“You too, Brie.”
I pulled my car into the almost empty lot as I contemplated what to eat first, Oreos or ice cream. I had spent the last few hours at the market; I was obsessed with walking up and down every aisle. You’d be surprised how many people were in the store on Christmas Eve.
I popped the trunk open and hopped out of the car. It was then that I spotted him.
Nate.
I hadn’t seen him since I puked. Our last two classes together were spent writing up papers about the buildings we saw, and I never contacted him again. Things between him and Delaney had changed, as well. She was still pissed that he was Santa. Thankfully, her anger bought me two weeks without his presence in my room, but she announced before she left that they made up and all was right in the world again. I was convinced he would be spending the holiday with Delaney as it was their first Christmas together.
Julian had gone home to his mother's house, and though he invited me a bunch of times to join them for Christmas dinner, I simply said no, and he gave me the space I asked for. He texted me periodically that he hoped I was well and that he missed me, but usually I ignored him.
Nate’s gaze met mine and he rubbed his hands together to warm them before he walked in my direction. “What are you doing here?” I asked, pulling the bags from my trunk.
“I do security around campus during the winter break. Need help?” He reached inside my car and took the three paper bags.
“Thanks.” I smiled up at him, a little more eager to see him than I should have been. “Where’s your security car?” I turned my head side to side. “And your uniform?”
He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” A boyish grin grew on his face. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. I haven’t seen you since the Christmas bash, and when I didn’t see your light on, I figured you were out.”
“You could’ve called. No need to come all the way out here.” I cocked an eyebrow and began to walk toward my dorm.
“I could’ve and would’ve but I never got your number.”
“Ah.” I twirled back toward him. “That is true.”
“Plus, I figured I’d let you thank me in person.”
‘Thank you for what?”
“Well, let’s see. Holding your hair back as you puked. Bringing you home and carrying you up the stairs. Putting you to bed—”
“Okay!” I raised my hands for him to stop. “You’re right. Thank you, for taking care of me that night.”
Nate winked at me and Pandora’s box began to shake, demanding to be opened.
We walked up the two flights of stairs and I pulled my room key out of my purse. I pushed the door open and flicked the light on. “Thanks for carrying those up. It would have taken me two trips.”
“No problem.” Nate lowered the bags to my computer table and looked over at me.
This was the first time we were alone—really alone. I fidgeted with my keys and refused to meet his gaze.
He cleared his throat. “What are you making?”
“Coquito.” I shoved my keys in my purse and removed my jacket. “My first semester here, Del and I shared a room with a Puerto Rican girl named Analia, and right before she left for break she made us each a bottle of it.” I walked over to the bags and pulled out the rum, condensed milk and other ingredients. “It’s like eggnog but so much better.”
“Looks like you’re planning a party.” He lifted a large bottle of Bacardi Silver.
“Do you want to try it?”
“Sure.” His green eyes were bright like emerald gems. His gray zipped sweater was loose around his torso but hugged his strong arms, and his black jeans were broken in and faded. God, he looked delectable.
“Will it take long to make?”
I backed away from where we stood and opened my small fridge. Pulling out another bottle of Bacardi that was already filled with a milky concoction, I lifted it to show him. “I have a batch all set.”
“And this stuff?” He pointed to the ingredients in my bag.
“I’ll sip on this all night while I watch every Christmas movie known to man. And tomorrow is Christmas day, so in the event I run out, I have a backup stash.”
“Spoken like a true lush.” He shook his head in mock disapproval.
Ignoring his comment, I poured the Coquito into two red Solo cups and handed him one. “Cheers.” I lifted my cup up to him.
“Merry Christmas, Brielle,” he whispered.
I ignored the butterflies that instantly fluttered in my stomach and took a gulp of my drink. “Are you going back home tonight?”
I walked over to the couch. he pulled out a computer chair and sat across from me. “Nah, I’m staying around here. I’m working full time while we’re on break, so there’s no point.” He lifted the cup and took a sip. “Why are you still here?”
