“Lucy, I’m home,” he bellows as we walk in, and I laugh even though I am completely mortified that this will be the introduction. I’m on edge mainly because I still don’t know what to expect, but then a very short and rather round older lady with completely white hair dressed in a flower nightgown and slippers walks over to us with open arms.
“Nicky,” she says brightly with a heavy Hispanic accent.
“Mima,” he greets, throwing his arms under hers and picking her up to hug as if she doesn’t weigh a ton. He whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh a throaty laugh as he sets her down.
“You must be Brooklyn,” she says, walking over to me and wrapping her arms around me. I hug her back, instantly feeling a sense of calm wash over me. She smells like fried food and seasonings, which makes my stomach rumble.
“Nice to meet you.” I let the words hang because I’m not sure whether or not to call her Mima too, since it’s a nickname.
“Evelyn,” she says. “But you can call me Mima, Eve, whatever you feel comfortable with.”
I smile gratefully at her. Her eyes are the same aqua ocean blue as Nick’s. Unlike Nick’s mischievous look, hers are welcoming and warm.
“Nicky!” another woman’s voice sings out from another room in the house.
“Ven,” Mima says in Spanish, so we follow behind her. “Your mom is in the kitchen. Isaac and Damien went kayaking. They should be back soon.”
The kitchen is a vast open floor plan, much like the rest of the house. It looks clean and simple; everything is a blend of cherry wood and off white. The light that bathes the house comes from the floor to ceiling windows that surround it.
“Hey, Mami,” Nick says, wrapping his arms around the woman that’s probably my height and has the same chocolate brown hair as me. Hers is completely curly, unlike mine that only curls on the ends. She has an hourglass figure that I can appreciate since it’s a lot like my own, and I almost have to laugh at the similarities, even though I haven’t seen her face yet. It makes me wonder for a second if the rumors that men marry their moms have any truth to them. Not that Nick wants to marry me, but still. God help me if he turns out to be anything like my father, because I will not be choosing him, that’s for sure.
“Hey, baby,” she coos, turning in his hold to wrap her arms around his middle. My stomach sinks at the sight. Everything is so happy in this house that it’s borderline sickening. “Let me look at you,” she says to him, extending her hands out. Now I can see her face, she has fair skin and hazel eyes. She looks like a modern day Snow White with her delicate features. “Will you be home for a while?” she asks, still not acknowledging my presence, but I don’t care, I’m too busy watching their dynamic.
“I dunno, Ma,” Nick says, turning around and extending his hand out to me. “This is Brooklyn, I called earlier to tell you I was bringing her over.”
His mother’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening as she gasps and sees me. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry! I’m being so rude, I didn’t know you brought company,” she says, walking over to me. She does a sweep of me with her eyes, it’s fast enough that it’s not rude, so unlike my mother, before she gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“I’m Mirielle,” she says, introducing herself. “Brooklyn, that’s such a nice name. Different. And my God, your eyes are amazing,” she says, looking in them.
I can’t keep the smile off my face. “Nice to meet you, Mirielle. That’s a pretty name too,” I say, my stomach in knots even though everything is going well so far. Still, this is Nick’s mom, whom he obviously has a great relationship with, and I’m in her house wearing the most casual clothes ever while she’s dressed in a 50s style polka dot dress and heels.
Mirielle smiles at me; taking my face in again before she turns back to the stove. “Well, you better set an extra plate,” she tells Nick.
“Yes ma’am,” Nick says at the same time that Mima says, “Already done.”
Nick takes my hand in his and walks me to the back of the house, telling his mom and grandmother that we’re going to wait for his brothers out back. He told me once that he had two brothers, but we never discussed them.
“So this is when you introduce me to your brothers and I have to choose which one I like more?” I ask, recalling our conversation about them.
