WEEKS PASS without a single word from Cass.
No calls, no messages, not even so much as a glimpse of him on campus. As far as the guys can tell, he hasn’t been home since the day he stormed out. He disappears completely; the only reason I know he’s alive is because Lynn has assured me so.
I’m worried beyond freaking belief but more than that, I’m angry because I think he wants me to be worried. It feels like he’s doing it on purpose, like he’s taking what I did years ago and throwing it back at me, seeing how I like it, and it’s not freaking fair. He’s hurt, fine. He thinks we betrayed him, valid. But it’s not the same.
Cass being hurt that I lied about my relationship is not the same as my boyfriend freaking dying. And if he tries to compare the two, I really think I’m going to punch him in the face.
It is weird, though, how I can have this ominous dark cloud hanging over my head yet simultaneously be so inexplicably happy. Because freaking cumulonimbus has a silver lining.
Nick.
We’re inseparable. Like, truly joined at the hip. That couple you make fun of with your friends for being so obsessed with each other? We are that couple, and I don’t give a shit.
Call it making up for all that lost time I wasted hiding him away.
I’ve been on more dates the past few weeks than I have in my entire life, and I strongly suspect it’s Nick’s tactic to keep my mind off Cass. It works; hard to think about anything else when your hot boyfriend is constantly showering you with love.
Sometimes, I still find it hard to correlate the Nick I know now with the drunk player I first met—and didn’t particularly like—months ago. I can’t quite imagine that Nick letting me drag him around farmer’s markets on Sunday mornings, going to brunch with my friends, or strolling through the Antelope Valley Poppy Reserve hand in hand with me, snapping endless pictures and tucking a freaking flower behind my ear.
It’s the weirdest feeling in the world, going from disliking affection—because I always had to beg for the genuine kind—to drowning in a never-ending abundance of it yet still not being able to get enough.
And Nick has been doling out a little extra since we arrived in Carlton to spend what’s shaping up to be a very awkward Spring Break with our families.
Coming here was always the plan; we amended it slightly. Instead of staying with the Morgans—it’s up in the air whether or not Cass is still coming but I figured ambushing him wouldn’t be a smart idea—I’m staying with the Silvas.
In their house.
Which my brain is convinced is still my house.
Super weird.
There was a full minute after I woke up from napping—the early morning and a long, anxious drive took it out of me—when I was sixteen again. Sleeping in a bed I really considered a spare in a room I barely used. If I squinted hard enough, I could make out marks on the wall where a mirror used to hang, scuffs on the floorboards made by dancing feet.
Dancing I did before the structure tucked down the end of my—Nick’s—backyard was built.
I swallow hard as I inspect the glorified shed holding considerably more memories than my childhood home, the one place I ever really felt alone. It’s changed—I knew that before I stepped foot inside. No longer is it the dance studio of every little ballerina’s dreams. It’s still floored with hardwood. The walls are still wrapped with mirror. The ratty old bean bag where a blue-eyed boy used to sit and watch his girlfriend work her toes bloody somehow survived the renovation. But, newly added, there’s a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. A weight rack in one corner. A pull-up bar in another that has my mind wandering, imagining a sweaty, straining Nick working out in here.
I should resent the change but I don’t. I’m glad the space I once cherished didn’t become completely desolate, instead morphing into someone else’s little haven.
Strong arms wrapping around my waist don’t surprise me; I knew once Nick found his bed empty, he’d come looking, and there’s only so many places to hide. I relax into him, clutching the forearms banded tightly across my tummy. “Do you miss it?” he murmurs in my ear, and it strikes me that it’s the first time I’ve ever been asked that. If I miss the second thing I lost in the accident, the hobby I could no longer bring myself to do because it hurt too much, beyond the physical. It’s the first time I’ve ever really considered it, actually; I had something far more important to mourn.
“No,” young Amelia would be shocked to hear. “I loved it but it was just a thing I did, y’know?” James—shockingly—is basically a genius. Cass has baseball. I needed something that was mine.
“Hmm.” Stubble tickles my skin as Nick’s cheek brushes mine. “Your dad’s next door.”
“Already?” He’s early—a rarity. Full of surprises lately, my dad; him exchanging a weekend visit to Sun Valley with a whole week in Carlton was a welcome shock. Twirling around, my excitement dims when I notice the abnormal rigidity of my boyfriend. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Nick lies.
