Broken Compass

by Jo Raven

  “That was a hell of a fight you put up there,” West says quietly, and if he’s talking about that, Nate has to be fine, right?

  “Where are you? Are you heading home?”

  “Yeah, I called an Uber. We’re almost there. I called Syd. She’ll meet us there.”

  “Good. How’s Nate?”

  A small silence that seems to stretch for years, before West says, “He says he’s okay.”

  “Of course he’d say that. Check him over, man. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Slipping the phone back in my pocket, I fish out my tobacco pouch and take out a joint—then remember I don’t have a lighter anymore.

  Fuck.

  I stick the joint back into the pouch, stuff it into my back pocket and start again toward home.

  But a swirl of blackness comes over me, and I’m going down, slipping into the dark, before I even realize what happened.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sydney

  Throwing the apartment door open, I run into the apartment. “West? Nate! Kash!” My heart is banging around in my chest. I’m so frigging scared. “Are you all right?”

  I find them in Nate’s bedroom. Well, Nate and West. West has a shiner and his lip is split, but he nods at Nate who’s sitting hunched over, his T-shirt… good God, is all that rusty color blood?

  “Jesus, Nate.” I sink down on the bed beside him, take his hand, touch his face. He flinches hard, startling me. “I’m only checking that you’re okay.” I turn to West. “What happened?”

  “Long story,” he mutters.

  “I have time.” At least Nate hasn’t pulled his hand away, though he won’t meet my gaze. “Who did this?”

  West rubs a hand over his face and sits down beside Nate, who flinches again, face paling.

  Jesus…

  “Just gonna check the damage, dude,” West says, his voice gentle, and I’m still not getting it. I watch as he lifts Nate’s stained white T-shirt, peeling it off inch by inch, revealing taut muscles and bruises, and cuts…

  “You said,” I struggle to keep the waver out of my words, “that you had something to tell me, not that Nate was hurt, and…” I put my other hand over my mouth. “Oh crap.”

  His whole left side and back is a giant black bruise.

  But West seems more concerned with the arm Nate has tucked around his middle. “Listen, man, we should go to the ER. Have you checked out.”

  “No way.” Nate’s voice is a hoarse rasp.

  “You could have internal injuries.”

  “I’m fine.”

  West glances at me, and in his eyes I see fear. “So you say.”

  “What. Happened?” I can’t take this evasiveness anymore. Not when it comes to the wellbeing of my boys. “West. Tell me where you were. Did you get into a fight?”

  “Yeah.” He gives Nate a long look, one Nate doesn’t return. “We did, all right. With Nate’s dad and his buddies.”

  Oh shit. “They attacked you?”

  “They got Nate, and…” West grimaces.

  “And what?” I try to piece this together—the way Nate keeps flinching, all those bruises, the darkness in West’s eyes. “Where is Kash?”

  “On his way. You should’ve seen him, Syd. He laid into them like a fucking demon. They never stood a chance.”

  “Good.” Yeah, that’s good. Kash has always been gentle with me, but I can easily imagine him causing mayhem while West hauled Nate away from that hell.

  West looks worried, though. The glances he keeps stealing at Nate are tinged with fear. There’s more he won’t tell me, not now, and the possibilities are too awful to contemplate.

  “Dude…” West tugs Nate’s T-shirt down and there it comes again, that terrible flinch. “We should let you rest.”

  But Nate grabs West’s arm, his voice still hoarse, painful to hear. “Kash. Where is Kash?”

  West’s brows draw together in a frown. He pulls out his phone, checks it. “You know what? That is a very good question…”

  We end up taking Nate to the ER anyway. He doesn’t put up much of a fight, and that worries me even more. He lets us move him like a puppet, then lets the doctors poke at him and take blood and urine samples without a word.

  West talks to the doctors while I sit with Nate outside the small office, holding his hand. West offered and Nate said nothing, so presumably he agreed.

  Or doesn’t object.

  Or doesn’t give a damn.

