s exhausted, and no matter how strong the urge to insist we leave is, I can’t do it to her, so now I’m standing in the middle of one of the several guest rooms this house has, my arms hanging uselessly at my sides, cursing the fact that I’m too young for a driver’s license.
I know how to drive. I’ve driven plenty of times at home.
But that’s different. Small town. Everybody knows everybody, everybody knows our situation, so on occasion, the local sherif will let it slide when I get caught.
Here, Mom says we can’t risk it. Logically, I know she’s right. Doesn’t mean I don’t hate it.
A knock on the door makes me whirl around.
Liz stands in the doorway.
We study each other carefully. Cautiously. And I think… Do you know?
She puts on a smile.
I can’t tell what she’s thinking.
I don’t know how much Mom told her. What she told her.
I search her face for a hint, some kind of clue about why Mom was so insistent that we come here. Sure, we don’t have any relatives, not many close friends either, but why these people? These strangers? Why are they so important to Mom?
“I brought you clean towels.” Liz walks past me and puts a stack of them on the bed. More than I could possibly need for an overnight stay. She turns around and looks at me, taking me in. Every detail of my face. Every awkward twitch of my fingers.
“I’m glad you’re here. You and your mom. It’s…” She seems to be at a loss for words for a bit. Eventually she just smiles wider and says, “We’re all glad.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t. I don’t have the words, and even if I did, they’d most likely be full of the anger I’ve been trying to suppress for so long. Or desperation. I swing wildly between the two these days.
We stand awkwardly for a bit longer before she reaches out, gives my arm a quick squeeze, and walks out.
I sit down on the edge of the bed. Ideally, I’d just go to sleep and then the torture of staying in this house would be over that much sooner. Instead, it feels like sitting still makes my whole body itch unbearably.
I pace, trying to shake it off. All of this day. The restlessness. The increasing weight of this house and these people. The constant anger I carry around with me nowadays like an extra layer of skin.
It doesn’t work.
Eventually, I give up. I step into the hallway and quietly close the door behind me. I have no idea where I’m going or what the plan is. Maybe I’ll sneak back to the boat shed and just sit on the dock until it’s time to leave. It’s the only part of this place where I somehow felt peaceful.
I start to move down the hallway just as the door next to mine flies open and Indy, eyes on a thick book in his hand, walks straight into me.
He lets out a small sound of surprise and then goes beet red.
“Shit. Sorry.” He rubs his palm over his forehead subconsciously. “Sorry,” he repeats. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” There’s that smile again. That hopeful smile that makes my fingertips buzz and my pulse jump into my throat.
He puts the book on a shelf and tilts his head to the side. “You want to see something?”
I want to say no, but somehow, completely abandoning common sense, I shrug instead.
His face lights up and my heart jumps. It jumps.
My teeth clench, and my fingernails dig into the soft parts of my palms. This is not okay. I don’t want this.
And still, somehow, I follow him into his room, drawn forward by some invisible string.