Nothing Like Him

by Jessica Roe

  It’s one of the best goddamned ideas she’s ever had.

  THINGS AT HOME were different for me after the night of the birthday party. I no longer felt that excruciating, overwhelming need to fill the void left by my big brother's absence, no longer felt the urge to try and fill his place for my parents. I no longer felt like I had to be him, for them. All that, it broke and shattered into irreparable pieces the second I escaped that party, the moment I set myself free.

  Mom and Dad, obviously, were pissed as hell. Fucking furious actually. I'd made them look like fools at one of their own events and they Did Not Appreciate the stunt I'd pulled. Yeah, they didn't appreciate it one bit. It was as if they thought I'd done it with the specific purpose of upsetting them, like it hadn't been about becoming my own person and had been all about slighting them in front of their posh pals.

  But I didn't care what they thought, not anymore, because for the first time I was completely and wholly. . .happy. I was fucking happy, and there was no shadow looming over it, nothing holding it back or dragging it down. Life was good. It was great. It was fucking fantastic. I had my friends and my girl, and Gramps had been secretly showing me the ropes of the gallery when we knew my parents wouldn't find out, prepping me to take it over one day.

  My life suddenly seemed so much brighter, so much vaster and wider and less rigid than it ever had before. I could do anything I wanted. I could be anyone I wanted.

  I didn't have to be Spencer anymore.

  And my parents, they couldn't control me the way they once had. I knew when (not if) they cut me off after I'd finished school and they'd realized once and for all I wouldn't be studying law like they had planned, I'd have Gramps there to support me as I made a life of my own. And Gramps' support, it meant more to me than anything I'd ever had from them. He was my family, he was the one who'd taught me how to love. He was the one who'd made me into the man I would become.

  They didn't own me anymore.

  Chapter 17

  Ophelia

  I HADN’T WANTED to go when Ivy called and demanded I come along to the party with her. . . Really hadn't wanted to go. There were plenty of reasons why; my mom, the store, Nathan. . . But Mom had insisted, had told me I needed to get out of the house and have a little fun, take my mind off things for a few hours. She said I deserved it, which I didn't believe at all, but she was firm and eventually told me to get out before she had to drag herself out of bed and kick me out herself. She would as well. So between my mom and Ivy, who doesn't take no for a freaking answer, I find myself on my way to Fortune once more.

  “You need to catch up with Nash and Silver anyway,” Ivy points out as she drives us over there. “How long's it been since you talked to the guys? Not including the other night when Nash had to scoop up the absolute jelly that was Nathan's drunk butt.”

  There had been a time back then when I'd been very good friends with Nash and Silver. I'd become almost as close to them as I had to Ivy, but that was before everything had gone kaboosh with Nathan and I'd been sent away to live with Aunt Ellie. “Too long,” I admit, feeling awful. “I should've kept in contact.”

  She holds out a fist for me to bump. “Hear ya, sister. Trust me, I know how you feel. I was just as bad after I left Fortune.”

  Luckily for us our guys are a forgiving bunch, and Silver and Nash welcome me back with open arms and bottles of beer – some things never change.

  The house is different to how I remember. Gone is all of the floral furniture Silver's grams loved and the rooms are no longer filled with the scent of her perfume. Instead, the place has been furnished with modern styles for the tenants Silver has had living here. But despite the lack of Yolanda in the house, the place is still warm, homely.

  I spot Nathan the second I walk into the living room. Of course I do. It's like my eyes are automatically drawn to him. Sensing my presence, he stops mid conversation and tilts his head my way, catching my gaze. Seeing me must be as difficult for him as it is for me; I see it in his eyes. We watch each other for just a touch too long before he finally gives me an assuring nod and goes back to talking to Nash's little sister, Jemma. Space, that nod means. He's going to give me space.

