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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?
