“This place has been closed forever,” Nathan says as we stroll in the early night. “It’s deserted, and that’s why I enjoy coming here.”
“You come here to be alone often?”
“Often. . .? Maybe a few times a month when I just want to get away and think.”
I bite into a fry, asking, “What do you spend this time thinking about?”
“Eh. Stuff.”
We pass what was once a ticket booth with its windows busted out and step over trash crowding the wood planks of the pier’s ground. Nathan takes a turn to our left, and I follow him to the Tilt-a-Whirl, up the creaking metal ramp, and to an old rusty Tilt-a-Whirl cart that’s leaning back, giving view to the sky and the side of pier that’s looking over the city and not the water.
I lean back against the cold metal and look over at him settling to my left. “If this is your personal spot, why bring a stranger here?”
“I figured if it helps me to relax, it may do the same for you. But if you don’t like it, we can go.”
“No,” I blurt. “I mean.” Calming, I say, “It’s fine.” If I must remain as a stranger to have a bit of his time, this I will be.
“Good. So, what’s got your Froot Loops loose?”
Chuckling, I echo, “My Froot Loops?”
“Yeah.” He tosses a fry in his mouth. “There’s this look in your fire-brown eyes, which, by the way, are very intense.” Facing me, he squints—gaze soaking me up as he studies me. “It is involuntary?” he guesses.
“Back off, Sherlock,” I mutter, leaning away from him when he leans in for a closer look.
He laughs, sitting back. I smile, looking away from him. I couldn’t ask for anything greater. He’s so freaking comfortable, it’s disturbing.
“Fine.” He shrugs. “Tell me why you’re so sad, and why you travel alone.” As he gets comfortable in the old cart, it squeaks and swivels slightly.
“We’re just going to jump right into it, no warming me up?”
Nathan scoots the bag of fries closer to me. Totally his move when he’s convincing me to eat up, knowing I’ll be hungry later.
Gosh, Nate. I miss you so much.
“Okay,” he says with a nod. “Do you have a favorite color?”
I prop my foot on the seat and draw my knee to my chest, hugging it. “Yeah. It’s green.”
He plucks the shoulder of my plaid green button down. “Should’ve guessed the answer to that one. You were wearing green the day we met, too. What’s your secret weird obsession?”
I laugh. “Um.”
“Answer honestly.”
That’s intense. “Well, I get great satisfaction from peeling off the layer of lint from the lint trap of the dryer. Don’t ask me why,” I say, throwing up a hand.
“I wasn’t going to. What’s your last name, Tracey?”
Twisting my lips to the side, I look away to hide my disappointment. It hurts he can’t remember. Quickly getting over it, I perk up to answer, “Warren? Yours?”
Shifting in his seat, it’s more than obvious my request or maybe his response makes him uneasy. “I picked Baker.”
Fixing him with a shocked scowl, I blurt, “Who’s Baker?”
Shrugging, he relays, like simple news, “I picked it. My mom died when I was a kid and my Dad never existed in my life. So, I never actually had a last name, well not that I can remember. When I was around eleven or twelve, I named myself, Nate Baker. My real name is Nathan. But I don’t like to be called that.”
I hitch a brow. “Nate Baker, huh?”
“Yeah. There was this guy who was always around at this youth center when I was bouncing from foster house to foster house. His name was Henry Baker. At the time, I saw him as a great role model and decided to steal his last name.”
“Nice.”
“Exactly.” He takes a glimpse at his watch. “There’s another reason why I like this place.” He throws up his right hand, fingers splayed. They drop by the second. “Listen.”
The bellow of an electric guitar breaks through the silence and is followed by a drum and a bass. Another instrument plays that I can’t place. “Sounds like a band is maybe, practicing for a set.” It’s as entertaining as it is soothing; the alternative beat playing in the distance. “Gosh,” I whisper, closing my eyes, letting their tunes take me away.
“They’re pretty great.”