  Whatever it is West tells them, the doctors and nurses look grim afterward and take Nate inside for more exams.

  “What did you tell them?” I ask West when he’s taken Nate’s place beside me.

  “Some extra tests.” He sighs. “For STDs.”

  I close my eyes. “What happened today?”

  And West tells me about Kash coming to talk to him as he tried to decide what he needed to take from the apartment, how they heard noise from upstairs and how they overheard the men talking about how they’d used Nate.

  How his dad had whored him out. How he and Kash had fought the men and Nate’s dad to get Nate away, and how he has no idea if anything else happened before they managed to haul him away. If they got to him in time.

  “No…” I put my face in my hands. I knew what Kash had told me, his suspicions, but this… this is all sorts of horrible.

  “Come here,” West says gruffly and pulls me into his arms. “He’ll be all right.”

  “You’ve said this before. But he’s not.”

  He hugs me more tightly to his chest, buries his nose in my hair. “We’ll help him. We all have our fucking demons. If we share them, maybe the burden will become lighter.”

  I hope he’s right. That we can help each other. That all those demons can be locked away and we can live in peace.

  His arms are strong, his chest solid. I press my forehead to his pec, inhaling his scent of spices and boy. I’m sick. Heartsick, I think. Any pain my boys suffer cuts me deep, straight to the heart.

  Nate will be okay. We’ll all be okay.

  I have to believe it.

  By the time we’re done and sent along home with the promise that we’ll get the results of the exams for a few weeks, depending on the test, we’re all exhausted.

  The good news is, Nate seems okay. Nothing’s broken, no internal organs appear damaged. His ribs are bruised, one of his kidneys, too, but then painkillers will be his best friends. Nothing else to be done about them.

  And he has an appointment with a psychologist.

  West could use one, too, but I’m too numb by all that’s happened to tell him that now. Later, maybe. When the dust settles and I see how they deal with the fallout. Two different kinds of abusive hell. Two different characters. Two different reactions.

  And then there’s Kash.

  Or isn’t, for that matter. Because Kash doesn’t make an appearance, not even when we return home late at night, and there’s no sign of him having been there.

  Unease knots up my stomach. I try calling him again and again, but it goes to voicemail. I text him, asking where he is and if everything’s okay, but I get no reply.

  This isn’t like him. He wouldn’t disappear on us, not without a word—and especially not after what happened last night. I want to go back to our old neighborhood, do… I don’t know what. Ask around? See if anyone saw him?

  But by then Nate has a migraine so bad he keeps throwing up, so I don’t dare leave his side—and West sort of shuts down after the first couple of hours, on his knees on the floor, scrubbing and cleaning, muttering to himself.

  Tonight, I feel as if I’ve lost them all, all over again. Demons, West said back at the ER. I lost each to his own demons, and I’m not sure how to get my boys back.

  I wake up sandwiched between two warm bodies. Light streams in from the window, and I blink, smiling. Nate is facing me, those long dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, his dark hair tousled and sexy, falling on his forehead.

  West is behind me,
his hand on my hip. I take it in mine and find his knuckles dark, encrusted with dried blood.

  I blink, confused. Blood? Was he in a fight? What am I missing?

  And where is Kash? Why isn’t he in bed with us?

  The room smells faintly of vomit and more strongly of chlorine and pine. Weird.

  Nate’s lashes flutter open. Then close again. His mouth is slack with sleep. He’s probably groggy from the painkillers.

  Painkillers. Hospital. Tests.

  Nate’s dad and his buddies.

  Oh my God. Everything rushes back in, and I sit up with a gasp. What in the world happened yesterday? They hurt Nate. And West had that meltdown where he was washing the floors for hours, and Kash…

  Where is Kash?

  No need to panic. I throw my legs off the bed and get up. Kash is probably in his room, asleep. He must’ve come home late, for whatever reason, and didn’t want to wake us up. I want to hear his version of what happened yesterday. He’s more talkative than West, and less cryptic. He doesn’t coddle me as much. There may be things West didn’t tell me.