“Bull.” Through narrowed eyes, I inspect him carefully, noting the tight set of his jaw, the exaggerated bob of his throat as he swallows, the constant fidgeting with the hem of my dress. “Are you nervous?”
Calloused fingers trace the column of my spine before digging into my lower back. “I’m meeting your dad.”
“You’ve met him before.”
“This is different. I wasn’t your boyfriend then, I was—”
“My distraction?” I tease, winding my arms around his neck, playing with the soft curls at the nape. “Pining? Wistfully waiting for me to fall in love with you?”
“All of the above,” he rasps.
I’m not entirely sure it’s a joke.
Nick ducks out of my grip, the pressure of his fingertips increasing as he guides me outside and toward the gap in the fence—storm damage no one ever bothered to fix. Wriggling between the warped slats of wood, we amble up to the house. “I want him to like me.”
I squeeze the hand held tight in mine. “He does like you.”
“It’s true,” a third voice concurs. Both our gazes snap to the man standing on the Morgans’ back porch, hands on his hips and a smile on his face.
I return my dad’s grin. Jogging the last few yards between us, I exhale happily when he wraps me in a tight hug. “I missed you.” I always miss him but sometimes I forget how much. I never realize how much his absence affects me until he’s standing in front of me, presence soothing me from the inside out.
Dad returns the sentiment with a kiss brushed on the top of my head. He keeps me tucked beneath his arm as he extends a hand toward the uncharacteristically flushed man lurking on the bottom step. “Good to see you again, son.”
To his credit, Nick doesn’t hesitate before accepting my dad’s hand, shaking firmly and hitting him with one of his winning smiles, dimples and all. “Nice to see you too, sir.”
Dad’s laugh is booming. “Patrick, please. Call me sir again and I’ll change my mind about liking you.”
Oh, I like nervous Nick. I like nervous Nick a lot. He’s freaking adorable, flushed and scratching the back of his head as he nods timidly.
Dad doesn’t miss a beat; he launches into easy conversation as he hustles inside, quizzing us on class and work and hobbies until the tension holding Nick taut eases. Before I know it, they’re laughing like old friends and I’m holding back a groan as they make all kinds of plans.
Apparently, the next time my boyfriend beats the crap out of someone for entertainment, Dad’s going to bear witness.
Fun.
When I flick on the kettle and fish three mugs from the cabinet, Nick stops me. “I’m not staying.” Dual protests are met with an adamant shake of his head. “I’ll let you two catch up.”
“I’ll walk you out.” As we disappear down the hall, I notice Dad making a purposeful effort to busy himself, whistling quietly and pouring tea.
One hand on the doorknob, Nick drags me closer than he dared stand when in the presence of my father, fingers dancing along my hip. I purse my lips at how tentatively he touches me—even without watchful eyes, his usual possessive grip is replaced by a timid ghost of a caress. “Ma said to invite him for dinner.”
Chin resting on his chest, I gaze up at him. “He’ll love that.”
A relieved breath brushes my temple in tandem with soft lips. “Eu te amo.”
“I love you,” I reciprocate quietly, placing a kiss near the center of his chest—the highest spot I can reach.
The second the door closes behind Nick, a very amused throat clears. Nose scrunching in anticipation, I spin around to find my dad exactly as I expected; smirking like a jackass. “Love, huh?”
As I rejoin him in the kitchen, I wonder if I’ve reached the age where I can flip him off without consequence. “Shut up.”
“For the record, I am way too young to be a grandfather.”
“Dad.” I sink onto a stool with a groan, palming my cheeks like that might stem the raging blush. “Jesus Christ.”
Fueled by my embarrassment, he only grins wider, damn near glowing as he slides a hot mug of tea—he’s a strictly herbal man—my way.
“So,” he starts, and I brace myself for more freaking harassment, “will I be seeing Cass this week?”
Damn. I almost wish he’d teased me some more instead of bringing up that.
Slumping against the counter, I shrug. “I don’t know. I texted him.” A reply wasn’t expected yet I was still disappointed when I didn’t get one.
Dad reaches over to squeeze my forearm, humor fading. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”
Another shrug is all I can manage as I watch steam swirl up from my mug. “It’s okay. I messed up.”