We recline in the cart of the Tilt-A-Whirl, two bags of fries between us, listening for over an hour to the band playing alternative rock, forcing my heart to pound hard to match their beat and slow when they play a rhythm that nearly makes me cry. There are no words, at least not loud enough to hear. There is just an emotion of cords blessing the night with their grace.
“I love this.”
“They do this every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday night at the same time. Cool, right?”
“Definitely,” I agree.
From my periphery, I catch his head turn my direction and his eyes look me over. His lips part, and from them he asks, “Are you warmed up yet?”
I breathe a chuckle. “Yeah.”
“So, Tracey Warren, why do you have that sad look in your eyes?”
I hold his gaze. Slowly, the words drawl past my lips, “My boyfriend died a couple years ago, days after I lost my mother and father. I don’t have anyone.” Looking away from him, I bite my lip to curse myself. “I actually have his family. My brother, and cousin, my nephew, my friend. They’re amazing, and I’m trying not to be sad.”
“But you have this lonely sentiment about you.”
I drop my foot to the floor of the cart and lean over on my knees. Contemplating his statement, I realize, while all this time I’ve been doing better, it’s not because I’ve accepted it. It’s because I’ve buried it. “Um. I guess, because nothing replaces him.”
Nathan slouches, propping his foot up on the handle of the ride. “I know how that feels. I have a few friends who I can depend on. They keep the smile intact, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes,” I’m quick to reply, “I do. He did that for me after my parents were murdered. For a very short time, I was happy. We were happy, I’d like to think. He seemed happy. But, now, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the extent of his happiness. We were going to move. I lived my entire life in Bennington, but I’m sure he’d seen all corners of the world, and though he didn’t want to leave his family, for me, he was going to.”
“You two were a real-life couple,” he emphasizes as if it’s common to be a fake-life couple in his world. “That’s cool. I hear, from the perspective of others, that it’s nice to know love at least once, even if it dies. At least, for the rest of your life, you’ll feel the happiness he brought you rather than if he dissed you.”
“I miss him,” I whisper.
Being this close to him and so very very far away is hard to experience. To know what his hand would feel like if I reached mine across the half a foot of distance separating us and held his. My gaze falls on his lips and remembering what our caress did to my heart and my body, it’s a second stab in the gut.
When he meets my eyes, the recognition I expect is absent. Instead, there’s a hint of interest and a coating of skepticism. “I can tell,” he says.
“You’ve never been in love?” I look away when I ask this, scared of seeing the glimmer of care in his eyes for someone other than me.
“Nah. I’ve never really had the time or space for that kind of relationship. Plus . . . no girl in her right mind should want to be with a man like me.” Meeting my eyes, he states, “The outside may glitter, but the insides damn sure aren’t gold.”
Well . . . that makes sense. His darkness is something he doesn’t display, but it’s still an active part of his life. So, nothing has changed about him. This, the man sitting next to me with the greatest demeanor on the planet Earth, who appears to look at the glass half full, is only a façade . . . ?
They warned me to not fall for things that seem unreal. But he doesn’t seem to
want to capture me. Before I say my next words, I juggle how dangerous they may be, what damage can come from them. But, before I can release it, he says, “I’m sorry to hear about your family. About your guy. You can really tell you miss him.”
I don’t get the urge to cry, nor do I feel heavy from his words. Instead, they make me smile; they make me remember. Huffing a laugh, I say, “I do. It wasn’t great every day. But it was enough. He was enough.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one who’s lost a mate. It happens to more people than you think.”
“A mate . . . ?”
Nodding, he says, “Yeah. Like someone you believe you belong with for the rest of your life. It’s a thing you know. Monogamous relationships.”
“Mm-hmm.” Rubbing my naked arms, I say, “I’m ready to go. It’s getting a little cold, and I need to check on my nephew.”
Nathan climbs out of the Tilt-A-Whirl and keeps it from spinning as I get out. “I think you’re holding up pretty well, Tracey Warren. Even with all your inconveniences.”
“Thanks. It took me a while to get here. But, I’m fine.”