  Over the course of the night, he and I stay out of each other’s way. We're good about it, and I'm glad we manage to get through it in a way that doesn't make things awkward. No one else here makes any mention of our situation. In fact they seem to make a point out of staying silent on the topic of us. I appreciate that. This group of friends, they're all comfortable enough that they can rib each other mercilessly, but I think every single one of them understands that there are some things that just don't need to be brought up. There are certain situations that shouldn't be messed around with, and though I'm sure Nathan never told any of them the full story of us, they can all sense this is one of them.

  The night continues with laughter and dancing and drinking. Nash makes fun of Silver for being whipped and Ivy slaps Nash round the side of the head which makes all the guys fall apart laughing. Blair's friend, Ibbie, regales us with tales of the stage and Ivy somehow gets Silver, Nash and Nathan drunk enough to repeat the dance they'd come up with for senior year prom because they'd thought it'd make the girls go wild. I'm laughing hard, but I swear to God my vagina almost gives up on the male species as I watch it.

  And I. . .I can't stop my eyes from finding Nathan too often for comfort. More than once I glance over only to find him watching me right back.

  He looks good tonight. Devastatingly handsome even in just a pair of ripped jeans and a pale blue t-shirt with that hair pushed haphazardly back from his face.

  It's awesome to catch up with my old friends, almost as good to meet new faces, but after a couple hours I need air. I need space. From the heat of the room, from the unspoken questions people are dying to ask, from him.

  Seeking breathing room, I leave my beer on a kitchen counter and slip outside the front door.

  Turns out I'm not the only one who required a minute alone.

  Blair glances up from her seat on the wooden porch steps and smiles, though it fails to reach her eyes.

  “Hey,” she greets quietly, going back to the camera she'd been fiddling with in her lap.

  I sneak a peek at her as I sit, taking in her glum features. She's beautiful in a sharp, almost dark kind of way. It's as if she belongs out here in the shadows of night. We've talked a few times tonight and I found myself liking her far more than I'd anticipated. Though younger than me, she comes off as intimidating at first glance, but she's not like that at all once she lets her guard down. “You okay?”

  She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. I just needed to. . .not be talking about the wedding for a little while. Everyone keeps asking all these questions and I. . .I dunno. I needed space.”

  For a moment I'm not sure what to say. Those are not the words of a happy bride to be. “You're not excited?”

  When she looks up at me this time, her eyes are shining earnestly. “I am. About being married to Silver, I mean. I'm more excited about that than I've been about anything in my entire life. Ever.”

  “Go on. . .” I encourage. Listening to someone else's problems is kind of a brief relief from obsessing over my own.

  Blair isn't much of a talker, I gather. Not about anything to do with her issues and emotions. But after some gentle prodding I get the gist. The whole fancy wedding shebang, it's not what she wants. The day seems to have become more about everyone else than her and Silver.

  “. . .and I just. . .I know all I have to do is get through it. And I will, if it means I get Silver at the end of it. But. . .the thought of it. . .” She trails off and sighs.

  I give her a sympathetic smile and nudge her knee with my own. “Life's too short to do crap that makes you unhappy.” She raises a dark eyebrow at that, and I explain, “It was a rule I practically lived by as a kid.”

  And let go of when I grew up.

  Why was I so quick to let it go?

  It's funny, I muse,
how much easier it is to give another person advice. How much easier it is to give Blair advice even as my own life is falling apart around me and I can't even seem to gather a single shred of intelligent thought on how to fix it.

  “Maybe you and Silver should just say to hell with it all and elope,” I suggest with a laugh. I'd meant it as a joke, but I'm almost not surprised at the way Blair's eyes suddenly light up at the idea. Her entire body seems to inflate just at the very thought of it.

  Suddenly, without warning, she lifts the camera in the air and snaps a picture of my face. I blink, taken aback in surprise, and she grins impishly. “Here,” she says, pressing a button and turning the camera around so I can see.

  I look. . .beautiful. The lights of the house cast a warm glow over one side of my face, whereas the other half is enshrouded in the darkness of night. It makes me look mysterious, ethereal.