  Things I need to know—about Nate, about West.

  About himself.

  But even as I pad out of the room and open the door to Kash’s bedroom, I know he’s not there. There’s a quality to the silence of the apartment that speaks of emptiness and loss.

  Anger seizes me. What is he doing? Why hasn’t he called or texted back? He can’t just leave us hanging, not after… after he said he cared, after he showed he gave a damn. You can’t fake those things, can you?

  But Mom did. She pretended to care, then left and never called. Never came back.

  West finds me on the balcony, the early morning breeze whipping my hair. I’m still in the blouse and panties I fell asleep in last night. He’s in his black boxer briefs, his hair sticking up in funny spikes from sleep, flat on one side.

  He puts his arms around me, and I burrow against him, needing his strength, his presence. “How you doing, girl?”

  “I should be asking you that.” Without moving away, I take his hand and lift it, turn it over to look at his busted knuckles and reddened fingers. “A fight. And then a night with the bleach.”

  He grunts, his neck flushing. “I had to clean up, Syd. Nate was throwing up, and with everything that happened… I needed to. I know I’m a freak, just—”

  “West.” I lift my hand to his rough cheek. “West, it’s perfectly fine. And… to be honest, I’m glad you cleaned up so well.” I shudder. “Thank you.”

  “Are you… are you serious?” His eyes go adorably wide.

  “Yeah. I don’t like how it twists up your mind, and cripples you sometimes, but last night was hard.” I rise on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. “So I get it.”

  He chases after my mouth, eyes darkening, and kisses me back. He tastes of sadness. “You may change your mind. Get tired of me. This is how I am, Syd. I don’t think I’ll change.”

  “You can get better. And I’m not changing my mind.” I grab his arms and kiss him back, lick his lips, making him groan. “Ever.”

  He breathes hard, presses his forehead to mine. “Kash said…”

  “What? What did he say?”

  “That he’s grown used to me.”

  “What he was trying to say is that we love you, West.”

  He hauls me more tightly against him and says nothing. His heart is pounding in his chest.

  “Started without me?” Nate grumbles, coming out. He squints against the early light, charmingly rumpled in his gray briefs, his hair in his eyes. “Naughty.”

  I turn in West’s hold and grab Nate’s hand, pulling him to us. “Morning.”

  “Morning.” He looks alive, so much more than yesterday, despite the godawful bruises covering his torso. Yesterday he’d looked empty and dead inside. Now he has a fire burning in his pretty eyes. “What did I miss?”

  “Well, we had butt sex three times, once here on the balcony in full view of everyone, waiting for you to drag your sorry ass out,” West drawls, and I turn back and stare at him.

  Nate huffs and smiles. He puts one arm around me, the other curling around his middle, where the darkest bruises start. “So selfish.”

  Seeing him so battered makes me want to cry, but I can’t. Not when it feels so good to see him smiling again. He bends his head toward me, steals a kiss from my mouth, and I melt against them both.

  But one of us is missing. Without Kash, it’s like missing a limb, a piece of my heart. When did this happen? When did he become one of us, when did we grow into one entity, one beat?

  Am I the only one who feels that way?

  Nate looks around Kash’s empty room, mouth pressed flat. “So, he’s gone?”

  “He never came back last night.” West pads around the room, lifts the blinds and looks out the window. “He called on our way here, and said he was coming home. I’m going back, retrace our steps.”

  “And how will that help?” Nate rubs at his temple. “If he doesn’t wanna be found…”

  “What are you talking about?” I frown, looking around.

  “He ran away. I didn’t expect him to, but there you go.”

  “Run away? Kash wouldn’t.”

  “Syd…” Nate winces. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” West mutters. “Syd is right. Kash is solid. And it makes no sense. He saved your ass. He stayed and fought. Why would he run now?”

  “You overheard it all, didn’t you? What dad’s buddies said. I bet he’s disgusted he ever even knew me.” Nate groans and sits down on Kash’s unmade bed, a hand over his eyes. “Fuck.”