Nick stops walking right when we reach the doors that are open to the backyard. His head snaps toward me and he raises an eyebrow. “Over my dead body,” he growls, pulling me close to him. “You’re not sharable. Don’t get any funny ideas. I’m not worried about Isaac, but I’ll have to keep my eyes on Damien.” His jaw clenches as he says this, as if he’s really not looking forward to my interaction with his brother. I laugh it off, shaking my head. How could he possibly think he has anything to worry about?
Nick walks out, bringing me down the step with him and moves aside so I can take in the stunning view.
“Wow, this is better than your place,” I whisper.
He chuckles, wrapping his arms around me from behind and tucking his face into my neck. “Way better,” he agrees, taking a deep breath and nuzzling into me.
I close my eyes, wanting to capture the moment and save it for any day that I’m feeling down on myself, so that I can remember that one time I was at Nick’s parents’ house and he held me like I was the only thing that mattered. The wind is in synch with the sun above, making it the perfect day to be out on a boat or have a picnic. And the view from here is so gorgeous that it makes me wonder how often they eat outside and enjoy it. I can see Alcatraz and the bottom of the Golden Gate Bridge from here. It gives me a completely different view than from the top of Nick’s condo.
Nick’s arms leave me and he walks over to the dock, waving his hands at the red kayak that’s nearing.
“Yo!” one of the guys yells. “Nicky’s here.”
I don’t know why it makes me smile so wide when I hear everybody call him that, but it makes me picture him as a child, and for some reason it fills my heart with joy. We definitely had entirely different childhoods growing up.
“Hurry up, losers,” Nick calls out. Both guys give him their middle fingers at the same time, making me laugh. They couldn’t have coordinated it better if they tried.
“At least we didn’t get stranded out there and call someone to come get us on the boat,” one of them calls out, making the other laugh hysterically.
“That was one time, you asshole! I was drunk!” Nick calls out in defense and I laugh along at the thought.
Nick looks back at me, narrowing his eyes as his lips quirk up. “Oh, you think that’s funny?” he asks, stalking toward me and lifting me over his shoulders, making me shriek loudly.
“Put me down!” I say, laughing as I hold onto his back. “You’re going to drop me!”
Nick laughs, his chuckle reverberating through me as he slides me down the front of his body slowly. He holds on to my waist when we’re at eye level and looks at me seriously. “I would never, ever drop you, Brooklyn.”
I’m completely aware of the fact that we’re in his parents’ backyard, and for all I know, everyone is watching us. As it is, his brothers can see us clearly as they pull up to the dock beside us. Nick is either oblivious or doesn’t give a crap because he presses his lips against mine, giving me a quick but thorough kiss and leaving me breathless as my feet land on the ground.
“Nick, we’re at your mom’s house,” I whisper, feeling my face flush at the sound of clapping and hooting from his brothers.
“If you don’t want me to kiss you, stop being so damn sexy all the time,” he responds with a shrug.
I smile because what else can I do?
Two tall guys, one a little shorter than the other, walk toward us. The slightly shorter one is thin and reminds me of my brother in a way. His straight hair is dark and falls to his shoulders. He has a goofy kind of skip in his step that makes me feel immediately comfortable with him. His skin is golden and his eyes are the bluest of blues, much like Nick’s. Th
ey practically pop out of his face when he sees me up close. I wonder if he knows me as Chris Harmon’s daughter, the drug addict, or if he’s surprised I’m not what I’m assuming is Nick’s normal type, like Stephanie.
The other guy, the taller one, is blond and built more like Nick. His skin is fair like their mother’s and his eyes are brown. He is completely checking me out, despite the fact that Nick is standing beside me holding my hand, and I assume he must be Damien. He looks like he could be the perfect Prince Charming, the way his smile spreads over his face, showcasing the dimples on each of his cheeks.
“What’s up, D?” Nick says, giving him a hug first. “Damien, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Damien.”
We shake hands and Damien leans in to kiss my cheek, making me smile. “Nice to meet you, Damien.”
“Likewise,” he says, turning to Nick. “Friend?”