  “That's amazing,” I tell her in awe.

  One of her shoulders lifts up in a shrug. “It's what I do.” She cocks her head. “Well, right now I'm just an assistant to a photographer in the city, but one day it's what I wanna be doing all the time. If I could live even just the simplest life by selling my work, if even one person thought they were worth something, I'd be happy for the rest of my life.”

  Seeming much happier than she did when I first came out here – it's nice to think I might have had something to do with that – Blair squeezes my shoulder and climbs up to head back into the house. She reaches for the front door handle but pauses, turning back to me with a knowing look in her eyes. “Life's too short to do crap that makes you unhappy,” she repeats, before going inside.

  Those words, hearing them said back, they slam into me with the force of a truck.

  Alone now, I spread my hand and stare down at the sparkling ring on my finger. I think about my own engagement, and how it's been over a year now and I haven't planned a single thing. I've been putting it off and making excuses and. . .and for the first time I finally allow myself to acknowledge that it might just be a sign, a sign of epic proportions.

  Behind me in the house, a sudden roar of laughter makes me jump and I turn, catching a glimpse of Nathan through one of the windows. His head in thrown back in mirth at something someone in there has just said.

  And then it hits me, right in the gut.

  I love him. I still love Nathan. I still love him more than anything and I always will.

  A decade apart and the distance of multiple states between us has done nothing to kill that love. I realize right in that moment that nothing ever will.

  I've been naïve.

  Of course I still love Nathan. Of course he's the reason my engagement has always felt so wrong. Of course he's the reason I've been putting off the wedding preparations.

  It's him. It’s always been him, and it always will be.

  I TURNED SEVENTEEN only a month after Nathan's eighteenth birthday. As far as I was concerned seventeen was a big frigging deal and I felt ridiculously grown up. Right up until the day I took the pregnancy test and it came up positive, that was, and then suddenly I felt very, very young. And terrified. Absolutely, completely terrified.

  Devastation hit me full force at this thing that had happened to me. How could I have been so damned stupid? How could I have let this happen? This wasn't how my life was supposed to go!

  “Nathan!” I cried down the phone, huddled up on my bedroom floor. I'd fallen into hysterics by that point. Luckily my parents were both at work or they probably would've had me sectioned.

  “Phee? Baby? What's wrong?” he demanded, worried.

  “I need you to meet me by the lake. Now.”

  +++

  NATHAN WAS PACING nervously back and forth by the time I arrived at our spot by the lake. The fact that he'd managed to get there before me really said a lot about how fast he'd driven. He was frightened, I could tell. He was frightened by what was coming because I cried so rarely that he knew it must have been something bad. I was too tough for tears. The only thing that ever had brought me down was the thought of losing him. I hadn't even cried that time I'd fallen from a tree and fractured my wrist. I'd laughed, in fact; imagining what I must have looked like bashing through the branches on the way to the ground like that. Everyone around me may have panicked, but yeah, I'd laughed. That was me.

  And he knew all of this, so it was no surprise he was anxious.

  I broke out into a fresh round of sobs the second he turned to face me. He ran to me, reaching out to grip my shoulders with gentle hands.

  “What is it, baby?” he demanded desperately. “Has someone hurt you? Tell me what's happened.” His eyes were wild with madness, and I knew if somebody really had hurt me he'd have gone after them and made them pay.

  Through my sobs, I told him about the pregnancy test. Blurted it right out because I didn't know of any way to soften this blow. I ripped the band aid right off.

  Nathan froze, his face draining of color and his fingers tightening on my shoulders just a fraction. He looked shattered; just as terrified as me and probably experiencing that very same crushing feeling inside that I was.

  But the one thing Nathan had always been good at was calming me down, and so despite the inner turmoil he must have been dealing with, he somehow managed to pull himself together and drag me roughly into his arms. He didn't fail me, even then. Nathan held me tight; so tight that I felt nothing but safe in his embrace.