We take the quiet walk back to the car. I hit the clicker and we get in.
“Will I see you again?” I ask, starting up the car.
“Sure. You know my last name, and I know yours, that means we’re pals.”
I shake my head, a smile lifting my cheeks. “Nice.”
I drop Nathan back off at the bowling alley. He leaves with a “See you around.”
I miss him already.
There’s not much time I can sit beside him pretending. While I want to suck up every minute, I can’t do it and pretend like I don’t know the real story of his life, like my heart doesn’t beat in his chest!
It was great, he was great, but he also wasn’t. He was the Nate I wanted to have when our days got darker than the light we swore we possessed, just not the Nathan who knew me as his mate.
With crossed feelings, I accept this.
I keep up the act for weeks to follow, hiding him from our family, and keeping him at a distance from them. Our meetups are short, but pleasantly innocent. As the days pass, and we talk and see each other more often, I begin not to care that I’m harboring this big secret. I also begin accepting things the way they are instead of hoping for things to go back to the way they used to be. While I want him as my mate, the joy and peace we share with each other is unbeatable.
I fit him into my schedule where ever I can find free time and he’s so flexible. We catch matinees, go out for lunch, chat over the melodies of the live band in the night at the pier, we even participate in buddy painting, which turns out horrible.
Maybe friendship is fate too.
Skinny Love
“Tracey!” Jason yells, flying down the slide, arms high in the air. His screaming laughs are loud in my sensitive ears, but his smile is as adorable as the way he laughs my name.
“I’m going to catch you!” I sing, crouching to snatch him up before he hits the ground at the end of the slide.
“Yay!”
Putting him down, I ask, “Are you hungry yet, Jason? I brought snacks.”
“Snacks!” he cheers. “I love the snacks,” he sings with a growl he’s seen a character do on a kid show he watches. I grab his hand and we walk to the picnic table where I’ve set our lunch bag. Jason climbs up on the bench and helps me unload our goodies.
My phone rings as I’m placing a plate in front of Jason. Nathan. My stomach hits the lowest part of my butt, and I feel like I’m going to barf. “Hel-lo?”
“Hey. I think you should’ve worn a pink shirt with those pink and white Nikes instead of a white one.”
I look down at my shirt and lift my gaze to search the park. “How do you know what I’m wearing, Stalker?”
“Is that your nephew who’s with you?”
I stand to get a better look, wishing I had spotted him before he did me. “Nate, how are you doing this?”
“What’s his name?”
“Why are you ignoring my questions?”
Nathan laughs and asks again, “What is his name?”
“Jason.”
“Hi, Jason,” comes from behind me, the sweet tone of Nate Baker’s upbeat voice. Jason waves excitedly, never looking up, blabbering “Hi” over his mouth full of grapes.
“So, you are a stalker,” I exclaim, sitting back down. “How long have you been watching me?”
Laughing, Nathan says, “I actually overheard your voice talking about snacks and thought I’d freak you out. I’m Nate, Jason. How you doing, little buddy?”
Jason lifts his head, and his eyes light up. Excitedly he sings, “Natan!” He struggles to get off the bench, and I catch him before he can. “No, Tracey. I want to hug him,” he says, gesturing at Nathan.
Looking back at Nathan, I realize what caused Jason’s excitement. “No. That’s not uncle Natan,” I purposely mess up the name. “He just looks like him.”
“He’s not?” Jason frowns, arms falling to his sides. “Are you positive?”
“Yeah.” I keep smiling. “But, you’ll see him when we get home.” This settles Jason’s depression, and he returns to eating his snack. “Natan is his uncle. You two kinda resemble each other with the way you wear your hair,” I lie.
“It’s cool.” Nathan looks away from me, turning his attention back to Jason. “Jason, did your aunty make you a tasty snack?” Unlike most people we meet outside, who speaks to him in a baby voice, Nathan addresses Jason normally, and I appreciate that.