“The drive home sucks, and my dad isn’t the best person to be around.” I exhaled and took another gulp.
“Care to share?”
I pointed to the liquor bottle and motioned for him to hand it over. “I need more of that if you want the ugly truth.” His gaze met mine and he raised one eyebrow. “Oh,” I said sarcastically. “Don’t think I forgot about your ugly truth. If I give you mine, I need yours.”
“I guess you can kiss that bottle good-bye then, because my ugly truth isn’t ugly. It’s horrifying.” His voice was laced with seriousness and my heart clenched.
I filled my cup to the brim and handed him the bottle. I took a few big gulps and let the rum burn my throat going down. “My dad is an asshole.” I shook my head, I couldn’t believe I was finally about to admit to someone how fucked up my life at home really was, but there was something about Nate. He made me feel safe. Or maybe it was the alcohol, but if I had to guess, it was him.
“When I was five, my mother was diagnosed with Eisenmenger syndrome, a rare heart disorder. All of my parents’ savings went to pay her hospital bills. Since she was in and out of the hospital a lot for treatment, she was let go from her job.” I paused, not knowing if I could continue. I closed my eyes for a brief second and looked up at Nate. In his gaze I saw compassion.
“My dad worked two jobs to cover our mortgage and we eventually had to downsize from my mother’s dream home. She felt it was all her fault because she couldn’t find work, and my father turned to women and liquor as a way to relieve his stress. It wasn’t until much later that I learned my mother turned a blind eye and ignored that my father had affairs with countless women. She felt he resented her because they’d wanted a big family and she had a hard time getting pregnant with me. After her heart ordeal, they simply stopped trying.”
With a shaky hand, I brought the cup to my lips and took another sip. “We had to downsize again when my father stopped paying the mortgage.” I swallowed back the knot in my throat. “He pissed away my college tuition that my grandparents left me. My mother now works three odd-jobs to keep up with the household bills, and they live in a tiny two-bedroom home in a shady area. Any extra cash she has she gives to him because she feels he saved her. My mother will never see that the man she loves is a monster.”
My eyes closed for a brief moment and I felt a lone tear drop from my face. His finger brushed away the moisture and I gasped. I opened my eyes and found Nate crouched down in front of me.
“I’m sorry.” He spoke for the first time. I nodded and he returned to his chair. We sat in silence as I gathered my emotions.
“You might need more liquor for my story.”
I scoffed and kicked up my legs onto the coffee table. “Lay it on me, Wright.”
He poured more into his glass and took a few gulps before he began to speak. “My dad left my mother when I was two.” Confused, I felt my eyebrows pinch together. “Shortly afterward, she began using drugs and sex to cope with him leaving her. That’s what the foster system told me, anyway.
“When I was six years old, I went to live with a family in Mississippi. It was there I met Julian. He was four at the time, a
nd he was a tiny kid. The people we lived with had five foster kids, and they beat the living crap out of us any time they had a shitty day. The first time Roger, my foster dad, hit Julian, was the first time I began to fight back. I was big for my age, and older than Julian, and if Roger wanted to hit one of us, I wanted it to be me. Julian was new to the system. He didn’t know that the people who were asked to care for him were worthless souls. And when you have an innocent child crying on your shoulder, it does something to you. So I stood up for him. From that point on, I became Roger’s punching bag. We lived with them for two years, and eventually the beatings didn’t bother me. I learned not to do things to piss them off, and the other kids, including Julian, were on their best behavior most of the time.”
Nate held his head low, his hands wrapped around the plastic red cup. His gaze was locked on the floor. “When I was eight, Roger was working on his car while we all played in the yard. He called out for me and asked me to go to our neighbor’s house to get him a Phillip’s head screwdriver. The second I placed it in his hand, he clenched his hand shut and slammed it across my face.”