“Don’t even fucking think about it,” Nick warns.
Damien laughs, throwing his head back. “Well, damn,” he says, walking into the house.
The other guy, whom I’m guessing is Isaac, is standing in front of us just looking at me, which is a little unnerving, if I’m going to be honest. He’s just staring. He looks at Nick with a face that I can’t understand, and Nick shakes his head in response. I know they’re having a sibling conversation, the kind I can only have with Hendrix or Nina. The ones you can have with people that really know you without having to hear any words coming from your mouth.
“I’m Isaac,” he says, standing closer to me.
The funny thing about Isaac is that he’s not traditionally good looking, but he’s sort of my type. I almost have to laugh at Nick warning me off about Damien but not Isaac. As if it’s assumed that everyone will be more interested in the muscular, mischievous guy. Little does Nick know that he’s not my usual type; he’s the complete opposite of any guy I’ve ever been with. He’s the guy I stay away from the most, not because I don’t think they’re good looking, but because I either don’t think they’d ever be interested in me or they just turn out to be complete douchebags. I have a theory about guys that spend a ridiculous amount of time working on their muscles, and it doesn’t work in their favor. Nick has proved it wrong, though, but it could be because there’s a lot more to him than being fit.
So the way Isaac looks at me, and the way he makes me feel when he shakes my hand, makes me stomach drop. I don’t know why. Despite him being my type, the attraction isn’t there, so it’s not that. It’s something more. And I can’t pinpoint it, until he does a sweep of his hair and tilts his head and then it all comes rushing back to me all at once.
“What are you doing here?” I countered.
“Looking for you,” I heard him mutter.
My mouth drops at the memory, my heart racing at the mix of it and the bridge behind him, is in my direct line of vision. His face blurs as I look at the bridge, then the bridge blurs as I look back at him.
“Oh. My. God,” I whisper. “Oh. My. God.”
“You may want to hold her a little tighter,” Isaac suggests to Nick. “I think she remembers.”
That’s the last thing I hear as the rest of my vision blurs, and the little polka dots around me become the only thing I see before I don’t see anything at all.
Fun fact about the brain: it blocks out memories you don’t even know you don’t want to remember. I guess sometimes that’s what saves us from ourselves, our self-selective anesthesia. I remember everything about that day. Everything except what happened after I got to that bridge. Everything except the important things like who found me, who saved me, who was in the hospital for me when my family was absent. I guess a part of me expected that. A part of me knew they wouldn’t come for me, but a bigger part was delusional enough to hope they did. I was filled with enough dread to not care either way. Cloaked with enough darkness that I would have been fine with not being helped. By that point, I didn’t want to be saved.
Yet here I am: healthy, as happy as I can make myself, and stronger than I was that day. I’m also sitting in front of the man who helped me get here. If it weren’t for Isaac, I wouldn’t have made it to the hospital back then. Nick and Isaac hover over me for a moment making sure I’m okay. When Damien comes outside to tell us the food is ready, I stand up slowly, holding on to Nick’s hand for balance.
I sit down beside Nick as Mirielle serves our food and calls out for Michael, Nick’s dad, to join us. I squeeze my hands on my lap. Tilting my head, I steal a look at Isaac, who happens to turn his face toward me at the same time. My eyes widen in surprise, and he gives me a comforting smile that kicks the air back into my lungs.
“Are you okay?” Nick asks quietly, for the third time since we sat down. I nod in response, but don’t look at him to confirm it because I’m not sure that I really am.
“You okay?” Isaac whispers. He’s sitting to my left, and even though I don’t want to make eye contact with anybody right now, I find myself tearing my gaze from the gold brimmed plate in front of me to look at him He looks younger than me, which makes me feel even worse.
“How old are you?” I whisper back.
“Twenty-three,” he answers.