Jason babbles a jumble of words Nate Baker is not going to understand, so I take the liberty to translate. “He said—”
Nathan waves me off. “Tracey made a good snack. I love grapes and juice.”
Shocked, I ask, “You have kids?”
“No. But I understood him. He speaks pretty well.” Putting out his hand, Nathan asks, “Can I have one of your crackers?”
Jason takes up a cracker, sucks the salt off it, and then places it in Nathan’s hand. “Jace, Nate doesn’t want a cracker that’s been in your mouth. Maybe he’d like a fresh one.”
“Um, Tracey. He’s fine. We’ve got it.”
Giving Nathan a smug smile, I nod. “Well excuse me.” To Jason, I give him a big encouraging smile. He nods once.
“You’re excused, Mom. Jason, thank you very much for your generosity. My friend’s daughter won’t even give me a piece of her candy! You’ll grow up to be a nice young man.”
Jason claps, singing, “Being nice pays off. Being nice is fun. Being nice is. . .” he continues with a song he heard on the kid radio station on our way to the park.
Bumping my shoulder, Nathan asks, “What are you doing tonight?”
I shake my head. “What’s up?”
“There are some local bands playing at the Blue Lounge, and our favorite band has a spot. You want to go? We can meet up.”
I giggle. “We have a favorite band?”
Nathan looks away from me, gaze floating around the park. “You want to go or not?”
Bashfully, I say, “Sure. Should we follow each other there?”
“There’s no point in driving two cars, and since you have this issue with sharing your address, you can meet me there.”
I nod. “Sounds good. You’ll text me the address and I’ll plug it into the GPS.”
“In your fancy car? Where do you work that lets you afford a Mercedes?”
Lifting my shoulders, I get my emotions in check before admitting, “It belonged to my boyfriend. It’s not my car.”
Standing, Nathan says, “Oh okay. I’ll see you later, Jason.” He puts out his hand for Jason to shake. “Nice to meet you!”
To my surprise, Jason sticks his hand in Nathan’s, and says, “Bye person who looks like Natan.” They shake once.
Walking away, Nathan brushes my shoulder.
“Bye, Nate. See you later.” I lean my elbow on the picnic table and watch Jason finish his food.
> He’s so comfortable around me now.
I watch him walk away, saunter a hypnotic sway that takes me back. This is okay, I swear, I tell myself. But I do miss his kiss, and his hold, I even miss his eyes changing colors. He never lets it slip, always portraying himself as human. So, I also miss the trust he had in me. But . . . Nathan’s free as a bird, light as a feather, and as open as the sky. He laughs a lot, smiles even more, and welcomes adventure without the worry of looking over his shoulder.
Every moment I’m around him, though we’re not mated in his mind, through talks and hanging out together, little by little, he’s sucking the sadness from me.
I’m grateful and don’t want to give it up by reminding him we’re mated. Realizing that is a sucker punch to the gut, but dare I say I’m happy.
“I’m finished, Tracey.” Jason passes me his plate.
I pack up everything. “You’re ready to head home?”
He nods, rubbing his eyes.
I throw the bag on my shoulder and take his hand. Walking back to the car, I say, “That guy was nice, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“It was the way he wore his hair that reminded you of Uncle Nathan, wasn’t it?” I say, hoping to discourage the thought the two brothers are practically identical now.
Jason yawns. “I guess.” Maybe he’ll wake up later and forget all about him.
The guilt of lying eats me up since I confirmed this guy is no Qualm, but my mate with memory loss.
Yes, their brother, their cousin, their uncle.
But to tell them would be stealing Nathan’s freedom, this happiness. To bring him back to our world would be selfish.
Taylor’s asleep when Jason and I make it in. Instead of waking her, Jason sits in the living room with Carmen, and I race through a shower but take an hour finding the perfect outfit. It’s a lounge with live music, so do I wear a skirt with a long sleeve shirt, jeans with boots, maybe I should wear a sweater? Ugh.
Finite: A Dark Paranormal Romance (The Sephlem Trials Book 4) Page 13