I closed my eyes, hoping that this story would end soon.
“He chipped my tooth and I fell back on the gravel. He stood over me and swung a few times, hitting my ribs and face. It wasn't until he kicked me in the gut and I spit up blood that I realized I had enough. I stood up and spit blood at his face. I shouted that one day I would be as big as he was and, when he was least expecting it, I would kill him.”
I gasped.
His gaze locked with mine. “I was eight years old when I tried to kill him.” I closed my eyes, terrified of was he was about to tell me.
“A week after I threatened him, I took a knife from the kitchen and hid it under my mattress. He always rose during the night to use the bathroom. Most nights he was piss drunk and stumbled his way back to his room. I figured that would be the best time to do it. That night after dinner I told Julian I planned to kill Roger. We all went to bed, and when he got up to pee I reached under my mattress, but there was no knife. Someone had taken it. I heard footsteps from the bathroom and rushed to open the bedroom door, but to my surprise it was Janice, my foster mom, standing in the hallway. She told me to get to bed and to thank my little brother for saving me from doing something stupid.”
I looked at him, confused. “Julian had told Sonia what I planned to do, in detail, apparently. A few days later, I was relocated to a different foster family. I hated that I left Julian behind but I had no choice. A few years later, a woman knocked on the door and announced I had been adopted.”
Nate’s teeth ran across his lower lip, and a few seconds passed before he spoke again. “Louisa came and picked me up. I had no idea what was going on until we pulled up to her house and Julian came running out. Shortly after I was shipped off to the new foster home, Julian’s mother got her life together. She fought to get her rights back and then started the application to adopt me. He’s the reason I was taken out of the system. They gave me a home.”
I didn’t realize I was crying until a tear dripped from my cheek and landed on the back of my hand. Nate downed the remainder of his drink and licked the corners of his lips. Shaking my head in disbelief, I wiped away my tears. “I’m so sorry, Nate. I had no clue.”
He shrugged and exhaled. “It was a long time ago.”
“Why didn’t you go with Julian to Louisa’s for Christmas break?”
“I hate that she helps me pay my tuition. I know she considers me her son, but I hate that I depend on her. The reason I did two years of community college was because I didn't want her to pay for me. When I enrolled here, the tuition was still more than I could handle, so she gladly handed me a check. Any extra work I can do around campus to help lower what she has to pay is better than me sitting on her couch for four weeks. She gave me everything I ever wanted, and I don’t want her money. Her love is all I need.”
“Is that why you didn’t go to the shelter?”
“My first Thanksgiving with Louisa, we all went as a family. Apparently, when she was getting her life together, this shelter gave her a safe place to stay. It’s how she pays them back. My first time going, there was a man in charge of the whole organization. I noticed right away that he looked like me. Louisa later told me he was my biological father, the one who walked out on me when I was two years old. And you know what? He was there with his wife and three children. I had been shipped off to foster homes to live with people like Roger, and there he was looking like a saint because he funded the program.”
“Shit, Nate…”
“That was my first and only time. I asked Louisa if I could never go back and she agreed.”
“That makes sense.” I reached for the remote and pressed the on button. I couldn’t take anymore horrible stories. “Do you want to watch something?” I flicked through the channels.
“I don’t care. Whatever you want.” He reached for the half empty bottle of Coquito. “But you should probably make some more of this.”
I threw him the remote and pushed quickly off the couch to my feet. My head spun. The alcohol wasn’t helping. “I’m hungry.”
“Me, too.” Nate moved from the computer chair and sat on the couch where I had been. I walked over to the makeshift kitchen and popped two Pop-Tarts into the toaster and two hot pockets into the microwave before I busied myself with my next batch of Coquito. I poured the batch into another glass bottle and set it in the fridge to chill.
Nate found the first Home Alone on TV as I handed him a plate. “Hot Pockets and Pop-Tarts?” He looked down at the plate and then up at me. “Dinner and dessert.” I plopped down on the seat next to him. “Don’t say I never made you anything.”