  “I'm here,” he vowed into my hair. “I'm here for you, Phee. I'll always be here for you. We're in this together, no matter what. Whatever we decide to do from here, we'll do it together.”

  I let out a hiccup and pressed my face tightly into his chest as I soaked his t-shirt with my tears. Despite my terror, his ardent words managed to soothe me somewhat. I'd managed to regain my breath, at least.

  “What do we do?” I begged. I needed someone to tell me what to do. I needed him to tell me what to do.

  “I don't know,” he replied honestly. He pressed his face into my neck for a moment while he gathered himself then pulled back so he could look down into my eyes. “But we gotta be sensible about this.”

  I snorted a little at that, because Nathan was one of the least sensible people I'd ever met in my entire life – almost as bad as me. It was why we had so much fun together. Hearing those words come from his lips would have been humorous on any other day.

  “I know, I know.” He rolled his eyes at the irony. They were red, and I wondered if he was fighting back helpless tears. “But we do. And being sensible means coming clean to our parents. About everything.”

  The idea scared me almost as much as the actual pregnancy, but I knew he was right. “It's not like we could keep something this huge from them,” I agreed, sniffing.

  “And we're gonna need their help, one way or another.”

  We decided to get it done right away before we chickened out, and to tell our respective sets of parents separately so we could get it over quickly and be back together again.

  After saying goodbye, Nathan refused to let go of my hand when I turned to walk away from him. Our joined arms stretched out between us. “No matter what, we meet back here in two hours. Promise?” He seemed almost afraid that this was the last time he'd ever see me.

  I nodded my head and he reluctantly let go of my hand. “I promise.”

  Chapter 18

  Nathan

  HEAVING A WEARY sigh, I let myself back into the house with Silver's spare key – the one I stole about six years ago and never gave back. It's been a stressful fucking morning. Or afternoon now, I realize, when I check my watch.

  Last night's party ended up turning into this morning's rager, and dawn was rising by the time the last of us dropped off the face of the planet. Since we were all stupidly hammered, most of us ended up crashing at Blair and Silver's place.

  Everyone is still passed out in various places around the house; floors, sofas, and even the fucking kitchen table in Zac's case. Nash's little brother had a rare baby fre
e evening and went to absolute town last night, the idiot. I slap him on the ass as I pass him by and he groans. Jemma and Reid managed to score the spare bedroom, so the rest of us made do and pretty much died wherever we collapsed. I snort when I see the way Ibbie and Walt somehow managed to twist themselves up before they fell asleep together on the armchair.

  I glance around quickly, in too much of a hurry to pay my hangover much notice, until I find her. Darting over, I kneel before the sofa and shake Phee's shoulder. “Wake up,” I murmur, and she moans, reluctantly opening up groggy eyes.

  For a moment I pause, my breath caught. Fuck, I've missed the way she wakes up. I've missed having her wake up next to me more than I can even describe. It was a rare occurrence we ever actually managed to spend the whole night together, but those mornings I would wake up with her in my arms are the most beautiful fucking memories I possess.

  Shaking my head, I force myself to concentrate. I have shit to do.

  “Whusamatta?” she grumbles, clutching the arm of the sofa and pitifully dragging herself up a couple of inches. She swipes at the dark makeup under her eyes and makes a noise of protest.

  “Blair and Silver eloped.”

  I wait, but the jaw dropping shock I was expecting doesn't come. Maybe she didn't hear me right because when I first found out I must have uttered every curse in the English language, and then a few I made up right then and there. Her eyes widen just a fraction, and then she sucks in her lips in that 'oops I did a bad thing' way I remember so damned well. “Oh. . .”

  “Wait, did you already know?”

  She sits up properly now, clutching at her head. I wonder if it's banging as hard as mine. “It might. . .possibly. . .maybe. . .sort of. . .have been my suggestion. If it helps, I wasn't being serious.” A grimace. “That probably doesn't help.”