“Yeah, you did,” Dad agrees, all matter-of-fact and way too quick for my liking. “But you’ll fix it.” He rounds the counter to sit beside me, gently knocking our shoulders. “What you did was hurtful, yes, but it’s not unforgivable. You didn’t do anything wrong, kiddo. You just fell in love.”
Well, it sounds a helluva lot less clandestine when you put it like that.
Corner of my mouth lifting tentatively, I search for clarification on what I already know. “So, you approve?”
“Approve?” Another booming laugh sounds. “He has a good job and studies hard, he takes care of his family, he treats my daughter well, and he puts up with not one, but two of my kids. Any man who can manage all that is worthy in my eyes. Heck, I might even be a little in love with him.’
Despite his jesting tone, I know he’s serious, and my heart freaking swells when my presumption is confirmed. “Yes, Amelia. I approve.”
One down, one to go.
“Fuck me, that smells good.”
James’ moan is met by a round of chastising and pointed looks towards a giggling Sofia. “Language,” Lynn tuts, scowling at her son as she sets a casserole dish on the dining table.
Unsurprisingly, the reprimand rolls off my eldest brother’s back; sheepish is not a trait of his. Laughing, he yanks my hair with a wink. “What, Nick can eat Amelia’s face off in front of the kid but naughty language,” he tosses our mother a mocking look, “is gonna scandalize her?”
“I despise you,” I hiss, shoving him away. Why, why, was I ever delighted to have this big freaking oaf back in my life? “You are a menace.”
“You need to keep your tongue to yourself.”
“James,” it’s Dad’s turn to whine. “For the love of God, shut up.”
The chest at my back vibrates with poorly concealed laughter, and I crane my neck to scowl at Nick. “I’m so glad you find this funny.”
“I do.” He stoops, murmuring for my ears only, “You think they’d be so prudish about kissing if they knew what we did on that counter?”
Kill me. Literally, kill me now.
If I wasn’t already convinced I’m a little in love with my boyfriend’s mom, I’d fall the moment she claps her hands pointedly and gestures at the food-laden dining table, most of which she had a hand in cooking up. “Everybody sit, por favor, before my poor nora faints.”
Nick’s laughter dries up quickfast. He stares at his mother as he pulls out a chair for me, plopping himself in the one beside. “What does nora mean?” I ask, only a little because I’m curious, a lot because the word makes nervous Nick rear his head and, as established, I am a big fan of him.
Unease bleeds from the man. Rolling his shoulders, he cranks his neck like he’s working out a crick. “Querida, I have a feeling you’d prefer not knowing.”
“Well, now I’m intrigued,” I croon, landing a hand on his thigh as I lean in and bat my lashes at him. “C’mon. Spill.”
The kick I’m getting out of Nick’s discomfort dies in an instant when his mouth adopts a slow, smug curve. “Daughter-in-law, meu amor,” he drawls. “That’s what it means.”
Oh.
Squeaking something unintelligible, I snap forward, hands clasped in my lap. With a chuckle, Nick slips an arm around the back of my chair, gripping the nape of my neck. “Was I right?”
Yup. Ignorance would’ve been bliss.
Fingers massage my neck. “Don’t freak out.”
I’d laugh, if I wasn’t freaking out. “I’m not.”
Nick’s uh-huh is the epitome of comic dubiety.
With one last squeeze, he releases me, filling his hand with a serving spoon instead and filling the dinner bowl in front of me with something he calls moqueca. “It’s seafood stew,” he tells me. “But Ma made a veggie version for you.”
As the others join us around the Morgans’ dining room table for a family dinner, there’s a glaringly obvious absence. Everyone avoids mentioning it like the plague, filling our focus with the immense spread of food before us instead.
I don’t know at what point I’m supposed to stop expecting Cass to appear. I wonder if my guilt will dry up when he inevitably does; don’t need to be a genius to know he’s staying away on account of my presence.
Lynn is positive he’ll show up. “You know our boy,” she’d said when I first arrived, tucking me beneath her arm. “He’ll come around. Stubbornness just runs in the family.”
Yeah, well, optimism does not.
That’s probably why when, over the ruckus of eating and conversation, I faintly hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, I don’t think anything of it—I attribute it to my imagination. The footsteps in the hallway, too they’re probably in my head.
Something I can’t blame on being a conjured-up hallucination?
The appearance of the very man I’ve been dying to see in the kitchen doorway.