When I sat, Nate stared at me intently, as though he had something on his mind.
“What?” I asked as I folded back the paper box to my hot pocket.
“I broke up with Delaney.” His gaze was locked on mine and the room began to spin. It was more like my heartbeat began to race.
“Why?” My voice was barely audible.
“Because she's not the girl I want to be with.”
I remained silent for a few seconds. His tongue ran across his lips and I scolded myself for the thoughts that ran through my mind.
“Nate . . .” I shook my head.
“I know.” He nodded and looked down at his food. “She’s your best friend. But Brie, you're my best friend, so if it's okay with you, I want to stay your friend.”
A grin grew on my face. “I'd like that very much.”
We ate, drank the rest of the bottle, and finished watching the movie. Nate chuckled and laughed at the TV and I couldn’t help but laugh along with him. When the credits began to scroll, I leaned my head back on the cushion and faced him. His gaze scanned the room.
“What?” I asked.
“Are you anti-Christmas?”
“No,” I slurred.
“Then why don’t you have a single decoration?”
“I don’t know. I was focused on finals.”
“It’s very depressing.” His gaze locked with mine again and a grin grew on his face. “You can always paint something on the wall.” I cocked my head to the side and lifted one eyebrow. “Right there!” He pointed to the blank wall behind me. “You can paint a whole tree right there. And I’ve seen your sketches. You can draw.”
I looked back at the white wall. “I guess you’re right.”
He stood and reached out for me. “Let's paint us a Christmas tree.”
“Are you insane?” I slapped his hand away.
“Are you scared?” His dark eyebrows arched mysteriously.
I jumped off the couch and jogged over to my art supplies. I pulled out the few tubes of paint I had and walked it over to him.
“That’s it?” He looked at the tubes in my hand and then back up. “That’s all you have?”
I lined them up on the coffee table. “How big do you want this tree?”
“Most Christmas
trees are what? Six feet tall?”
I stretched my hand above my head. “The only place we will find that amount of paint right now is in the art room, and that’s closed.”
“What if we break in?”
“That’s it!” I leaned over and took his cup. “No more alcohol for you.”
“Come on, Brie.” He reached up and his fingers snagged a curl that had fallen on my face. Not only was I drunk off the rum, but the second his hand touched my skin I felt high. “Please,” he added in a lower, huskier tone.
The stupid box had busted opened.
Within five minutes, we had our coats on and were running across campus toward the art center. The alcohol rushed through my body; the trees and lamp posts blurred past me as I jogged behind Nate to catch up.
The air was cool and crisp as it hit my face. When we arrived at the art center, Nate jiggled the door but it didn’t budge. I stood next to him bent over as I tried to fill my lungs with air.
“Dude,” I gasped. “I feel like I ran a marathon.”
I straightened and rested my head on the red brick of the wall. Nate’s gaze scanned the building and surrounding area before he grabbed my hand. “Come on.” He led us around to the back. “I’ll boost you up to that window.” He pointed to one a few feet higher than my head.
“Okay . . . but that’s a closed window,” I retorted.
“No, it’s not.” He led me under the opening in question and made a stirrup of his hands on his knee. “Trust me. Step on my hands.”
“This is crazy.”
“Come on before someone drives by and sees us.”
I exhaled and shook out my hands as though I was releasing the nerves from my body, then took a few steps backward so I could get a running start. I jogged toward Nate, laid my hands on his broad shoulders, then stepped into his hands and in one swift motion he lifted me high and my waist was level with the upper story window. I pressed my hands against the cool glass pane and pushed it up. After it slid open a few inches I climbed in.
I found myself in an empty classroom “Holy shit!” I peeked my head out the window to where Nate was smiling up at me with a wide grin. “How the hell did you know?”
Torrid Affair Page 9
