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“I can’t stay. I can’t.”
“You’re not, mudak. We’re going. Come on.” I get to my feet and drag him out of the bedroom.
“Going?” He’s shivering so hard he can barely stand, or talk. His teeth chatter in his mouth.
With a growl, I haul him into my room, leave him standing there as I gather my stuff. My duffel bag fits everything I own—my clothes, my shoes, my laptop and my bag with my last valuables.
Then I pull him into his room and open his closet, looking for clothes and a bag. “Grab what you need.”
“What are you doing?”
This is the first time since I found him hanging out of the window that he sounds halfway sane. “What do you think? I told you.” I find pants and a T-shirt and shove it at him, then then rummage through his clothes. “Grab whatever is important to you. Don’t forget your phone. I’m getting us out of here.”
“What about Syd and West?”
Fuck. Good question.
We slink out of the apartment quickly, in a moment Nate’s dad and friends are in deep conversation, heads bent together as the TV plays in the background. His dad looks up when I open the door, and I just wave at him, hoping he doesn’t notice Nate who’s huddled behind me.
He doesn’t. We slip out to the quiet, dark landing, and down the stairs. We step outside, and Nate shivers harder.
“Hold on.” I grab his phone to text Sydney and West, letting him lean against the wall. I write, ‘We are leaving. Come with us?’
Sydney’s text arrives seconds later. ‘For good?’
And Weston’s comes next, ‘Where are you?’
I text them both that we are outside, and then give Nate his phone back. He pockets it, his gaze empty.
Cars pass by. A night bird trills in the tree beside the entrance. Another car slows down, the driver giving us long looks. I hope we don’t look l
ike hookers.
I pull Nate to the shade of the tree, to hide us from passersby.
That’s where Sydney finds us. She’s out of breath, her eyes wide. She has a sports bag with her. “I’m going with you,” she whispers. “Please?”
I nod. How can I say no? I’m in way over my head, have been for months. I should have known it would come to this.
Then Weston walks out of the building, and the first thing I notice is that he has no bag with him.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his gaze falling on Nate. “What happened?”
“West. You’re coming with us, right?” Sydney turns those pretty, hopeful eyes on Weston. She never gives up hope, does she? “Get your things.”
“Are you coming with us, West?” I ask. “We should get going before Nate’s folks realize we’re gone.”
“What happened?” he insists, walking past her to face us. “Nate? What’s going on?”
Nate says nothing. He’s breathing hard, though, his face white, his gaze a thousand miles away.
I’m about to step in, tell West something to get him off Nate’s case, because my gut tells me he isn’t processing things right now and needs his space, but West all but shoves me out of the way.
“Dammit, man.” West hauls him into a bearhug. “Goddammit.”
Man, I sure share the sentiment.
Though I’m shocked to see Nate accepting the hug, leaning into West, letting him take on his weight.