  “Head still hurts?” I sit down beside him, pleased when he doesn’t recoil.

  “I’m okay.”

  I doubt that, but I let it go. As for the other thing he said… “Kash knew about your dad and what he did to you.” Maybe not the details, but that’s another matter. “He was only worried about you.”

  This time Nate does flinch away from me. “The hell you say.”

  “He knew, man. You really don’t remember much about the night he took you away from that place, do you?”

  “And he told you.” There’s accusation in Nate’s raspy voice.

  “He was always looking out for you.” West sighs, rubs both hands over his face. “For all of us.”

  I turn to him. “You don’t think he’d just leave. West?”

  “I dunno. I mean, he said several times he should have left. You heard him. Just the other night. Maybe he just made up his mind.”

  “He wouldn’t.” He wouldn’t leave us. Not Kash.

  Oh God.

  “Maybe he’ll come back,” West whispers, sitting down on the other side of Nate. “Maybe there were things he had to take care of.”

  “What about that stalker that was after him?”

  “He told me he wasn’t sure about it,” West says.

  “I don’t believe that.” I swallow down fear. “I don’t believe he was telling the truth. You saw him. He was terrified.”

  “You think he said it to calm me down.” West glances at me. “Or to convince himself.”

  “I wish he’d told us what he’s running from,” Nate mutters.

  “So either he ran away, went away to take care of something, or was taken… In any case, that means he could be in danger.”

  Taken. God. I nod, my chest seizing with fear all over again.

  “Okay. Then we tell the police.”

  “And we look,” I whisper. “We look for him.”

  They don’t argue with me, ask where to look, and for what. Or how. These boys care for Kash, too, I know it. And wherever Kash has gone, he’ll come back.

  Because he cares for us, too.

  The policeman, a nice gray-haired man with dark eyes, makes me fill out a form, but doesn’t seem optimistic.

  “You say he was supposed to come home last night? And never showed up? Did he always come home at night?”

  “Yes. Late, but he did.�
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  “Is it possible he left of his own free will? In such a case there isn’t anything we can do.”

  “No way.” I shake my head, look down at the form, despair filling me. I don’t know anything about Kash, apart from his surname. Is that even real? “No.”

  “Young people these days run away a lot. Bad family situation… no money.”

  “He wouldn’t… He lives with me.”

  With us.

  The policeman doesn’t look impressed. “That doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he was in trouble? With drugs? Did he do drugs, Miss?”

  I consider saying no, but what if it’s important? “Just weed.” I twist my hands together. “He gets panic attacks. It helps him.”

  “Drugs are drugs, Miss.” He gives the boys the side-eye, probably making a note of the bruises and cuts on their faces, West’s scraped knuckles, Nate’s scabbed-over cut on the neck. “Maybe he got into trouble with his dealer and skipped town. Maybe he owes money and went into hiding.”

  “Kash, owing money?” An incredulous laugh escapes me. “No way.”

  But he had a stalker, my mind says. What if this is what happened? Someone went after him because he owed money?

  No. That haunted look in his eyes, in his stance, was there from the start.

  Yes. And he was already using when you met him.

  Crap.

  “Are you done with the form?” He tugs it away from me and I let the pen drop on the table. “This the phone number we can contact you at? Miss Carvajal?”

  “Yes. So… you won’t do a thing?”

  He sighs. “If you tell us the places he frequented, we can ask around. But he’s an adult, Miss Carvajal. He can go if he chooses. Without evidence to the contrary… not sure what we can do.” He squints at me. “Is he your boyfriend? Maybe you had a fight, and he left to let things cool down?”

  “Look, mister.” Nate jabs a finger at the policeman, eyes narrowed. “Careful how you talk to h—”

  “Nate, let’s get out of here.” West hauls him away so fast, Nate stumbles backward, finger still pointed at the police, his eyes widening. “Let’s get some fresh air. Syd, we’ll be right outside.”