His response makes my heart sink to its knees as I quickly do the math in my head. It’s been eight years. I was seventeen, almost eighteen at the time, and he was just fifteen. Not that age matters here. All I want to do is apologize a trillion times to this poor kid who had no clue what he was getting into when he went for his run that morning. Tears prick my eyes the longer I look at him, feeling like a complete selfish bitch—not for wanting to take my own life, but for not stopping to think about others when I went there. I didn’t care what my family thought, and looking back at that time I still don’t care what they thought. But this poor kid shouldn’t have had to deal with that.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice wavering as my chin begins to tremble.
Isaac places his hand over mine under the table and squeezes. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m also glad Nick was there to help me help you. Shit happens, right?”
A small laugh escapes me, despite the fact that I feel like bawling my eyes out for this guy. “Shit happens,” I repeat quietly. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Let me show you,” Isaac says, placing his napkin on his plate.
“I’ll take her,” Nick says, standing up beside me and waiting for me to do the same.
“Thank you,” I whisper to Isaac, who offers me a small smile before turning to Damien, who is animatedly talking into his cell phone.
Nick walks me down the hallway, massaging my shoulders gently. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, his voice a whisper against my cheek.
I shiver but nod. “Yeah, I just need a minute,” I reply, walking in to the bathroom and shooting a look over my shoulder to let him know I’m okay. Once the door is closed I sit on the toilet and bury my face in my hands. My shoulders begin to shake as I sob into them, asking for forgiveness,—whose, I don’t know. I’ve never been taught to pray, but that’s the only thing I can think of doing right now. It’s either pray or call my sponsor because I can feel a part of me beginning to itch for the easy way out. The easy numb that I know I can get if I go back to the hotel right now and walk into Shea’s room. He may not be into the hard stuff anymore, but anything will do right now. Anything. But I can’t. And I won’t. So instead, I silently pray to whoever or whatever may be listening to me. I ask for forgiveness over and over and when I feel a little bit lighter, I wipe my face and get up.
I wipe under my eyes as best as I can so I don’t look like I’ve been crying and then I step back out into the hallway. I hear Nick having a conversation with somebody in the other direction, so naturally I walk that way. I don’t want to eavesdrop, but the open floor plan of the house makes it pretty impossible not to.
“So you’re only recording for Shea right now?” a man’s voice asks. He has a deep voice, one of those voices you hear on one of the corny radio stations with “power love hours” and
“slow jams.” That type. It’s sexy low, but it reminds me of corny nineties R&B singers.
“Yes, Pop, I already told you this,” Nick responds, sounding irritated.
“You keep selling yourself short, you’re never gonna make it anywhere,” his father responds.
“I already made it, didn’t I?” Nick retorts.
His father scoffs. “How much are you getting paid per track right now?” he asks.
“Enough. Are you gonna eat with us or should I tell Mom you’re busy?” Nick asks, clearly irritated.
“I’ll be right there. I heard you brought a friend home,” his dad comments.
“Yeah … and?” Nick asks, his voice getting quiet.
“Your mom seems to like her. Is she someone I know? Singer?” his dad asks.
“No. I’ll tell Mom you’re coming,” Nick responds and I hear him close a door.
Stepping back, I walk closer to the dining room, standing off to one side so I can wait for him. I watch him as he walks toward me, pulling on the dark blond hair in the middle of his head. The hallway is so massive that I feel like I get lost in it. Somehow Nick makes the tables look small beside him and the walls look like they’re opening up wider for him. His eyes look troubled when he notices me, but quickly calm when I smile at him. Walking straight to me, he wraps his arms around me, placing his chin on top of my head and letting out a deep breath. I instantly sag against him and wrap my arms around his middle, pressing my cheek to his chest and breathing him in. I close my eyes and squeeze him harder, smiling when he does the same.
“Isaac said you were there to help me,” I whisper against his chest, hating the way he stiffens. I want to know why he never told me, but more than anything I’m ashamed and hurt that they were there to witness all of that.
Catch Me Page 21
